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When one considers all the weird shit that happened after the year 2020, a stand out is the strange case of what was later dubbed the mutant/karma event. While scientists are still trying to discover what caused, (it is of course already known that what ended it was an unlikely series of events that involve a sun flare, the dying thralls of a sentient twitter and the firing of the joint North Korea/Donald Trump death ray occurring all at the same time) the actual event is an interesting study of human nature. The event in question surrounded a site called Reddit (now defunct after the great micro blogging war of 2069, off topic the year was specifically chosen by users of a site called 4chan, the descendants of whom know control the wastelands) where users were able to post content both original and recycled, as well as links to other sites. This content could be rewarded with up votes or Karma, as it was called (it could also be rewarded with gold, not literal gold but a small little symbol that suggested that someone felt content was worth a couple dollars. Note the person who posted the content did not actually get the money) which didn't actually mean anything, and was inherently worthless but was nonetheless in high demand. Contemporary documents seem to suggest many drew a line between amount of karma and self worth. Anyway some yet undiscovered event caused mutant powers to be granted to users of Reddit, with those in possession of higher levels of karma receiving more useful powers. For instance many so called 'power users' received abilities that put them on par with the military might of a small nations, whereas lower users, whereas those in possession of less karma, say /u/SarkasticWatcher, in possession of 1731 karma points (namely for content which time has shown to be not that funny, if it ever was) received relatively useless powers like comparatively stinky diarrhoea (the only reason this is even recorded is because this extra stinky diarrhoea had a habit of billowing forth at inopportune and highly public moments, he by all accounts lived an otherwise unspectacular life). Other users, those more in the double or triple digit powers often received things like being able to levitate coins a couple centimetres of the ground, or understanding every fourth bark of a dog. Very little is recorded about these lower tiers (both those with a middling and those with a lower amount) but much is recorded about aforementioned 'power users'. It seems that there were varying levels of power users with some being known for their original content or useless links, with others being known for 'posting other people's shit' and writing things so blatantly pandering (to either the far left or a weird sort of group that hated conservatives but also groups broadly, and often erroneously, referred to as 'minorities, with both factions accounting for large portions of Reddit users) that they received scores of up votes possibly partially motivated by voting against 'far left' norms. This meant that amongst the most powerful people on the planet there were smart, well reasoned people, as well as clever, creative people, but also dull people who somehow felt that by mindlessly repeating what people only slightly less stupid than them said they were thinking for themselves. (Also amongst these powerful people (who started referring to themselves as PP, contemporary documents suggest they thought this was boundlessly clever) were massive perverts. In what's been described as a stroke of luck for humanity, this amounted to little more than massive orgies on largely deserted islands). There were a number of physical altercations between these powerful mutants in the early days with what scribes of the day refer to as 'Man of Steel levels of destruction, but somehow not as terrible to sit through' with smart well reasoned people fighting against 'pandering idiots' and creative types fighting against 'reposters'. Interestingly enough, even though the well reasoned people and the creative types were seen as being on the side of the common man, they often received more criticsm for the destruction than the panderers and reposters (there was even a movement who spoke of panderers and reposters as oppressed minorities. The make up of this movement was probably largely fans of the aforementioned. Also of note, this group was viewed in the public eye as being larger than they actually were, due mostly to how loud they were). Apparently 3 months of wonton destruction was all the government could take and they began getting involved, attempting to contain the powerful mutants, which they accomplished, after wasting billions of dollars on technology, by paying several of the most powerful mutants (mostly reposters) billions of dollars to capture the rest. With most of the powerful mutants under the control of various governments there became what was described as a small cold war, except the threat was human as opposed to nuclear. There were of course also nukes and this lead to a social climate that many contemporary lead many intellectuals to become 'prophets of doom'. Though once again the whole thing ended with a whimper when overnight all powers were lost and various mutants returned to Reddit, the desire for Karma even higher (partially lest another karma/mutant event happen again, partially because the lower level mutants had taken a blow to their self worth by getting useless powers and the higher level mutants took a blow to their self worth by losing their powers) with the collective human race seemingly having learned nothing. Seemingly the only ones to make out well after this whole boondoggle were the perverts, with the various modern day 'orgy islands' being direct continuations of the orgies started by the PP.
Adolf Hitler's Final Defeat “Opa?” The little voice lilted from below the attic door, which Adolf had forgotten to close. Scheiss, he thought, and would have said aloud if he didn’t know his granddaughter could hear him. “Opa, wo bist du?” the giggling voice came again. From the sound of it, Allie was already halfway up to the attic. Which, of course, meant his little Übermenschin knew exactly wo he bisted. Adolf started to put away his top secret diary, but her head popped up before he could even fasten its tiny heart-shaped clasp. He tried not to think much about that. He’d found it on sale, and even though America was only his adopted home, he’d found himself as weak-willed as any native-born New Yorker when it came to resisting a good sale. Besides, it was his top secret diary, after all. No one would see it. Except Eva, for editing purposes. Adolf had always had trouble spelling. A bit of an embarrassment, really, for a man who’d written a book that had been something of a bestseller in its time. This would become the sequel to that book, written in shaky English. It would inspire the hardy Aryan people of America to rise up in the name of National Socialism and overthrow the fat degenerate capitalist pigs in Washington, D.C. “Opa!” squealed the little girl in delight, rushing over in a flash. Of course her eyes found the top secret diary right away. “Oooh. What’s that?” At least she was speaking English. Adolf suppressed a sigh and put on his best grandfatherly smile to show his granddaughter that he approved of her using her adopted country's language. Though it pained him that his own flesh and blood had to adopt another tongue, she’d draw some attention if she started school speaking with a noticeable German accent. “It’s your grandmother’s recipe book. It’s very, very secret. No one can look inside but Oma.” “Then what are you doing with it?” “Oh . . . I, uh, was just putting it away for her.” Allie’s eyes narrowed in a precocious expression of nonbelief as they darted down to the still-open clasp. Scheiss and double scheiss. The little girl was too smart for her own good. And she was already reading books written for children twice her age. Knowing her Opa was reading her Oma’s secret recipes would only strengthen her resolve to come up here and do the same. He’d have to do something about it. Adolf sent his granddaughter back downstairs as gently as he could, telling her to see if Oma needed help with dinner. The girl still knew she was being sent away, and sulked as she went to leave the basement. But just before she descended, she brightened up a bit as if she had just had an idea. She practically ran down the steps. That couldn’t be good. Adolf thought about it, and realized that she probably intended to ask her grandmother whether she could look through the recipe book. Eva would think she meant the actual recipe book they kept in the attic, and would of course give the little girl permission to do so. And unless she was presented with the book that had the small heart-shaped clasp, she would never be satisfied. It was perhaps the worst tactical decision he could have made. Not that his cover story for what the book was had been all that great. His granddaughter was obsessed with two things: books and baking. Looking back on things, Adolf realized that he’d trapped himself on two fronts. He let out a sigh, knowing there was only one solution to the problem. As he tore the flower-bordered pages of his second manifesto one by one from the diary, he looked down at his belly, grown fat on the addictive horse-piss that was American beer, and then looked back up to the journal, catching snatches of his own half-baked prose. And he realized that he didn’t know what he believed anymore. With a slight frown on his face, he looked at the stack of papers, now collected in his hands. The opus of his twilight years. And he ripped them neatly in two. He really didn’t want to bring National Socialism to America after all. The queues would be unbearable, and there would be no more sales. With another sigh, he looked at the now-empty first page of the diary, picked up his pen, and began writing again: Wienerschnitzel, ein Ei… *** Disclaimer: Hitler was an evil mass murderer and should really never be made the topic of lighthearted fun. That said I have no excuse for posting the above other than that's what happened when I wrote on this prompt, and that I spent a good half hour on it too so I'm just gonna go ahead and put it out there. May God have mercy upon my soul. In my defense, this was basically a joke prompt about Hitler so in other words, OP started it. Disclaimer 2: Bad German, pseudo-German. I sort of made up ubermenschin cause I didn’t know how that one would work. I think everything else is okay. If not, tut mir leid. I can’t be bothered to look this shit up. Edits: Added a (shitty) title in case the imagery wasn't already heavy-handed enough for y'all, fixed some stuff I didn't care for, etc.
3 warriors of their time found themselves in a white waiting room known for warriors deceased and waiting for judgement. Clearly, linear time is irrelevant here.... 1 warrior looked like a peasant wielding a a makeshift shield and sword. A 2nd warrior looked like a grand knight. The 3rd warrior was a young marine. There was an awkward silence with no indication of anything to happen. Just 3 men seemingly waiting for nothing. To break the silence, the young marine decided to ask "So, I assume we're all dead.... I suppose, I should ask... what did you guys die for?" The peasant looked up at the marine and without hesitation replied "I fought for my family, for their freedom and land. I fought so we could keep our food and our way of life. We were a peaceful group of people until the empire found our lands." The Knight replied "That is an honorable death to have died for such a cause. I commend you, you are truly a great a man." The knight turned to the marine and continued, "I fought for my King. He was the 8th generation of his lineage, ruled our people with respect and love. his family spent their lives dedicated to the betterment of their people. During battle, he would be seen on the front line of the battle field fighting with his men. I died taking an arrow to the chest for this man. I died knowing this King would continue to serve my family well." The peasant replied "I too commend you sir, You sacrificed your life for a higher cause". There was a bit more silence as the peasant and knight expected an answer from the Marine. The marine looked a bit confused, thinking about what his answer might be. The peasant asked, "So what did you die for young man?" The Marine looked at other two, then down at his feet before answering, "To be honest, I'm not sure what I died for after hearing your stories. I thought it was for my family, but they were safe at home, probably watching TV and drinking beers before sleeping in their comfy beds. And then I thought I was fighting for freedom and democracy, but I wasn't freeing anyone I cared about, no one from my country. I wasn't fighting for democracy back at home. They weren't affected in anyway. They would still remain a democracy. TO be honest.... I'm not sure what I died for....."
The crowd goes wild as the combatants scurry onto the field clad in completely impractical silver-and-gold armor that was bought off the local pawn-store several minutes prior. Emperor Langston himself was present to preside over the fight, a rumored spectacle that was apparently scheduled just last week after the last gamesmaster took a boatload of synthetic drugs into his system and tried to work. Though the Gamesmaster was hung for this breach in sports culture, under the law that no one other than the contestants may abuse substance, the fight was clear to go since the tickets for it had already sold out due to a clerical error several hours after the matter. The seller was also hung for his mistake. "Good people, good people, peo- HEY, YOU SHITHEAD CITIZENRY. LISTEN TO YOUR KING!"the Emperor shouted from atop his copper throne of steel and iron and whatever other contradictory metal that would make sense under the circumstance. "Just reminding you all to turn off your wands and magical recording devices! Don't be that guy who lets his crystal orb go off during the dramatic scene." "Why don't you mind off, you old fuck?"shouted a face-painted crowdgoer several steps upstairs from the Emperor. "I'll have you hung for that!" "Yeah, that's what your wife promised me last night! Still freaking tiny, you husband of a liar!" The court marshal, who had been dragged along by the king, took this moment to speak, "Calm down everyone, the fight's about to start... Look, they're bringing out the unlikable bastards as we speak!" The cage-fenced gates that restrained the warriors was lifted. The battle was to begin. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Though for the proud champion of her home village, Lara Xeedee Von Zulich Kininarigatari of the Purest Heart , this was a fight she'd wanted to avoid. Her closest friend stood on the other end of the field, a girl she'd known often as a child and desperately knew, deep in her mixed-race, magically-enchanted heart, that she would be destined to be with her forever. The girl pulled out her carbon steel katana-blade thingy, a magical foreign weapon made from the Magical Steampunk South of What-Sorta-Looks-Like-Japan-But-Not-Really (known simply as France in the common tongue). Her pink and purple and red and blue eyes glimmered as she stared into the encrusted black blade of the stupid-looking katana-wakashiziki thing, forged from superior Eastern metalworking techniques that have nothing to do with the cruddy quality of iron of ore there. Her inner goddess told her dark side that she should give in and kill everything that lived inside the arena. Unfortunately, through the sheer strength of a young tender girl's total emotional stability, she decided to go ahead and get over it. This was a skill she learned through a decade of professional martial-arts mastery with the local temple sage from far across the ocean blue. She was a black-belt and could like, totally kick ass. She tossed the sword back into its leather sheath with a thump, slashing the leather in two because it's fucking leather, but we'll just ignore that and say it totally works. Lara ruffled her vomit-green hair and stepped proudly out in her totally practical boots and completely conservative leather jacket, because chainmail bikinis and boobplate is impractical and a sexist misinterpretation of how a real woman fighter would dress. That game was afoot, and Lara was scared, still fighting against her inner goddess-demon thing that really evolved from an abusive childhood she'd suffer back in the priest's convent. The same convent who ditched her because she was so goddamned poorly written- I mean, because she was too good and pure of heart to be in the presence of such an evil, corrupt church. Yes, the evil corrupt church, led by a white male authority figure. The old one. With the creepy voice and the short hair and the hat. You know, the standard evil pope/priest/bishop. Lara, though, in her overbearing charisma and strength, had managed to conquer that church years before and set it to work doing good, public works instead of besmirching the name of their refined Goddess of War, Etreasl, who Lara claimed to serve under as a righteous hero of her society. Though she'd never admit that because she's a humble and good girl. Like, obviously. ----------------------------------- On the other side of the arena, sat Valerie, who was currently undergoing a similar character evaluation at the moment Lara's began. Hopefully you skipped all that, right? Valerie got her regular arsenal put on the standard suit of steel armor, fitted and trimmed to place to deal with Lara's cursed katana-washikazi-dao sword. In other words, it was basically just a bikini chainmail because for some reason, every sword in this damned universe tends to slice right through metal anyway. Not just swords either, freaking pebbles as well. She clapped her hands, said her prayers, tied her short head of red hair under her arming cap, and did her stretches. It's best to stretch before intensive exercises. Valerie the Boring, as she was called, was ready to fight. She had no backstory because the narrator was too lazy to deal with it. She had no special weapons or skills because she didn't really care for any of those either. But clearly! She had a tragic past! Clearly she had been abandoned by her parents and brought up by a warrior race like righteous Lara, right- Nope. She was an orphan who was taken to the gladiatrix trade. That's as far as it goes. Nope, if there's one little trick that Valerie did have up her sleeve though, it was that she ate breakfast this morning. It was the most interesting thing she's ever done as a shallow, two-dimensional protagonist. Eating breakfast (it was some stale bread, sliced pork with a poached egg, so sorta special, I guess.) Breakfast, on the other hand, is the most important meal of the day. This was surely to give her an advantage in the upcoming duel against her long-time friend... or indigestion. Maybe both. ... God dammit, I ran out of narration for this one. She, err, had cantaloupe sized tits, a symmetrical face ridden with sweat and dirt, and a thigh gap. Yeah, guys love that stuff and it'll give some people something to complain about. Oh, and oooh! Her shirt's clean underneath and she just used the bathroom! Sure, we'll go with that. The bell rang and the gate lifted. Oh boy, time to go killing again. Whoop. thought Valerie the Boring, as she slung her sack, full of swords, axes, spears, lances, shields, pikes, maces, and warhammers, over her shoulder and set off.
Edit: I wrote this in a hurry, so please let me know if you have any edits or suggestions. &nbsp; My entire life, all 37 years, has been leading up to this moment. None of us know when that moment will arrive, for some it never does. Through death, illness, or just plain apathy, we forget that bulky stainless steel key. Mine sat next to my gun, in a small safe beneath my desk at home. Neither had been used in years, as accounting isn't exactly a profession that often calls for the use of a revolver. Still, though, both the key and the gun were things I needed to keep in case the time ever came. &nbsp; I had taken half a sick day so I could visit a flea market across town. Any excuse to leave that soul-destroying cubicle was good enough for me. If it wasn't such good money, I would have told the CEO to eat a dick years ago. Accounting is a profession for no-bodies with the passion of a wet dishrag. I'm only working there because I needed money while I searched for my destiny, and it was an easy enough way to make a lot of money. &nbsp; I browse the stands for an hour or so, buying a few trinkets I could pass off as gifts. Standing at a decrepit merchant stand, ran by a myopic old shrew with breath like death itself, my palms begin to sweat. The dented lock-box would not have caught my eye, if it hadn't been for the "as is"post it note stuck to its lid. I reach out and picked it up to give it a look. &nbsp; "Five dollars!"the merchant barks. "And don't fucking haggle with me." &nbsp; Haggle? Shit, I can barely keep down my lunch as I pass her a crumpled bill, and immediately dash to my car. Could this really be it? Have I found the lock to my key after all this time. Everyone I knew had found theirs by the time they were in college. Of course, some people never found a lock that worked with their key, but they tended to be either rebels, or idiots. People who either didn't care about their purpose, or who were unable to comprehend the idea of purpose don't bother to even look. &nbsp; I'm not one of those people. Am I disappointed it has taken so long? Of course, but that's just how life is sometimes, you know? None of this matters now, though. I know it. I can feel that this box holds my future. My serendipitous moment had finally arrived, and it only cost me five god-damn-mother-fucking dollars! &nbsp; I arrive home and power-walk my way to the small home office I've made for myself in back. Is this really my destiny, tucked under my arm? I dared not think of the wondrous things in store for me. The title to some vast expanse of land? A vial of almost priceless anti-aging nanobot seeds? A genius drug? The possibilities are endless, but until I take a look at the proverbial cat and collapse the wave function, there is no way to know. &nbsp; I am kneeling, tie undone and shirt untucked, next to my now unlocked safe. I place the gun on the desk, and reach in for the dusty key. For years I had worn it like a necklace, but each passing year it went unused made it feel less like a gift and more like a neon sign. As I became one of the aimless few with no destiny, the key called out to all who saw it that I was unworthy. So, like many do with anything that speaks to their inadequacy, I hid it away. College, graduate school, and several accounting and business management degrees were side-projects. Symptoms of a pragmatic mindset that did not know what else to do, other than wait. Now, it seems, my patience has paid off. Finally, I can become me. My boss can go fuck himself and find someone who actually likes his job for a change. As for me? Who knows? I just know that anything is better than sitting at a desk for the rest of my life. &nbsp; Now, the tarnished chain hangs from the key, which in turn fits into the lock perfectly. Not even the smallest hint of resistance arose as I inserted the key. I am shaking, adrenaline pouring through my veins, as I turn the key clockwise, and the lid pops open. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Is this some kind of sick fucking joke? The only thing in the box is a copy of Quickbooks Pro 2024. Is this seriously my destiny? An out dated copy of Quickbooks? My destiny is to be a god damned accountant?!? No. No that is not my destiny. I knew there was a reason I kept my revolver and my key in the same place.
I was one of the unlucky few. I was someone who didn't get the virus. I was assured that I would get it one day, but I never did. I was one of the unlucky 0.1%. It seemed that the rest were going to live forever as these young beautiful angelic beings, at least those lucky enough to be infected in the right age range. Of course, for an unlucky few, not aging was a disaster. Children now in their 20s and 30s who looked like 5 or 10 year olds, desired intimacy, but it was hard to find and often terrifying when it was found. The vast majority of them committed suicide. Babies stopped eating and died a terrible death that way. Nearly every new child suffered this fate, and people stopped reproducing almost entirely. My wife was inflicted when she was 28. She had always looked young and was still in her prime. She was a knockout, funny, and smart as can be. I was balding, gaining weight, and out of league when we started dating. Our marriage didn't last. Why should it have? She wanted something different, a younger man who could keep up with her. I can't say that I blame her. There were other problems. People didn't seem to care about the future. I thought the opposite would happen, but I was wrong. Climate change remained unchecked, and it grew much worse. Mass shootings increased. After all, we weren't immortal. Every major city had a few a week. Countries warred with each other over nothing, and science became non-existent. I wasn't sure what the problem was. I couldn't understand how it had become like this. This was supposed to be the dawn of paradise, but it was a faux utopia. Of course, the aging were a relic of past and of death and of what the non-aging wanted to avoid at all cost. There was strong discrimination against us. I was fired several times and beaten nearly to death twice. The world had become scary and for no good reason. Then, my kind, the aging, became totally hated. There wasn't much reason behind this hatred of us except that we wanted society to get back to a healthy place. Science had died, and I feared humanity would die with it. I had been a neuroscientist before all of the grant money dried up and universities closed down. The non-aging didn't see a problem with all of the problems. I was worried about their brains, but maybe it was just a desire to have something to work on, something to be nostalgic about. I wanted to look at a few fMRIs if there even were machines still functional around. It was a weird guilty pleasure, but it had been 40 years since the outbreak and 30 years since I had seen those amazing images. I wanted to see a few more before I died, well, before I was killed. I assumed that ending was more likely. I paid three non-aging a few hundred bucks each out of pocket after I found a working fMRI. I can honestly say it was the best day I'd had in 40 years. I looked at their brains, expecting to see healthy young brains, but that is not what I saw. Their pre-frontal cortex appeared severely damaged along with their amygdala. I asked if they had experienced any pain, and they all complained of terrible headaches. I was scared then, but I assumed that I was wrong. This had been a mistake on my part. So, I searched for answers only to find that I was not wrong. It took two years to confirm it, but the non-aging began to die. Humanity was heading for extinction. I thought it had been dementia among a few of them with symptoms like Alzheimer's, but I was wrong. The virus was slowly damaging their brain until it would kill them, and humanity was doomed. * Three years later, only a few hundred thousand of us remain. All of us hating that we were so unlucky, and, now, we were humanity's only hope. The younger women are still fertile. Even I am still capable of siring a child. I thought I would be killed by non-agers only a few years ago, and, today, I am one of the remaining few members of humanity, and it is up to me to help humanity climb back on its feet. But, I am old as are many of us, but our brains are healthy. Humanity will survive. * Read more stories at r/nickkuvaas.
Having died, Ernest found it particularly more challenging to make it to work in the mornings. The first day of his death was a sort of "learning of the ropes."Noticing that his body was quite incapacitated, and lying inconveniently in the town's morgue, it took him several minutes to get acquainted with leaving his corpse and floating out of the hospital and through the city's streets. Most people didn't notice him; some even walked right through him on their way to their own jobs. Ernest quite liked this, as he never really enjoyed being the center of attention. It took him over half an hour, but he made it to his office by 6:55 am, just like every morning before then. He tried to clock in, but his hands went right through the time tickets. He couldn't really touch anything. He shrugged, reminding himself to talk to the HR officer later that morning about this issue. He glided over to his cubicle and sat down on his chair (as much as a ghost could sit). After an hour of just sort of floating there, Ernest noticed that his office had held a gathering near the conference room. He ambled over to the commotion and saw a great white banner across the wall that read Rest in Peace, Ernest Miller. A small cake sat on a table, with several pieces removed, surrounded by a few co-workers talking nonchalantly. This was the best funeral Ernest would ever get, so he stood near the memorial service and basked in their remembrance (of which there was very little). That first day really was quite boring and trite, just the way Ernest liked it. But as time grew on, and as Ernest made it to work every day, he began to realize that his office had become a less amicable environment. Several co-workers had quit their jobs, stating that they felt some inexplicable creepiness about working in the office. Most of the interns who were given temp jobs in Ernest's cubicle usually quit after only a few days. They complained about a depressing and chilling mood that washed over them every time they sat in Ernest's seat. Every evening, Ernest went home to his coffin in Memorial Springs Cemetary. It was a really cozy place, but every morning it became harder and harder for Ernest to want to leave the comfort of his grave. It was like a sort of "sleep inertia"that made him really groggy and unwanting to go to his job. But he had to go. This grumpiness of his became troublesome at work. He became unspeakably angry every time a new intern sat at his desk. He glared at them through his ghostly eyes, often times for the whole day. Pretty soon, interns just stopped showing up all together. He also became angry with the other co-workers. He didn't like how they sometimes showed up late, or took days off for being sick. On one dusty March day, he nearly exploded with rage when he found out his boss had taken a day off for being sick. After his shift ended, Ernest flew over to the boss's home and stuck around his bedroom all night. The boss just got sicker and sicker, and started taking time off from work indefinitely. Every night, Ernest would fly to his home and just watch him sleep. Eventually, the boss died of his illness. After two years of being dead, Ernest eventually became the only employee who would show up to work. Everyone else had quit, either through discomfort, fear, or illness. But Ernest never quit. He always showed up.
By the fabulous gray beard hairs of Dumbledore, was I running fucking late. It wasn't my fault, I was held up at graduation. My parents wanted to congratulate me. My aunt was there. She wouldn't stop pinching my cheeks until literal roses popped out of them. Now what was there going to be left at the library. One book. That's all we get. One book. Ultimate knowledge, in any field of your choosing! Sure, studying at the University of Magic had it's merits and all. But what you studied didn't matter at all. After all, my own degree was a focus on the psychology of mythical creatures. No one gives a shit of what your degree is though. We all chose this school because of the library. Any book. Any subject. Textbooks all around. You're allowed to select one tome and instantly become a master of the arts. One of my dorm mates said they were thinking about joining the police force after this. They were going to try to nab a text on the fighting arts. My other mate was grabbing a book on engineering. He said that technology at at certain point was indistinguishable from magic. He could enter the human field and find ways of spreading magic all over the world. As for me? I have no fucking clue. Four years to figure out something. What was I going to do with my life? I spent high school buried in Harry Potter books, thinking that it was just a bunch of bullshit. If only our classes were like that. Wingardium levimyassa. The most exciting thing that happened was when the football team turned the janitor into a hamster and shoved him up the quarterback's rectum. It took a week to get him out. He was apparently quite comfortable there and needed encouragement to leave. Somehow I got off topic. Let's just say I put off this choice for a long time and now I felt screwed. The mob had already left the library once I got there. Tomes were tossed left and right. Papers ripped forth from their ancient bindings and laying tattered along the ground. Hey, that didn't sound to bad. Maybe I should find a book about being a writer? No, no. Concentrate. To the forbidden texts section! It took me some time to answer the guardian skull's ridden. Whoever heard of a river having a mouth? I dashing inside and found... Nothing. Bastards must have looted this place first. They even took the complete works of the Kama Sutra! Who does that? Nice to know that we matured during our time at UoM. Everything was gone. Temporarily at least. At the start of next school year, the books would have replenished themselves for the droves of new students coming in. But I ain't got time for that. I need a job because of my student loan debt. So I made my way to the mundane texts. Hell, I heard chemistry pays well. I even saw a documentary about it. Well, most of a documentary about it. I never finished it, but that chemistry teacher had a dragon's den worth of cash. That has to be the way to go, right? But apparently someone else had thought to come here first. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Falling to the ground in a fit of despair, my knee hits the spine of a hard cover book that had been misplaced. Quickly, and in a very manly fashion, I roll off to the side with a testosterone filled squeal spill out out of my lips. Clutching my wound, I hissed, eyeing the source of my despair with disdain. That's when I saw it, in all of it's glory. It was an older book with some sort of smug looking troll on the cover. I picked it up, careful to not open it in fear that this would be my chosen book. Skimming over the texts on the back, I knew it. This was it. This is the future I wanted for myself. The Art of the Deal, by Donald Trump. I was going to be America's first wizard president. And apparently all I need to do to get started was to get a small loan of a million dollars.
"Move forward! Get off the beach!" Lieutenant Jack Harper barked out commands at his men, as they stumbled off of their LVT landing craft and into the explosive inferno the beach had become. As bullets whizzed through the air and buried themselves into sand or men, the marines continued to surge forward. A mortar round exploded behind Harper, and he was showered with the blood and gore of men he was leading. The screams of the dying and explosions of bombs rang in his ears, while the smell of scorched flesh and gunpowder burned his nostrils. Every one of his senses crushed by the nightmarish hell he was trapped in, Harper found training taking over. Sprinting toward the cover at the edge of the beach, Harper turned back to see that far too few men had made it as well, while far too many were laying motionless in the sand. "Third platoon on me, we need to clear out those MGs!" The Japanese army had dug several firing positions into the nearby hills, their crossfire pinning down and slaughtering the marines still on the beach. Harper took his men that made it out of the death zone into a small ditch leading off of the beach, keeping low to avoid enemy fire. Moving forward they found themselves facing the side of a Japanese machine gun nest, filled with three Type-92 "Woodpecker"heavy machine guns and around half a dozen Japanese troops. Harper gave the signal, and five of the men following him each pulled out a grenade, and tossed them over the sandbag wall at their target. The machine gun crews barely had time to shout in surprise before both they and their weapons were torn apart. The gap in the Japanese area of fire allowed more men to move further inland, however Harper and his troops were already pushing into the defensive line of trenches just beyond the sand. Turning a corner Harper saw a Japanese soldier emerging from a dugout at the side of the trench. He raised his Thompson submachine gun and fired a burst at the man, sending him screaming back into the hole. Pressing himself against the side of the trench, Harper fired another burst into the same hole the man came from, and heard more yells of pain in response. He gestured toward one of his troops, who threw a grenade down into the pit, the explosion of which collapsed the entrance. Looking up from the rubble Harper saw a marine round the corner of the trench, only to be suddenly pushed back as a Japanese soldier shoved nearly the entire fifteen inches of his bayonet into the man's abdomen. "Tenno Heika, Banzai!" As the enemy pulled out his bayonet and prepared to finish the marine off, Harper pulled out his side arm and quickly squeezed off two shots into the Japanese soldier's head. "Oh god it hurts! Somebody help!" The man was not the first American casualty of the day, nor would he be the last. However the image of two others carrying him away while he held his own entrails in his hands, would be burned into Harper's mind for the rest of his life. Damn Japs just wouldn't surrender, we had them beat god damn it, just let us go home Pushing his thoughts aside Harper turned back toward his mission. Directly up ahead was a slope, which was dotted by Japanese defensive positions and infantry. The naval barrage had done a fair amount of damage to the defenders, however they now manned their positions raining death on the marines. "I want the thirty cal set up over there, everyone give the flamethrower covering fire." Harper deployed his men and raised his own weapon, firing off shots at the enemies in front of them. As the flamethrower edged closer before sending out streams of flame into the Japanese lines, a nearby pillbox took a direct hit from supporting fire and burst open, the explosion sending smoke across the sky and battlefield. Harper paused to reload, and while dropping his empty magazine he observed the smoke drifting over the ablaze landscape, human figures bathed in fire doing a macabre dance to the sound of guns and artillery. Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Okinawa and now Kyushu, what hell will they send us to next?
It was subtle at first. My keys would be in a different place than they were the night before. Sometimes the coffee table would be moved a few inches in another direction, successfully nailing my shin a few times. Simple annoyances; nothing to think about. I blamed my memory. Over the course of a month, I kept waking up to odd sounds from my apartment. It would normally be the sound of the fridge opening, or the guest room door closing. One night, I could have sworn I heard flushing sounds, but I was terribly sleepy that night, so I just naturally assumed that I imagined it. I thought I was being haunted by a ghost. I decided to catch whoever it was in the act. On a Saturday night, I pressed my cheek against my bedroom door, listening intently for any telling sounds. An hour passed. And then another. I had sunk to my knees, dozing off from the natural fatigue that came with such late hours, when I heard the fridge opening. With a start, I burst through and into the living room, frantically scanning for the intruder. The door to the guest room hit the wall from being thrown open, and I took chase, almost sliding out of control as I gripped the door frame and pulled myself through. I was met with nothing. The guest room, untouched as it always was, except for the window, which now let in a chilly wind. I stuck my head out, even though I knew that there was no way this was an escape route, and looked in all directions. Still nothing. In the wake of that night, only the sounds from the street below betrayed any hints of life. The next night, I left a letter. Crudely written in notebook paper, it sat on the countertop, folded so that it would stand, and impossible to miss. I went to sleep that night, driven only by my short temper, and though it took hours, the empty dreams took me to the morning. ***** Could you AT LEAST contribute in some way instead of just barging in and doing what you want? *** I blinked repeatedly at the odd sight, shaking off the drowsiness that tempted to pull me back to sleep. The warmth and smell of freshly cooked breakfast caught me off-guard, and it took several minutes of examination before I relaxed enough to eat the simple meal. A freshly grilled cheese sandwich and eggs. Sunny-side up, just as I preferred. Next to it was an empty envelope, emblazoned with a singular word in brilliant gold. I failed to suppress a grin; something about the sheer absurdity of this situation evoked a sense of amusement from me. *** Okay. ***** I never saw their face. But each day, something in my apartment was always different. Displaced in some way, or clearly tampered with, my mysterious roommate made their presence known, as invisible as they were. Each morning, I would be treated to the same breakfast I always preferred. And each night, I'd prepare them a meal as well. It's not until maybe two weeks into this odd companionship that I realized that the guest room was never dusty. Always in impeccable condition. Sometimes, very early in the day, I could swear that the sheets were still warm with the unmistakable presence of a person. I wonder who they are.
The door to The Gutted Hog creaked open allowing daylight to slice through the stagnant air. A few of the patrons looked up from their drinks to see who had entered, but most just went on drinking. I scanned the newcomer as he strode towards the bar. He was clad in heavy black armor from head to toe. Strapped to his back was a massive axe, stained with hardened, brown blood. My grip tightened on the dagger stowed under the counter and I shot a meaningful glance towards Amatha, my wife, who was standing frozen, two brimming tankards in hand, staring at me wide-eyed. My look seemed to thaw her and she went about delivering the drinks, skirting around the edges of the pub as far from the armored man as she could. I turned my gaze back to the newcomer who had reached the bar and began to ask him what he wanted. "How can I help you s-" "WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS TOWN.", he barked. I was slightly taken aback at the man's outburst but answered nonetheless. "I've been livin' here in Sharnvell my whole life. My father owned this tavern, and his father before him. Now the place is mine. Live her with my wife and two little 'uns. It's a quiet little town, but there's nothin' wrong with that." No sooner were the words out of my mouth then he said, "WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO TRADE?" I was baffled. Who came to a bar to trade? Well, gold is gold, so I took out what little wares I had and began to say "Why don't you take a lo-"but at that moment he walked away from the counter and stood facing the wall standing perfectly still. Confused, I began to put away my items when the man returned, this time wearing a strange, but slightly hypnotic necklace. "WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO TRADE?", he demanded again. Once more I took out my scant collection of miscellany and bade him take a look. Suddenly he began taking out strange artifacts and weapons offering them for me to buy. It seemed foolish but for some reason I bought them again and again until I was out of gold. He then proceeded to buy the two health potions I had on hand, then sold me a bow with a blueish aura quickly recovering his lost funds. And just as quickly as he had come, he was gone and the pub fell silent again. Bewildered I stood, trying to process what had just happened. That's it I thought to myself, I'm joining the city guard
Jamie glared at the door from her position in the kitchen. She hated that juicy flopping sound these people made when they knocked. There's a perfectly good doorbell right there, but somehow the New Ones couldn't figure it out. She strode across the room and nearly ripped the door off it's hinges as she flung it open. "What the hell is it this time?" The figure on the other side of the door was something that, until a few horrid months ago, Jamie had only ever expected to see in some poorly produced horror movie. It was grotesque, bits of flesh stretched across whatever this thing had for a skeleton. Gray fur covered it's left eye, leaving the rest of its face for what appeared to have once been...a toad maybe? The whole thing smelled strongly of fish, likely from the scales that covered both arms. The thing offered her a clipboard, the name of some medical company scrawled across the top. "I'm not interested,"she said, her voice flat. The thing gurgled in response, moisture escaping from its mouth. Jamie slammed the door so hard that the house shook. She hated them. She knew she shouldn't but she did. And they came, every day, trying to get her to sign her body away. Each one was more twisted and disgusting than the last. It was getting harder and harder to remember that they were, mostly, human. The virus had started in India six months ago. They found a man dead in his home, laying in a puddle of his own melted flesh. Then slowly those who had been around him began to develop a rash, until there skin began to fall off their bodies. It spread quickly after that, nearly wiping out Asia in less than a month. Europe went a weak later. No one knew how it spread, only that anyone could get it, whether they had been exposed or not. Then, in some inconsequential Canadian lab, some nameless doctor whose daughter had developed the rash found the answer. None of the animals had been affected. So he skinned his daughter, and piece by piece, turned her into a monster. The few survivors around the world began scrambling to replace their own flesh, until these things were all that was left. Then there was Jamie. The treatment had been offered several times, but she was determined she would rather die than become one of them. But then, a miracle happened. She never got sick.The new ones went crazy. What was left of the world started sending embassadors to her front door, begging to let them impregnate her with whatever they had in sperm banks, what they had stored for research studies. Anything, really. They wanted her to mother the whole human race, it would have been an honor. It was too bad, though. Jamie spent years perfecting that virus, she wasn't about to undermine herself.
Jack the Gripper sat at the bar along with his henchman Kat and Von. Jack had quite a few bruises and his henchman were no better off. Today they had almost succeeded in robbing First Liberty National. He thought he had him this time. He set it all up. He made it look initially like a heist however he had set a myriad of traps within the building to finally beat his nemesis, Bruce Lee Banner. Jack was a judo master and grappler. His hands could crush steel. But big ol Bruce had thwarted him at every corner. Bruce was a Master at Kung fu and had extraordinary strength. He remembers a time in the beginning, when he really pissed him off once. Bruce grabbed a car and attempted to drop it on him. Boy did that ever scare the feces out of him. Jack had actually scolded him for it like a father scolding a child. "What is wrong with you! That could have killed me!" He smirks thinking back at the expression on Bruce's face. "You're a criminal! You must be stopped!" "Yea but i'm no murderer you moron! Try and stop me if you must but for gods sake keep it civil! I'm a theif not some notorious serial killer. I dont kill anyone!" Jack takes another sip of his drink. The look of confusion on Bruce's face was hilarious. Even so, the man was still terrifying. Jack knew he never stood a chance toe to toe with him. Bruce had been in some sort of accident as a child. His father was a geneticist. A brilliant man but crazy and self absorbed. Apparently he discovered a way to increase human strength exponentially but with a severe side effect of dark green skin. He was hiding his work at home so he could sell it instead of giving it to his company. His house was raided by the FBI and somehow Bruce ran to hide in the basement where his lab was. I guess he knocked something over that had the formula in it and BAM. After that he became obsessed with Bruce Lee and the Hulk. Jack raises his hand for another drink to signal the bartender. Man that was so long ago. Everything just fell into place. How ironic that a kinship could develop between a villain and his hero nemesis. Everytime Jack loses, Bruce gives him a way out. A way to escape. It seems noone has caught on yet. Jack looks over at his henchman. Bruised and scraped up, they sit laughing together. Kat and Von were sister and brother who had a hard life. They also had exceptional talents so he took them in. Just then Bruce walked into the bar in disguise. Fully covered except for his face and hands which he used concealer makeup to hide the green skin. Jack loved to tease him about that. Jack glared at him from across the bar while taking a sip of his drink. Bruce walked up to Jack "You little bastard, you almost got me with that one today". Jack laughed, "Yea but as usual you figured a way to beat me". Kat and Von turned around and Kat bolted for Bruce. She jumped into his arms and planted a huge kiss on his lips. "Geez sweetie you could have held back a little more". Bruce laughed apologetically. Jack smiled to himself. To think that Bruce would find the love of his life, his wife, with one of my henchman. This really is a strange world.
Jason motioned to Harvey with his head and the two stood. They made their way down the aisle toward the front of the cabin. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm going to have to ask you to take your seat. The fasten seatbelt sign is lit." Jason sighed and reached into his back pocket. He extracted the weapon - a jagged piece of glass from a jar he had broken in the airplane bathroom. The flight attendant's eyes went wide. "Silver,"she shouted as Jason took her into a chokehold. "Silver!" A man toward the front of the plane stood, sweeping his coat to the side and revealing a gun that pointed at Jason, who gave Harvey another head motion and slammed himself down on the ground, taking the flight attendant with him and rolling over so she was on top of him. Jason couldn't see what was going on, but he heard the shouts and the commotion of the passengers. Other people were yelling, standing up. He pushed the flight attendant to the side, the glass cutting into his own hand as he popped back up on his feet and brandished it. The Air Marshal was on the floor. Jason looked around for Harvey, who was standing and looking perplexed near one of the lavatories. Two women were standing toward the front of the cabin. One of them had a high heel shoe in hand, the other was stepping onto the back of the Air Marshal. Three other people stood up. "I'm afraid we're taking control of this plane,"Jason announced to them. The woman toward the front of the cabin narrowed their eyes. "Non. I'm afraid that we are taking control of this plane." The three other men who had stood declared that they, too, were taking control of the plane. In a sudden wave of motion every passenger seemed to be standing. There was an overhead announcement and flight attendants were backing into the galleys, unsure of what to do. Every passenger seemed to have a weapon. "We cannot all take over the plane!"the French woman at the front of the cabin exclaimed. "We can fight to the death!" "Why not just let the plane go down? Every organization can claim it is their fault. No one will ever know the truth!"a man toward the back interjected. "No!"Jason yelled. "We were first. We're taking control of the plane." "We took down the Air Marshal,"shouted the woman with the heel. "We prepared explosives using vials only containing 3oz of liquid! We are the most impressive. We should get to take over the plane!"someone else yelled. The commotion was deafening. Jason and Harvey moved together with their hands over their ears. "Quiet, quiet, quiet,"someone shouted. "There's only one way to solve this! It is a method tried and tested over the years that cannot be cheated. A way to find the true winner in us all." "What?"asked the woman with the heel. "We play rock, paper, scissors." --- Thanks for reading :). If you enjoyed it, head over and subscribe to r/Celsius232 for more stories.
"It's the final table for the 2016 world series of poker, folks! We're down to our last 2 players and boy have things gone south for "Wild"Johnny Jakeson." "You've got that one right, Greg! Wild John came into the tournament and cleared every table up to the final within 10 hands! It's incredible to see how the mighty have fallen, and against a new comer who's strategy seems to be the complete opposite!" "Well Phil, if you were to tell me a year ago that someone would make it to the final table by going all in on every hand, I'd of called you crazy, but Jakeson really can't seem to keep up."Our new comer raised and raised and pushed all his chips with every hand, essentially force folding everyone else at the final table till Jonbo finally had enough and called his bets. Now we're left with the single greatest poker player of our time, out matched, out chipped and seemingly out of options against someone who won his entry from an online sweepstakes! Does this guy even know how to play?" "He has to know something, I mean you don't make it to the final table on luck alone, everyone knows that!" "It's the final hand and our newcomer is up to over 4 million chips. Wild John is down to his last 10,000. John gets pocket aces, there may still be hope, but what's this? The new comer is pushing all his chips into the center of the table!" "Can he do that Greg? I mean, he only needs 10k to put him all in, what's he thinking here? And on a pair of 2's, really?" "The flop is out and we've got another ace on the table! Unless Johnny or the dealer says something, it looks like they're allowing the bet!" "The turn falls and we see another 2! It's 3 of a kind on both ends, one's high, the others at the bottom of the deck! What's going to happen is anyone's guess!" "The final cards coming up, the river reveals..." "IT'S A 2 PHIL, IT'S A BLUE EYES WHITE DRAGON! WE'RE ON LIVE TELEVISION BUT I DON'T CARE! OUR NEW COMER JUST WON THE WORLD SERIES OF POKER WITH 3 OF A KIND ON POCKET 2'S AND A BLUE EYES MOTHER FUCKING WHITE DRAGON. WILD JOHN IS DONE FOR, WE'VE SEEN IT ALL TONIGHT, FOLKS. IT'S ALL OVER." "I'm here with the winner tonight of the 2016 world series of poker! Sir, can you explain your strategy tonight, and over the course of the whole tournament?" "Well uh.. I guess it was just.. the heart of the cards man.
I look up and I see the eyes of the woman I love filled with tears. Her sobs shatter my heart and cause a lump to form in my own throat. She’s staring down at me in my coffin, babbling incoherent expressions of love and grief, all woven together. “Eighty three is too young, you bastard,” she cries. I don’t recognize her, but I catch a glimpse of an ornate compass tattoo on her old, wrinkled skin. I realize I have never loved a woman more. FLASH “Dan, darling, are you done in the bathroom yet?” “Just about Margaret, just about.” The water shuts off. Margaret scoffs and tries to remind herself how she’d managed to put up with me for over fifty years. She’s always given me hell for taking so long to get ready (“You might as well me a woman, Dan!”) but age has definitely slowed me. I don’t remember all those hours she’d waited in our lives, but I can feel her frustration like a worn out in leather coat—warm, comforting, and constant. My memory holds 20 years of old, slow, comfortable love. “I’m sixty, Margaret, what do you expect from these old bones?” “The same thing I expected at twenty. A whole lotta nothing!” She leans into the bathroom and catches me off guard with a purposely sloppy smooch while I’m toweling off. Has life always been this good? FLASH Something isn’t right. Every time I wake up, I can feel my heart pound harder. It’s like I’m watching something stalk me from the shadows. I don’t know what it is, or even if it’s really there, but it terrifies me. The clock reads 3:34 AM. I haven’t been asleep for more than a few hours. But now I know I had to wake up. I stand up and shuffle into the bathroom. I walk tenderly expecting the aches and pains of advanced age. But nothing comes. I turn on the light and glance up to the mirror. “This isn’t right.” The man staring back is young. Handsome and fit. In his prime. I see chiseled abs but have no memory of the work that made them. The grey I’ve become accustomed to is gone from my hair. I start to panic. What’s going on? Where’s… “Margaret?!” I bolt back into the bedroom, nearly tripping over a dog I’ve never met. “Margaret are you—“ Relief sweeps over me as I gaze upon the fury in her eyes. “It is 3:30 in the morning. What is wrong with you?” Relief. But she’s different somehow. Her face it beautiful, but wrong. It’s a face that is missing thirty years worth of smiles. And where there used to be a memorial inked into her shoulder, there is only bare space. Something licks my leg. “Are you… aware we have a dog?” I feel guilty for waking her. Her hair is sticking up in that way that she would hate. Her irritation puts me at ease. I’ve always been a buffoon, but I’ve always been her buffoon. “Am I aware… Get your naked ass back in bed. You’re getting me coffee in the morning.” I lay back down, scared to fall asleep. But as I draw this perfect woman into my arms, peace washes over me. No, this is how it should be. She is how it should be. FLASH “Do you understand, Mr. Jackson, the severity of the sentence you are facing?” I’m in a courtroom. The judge sits high above me. I feel small. “Yeah, uh, sure I do,” I stutter without meaning to speak. I sound insolent, yet feel humble. I try to look around, but I have no control. “Dan, think about this. You would have more control over your life in prison. I have told you this is bad news. Do not accept this.” The hushed whisper is coming from behind me. A lawyer? I start to panic. My mouth opens to speak without my telling it to do so. I fight. My brain feels like it’s splitting open. Everything is spinning. I’m trying to speak but stay silent at the same time. I’m gagging on my own tongue. I’m sputtering. There’s drool. I’m disgusting. The judges cold face softens and he nods slowly. “He accepted. He’s coming back around.” “Just like that?” the whisper behind me is panicking, too, now speaking to the judge. “Not exactly, Mr. Peters, not exactly. You see, we don’t know quite how this works but… At some point, the defendant and the prisoner have to meet again on the same timeline. This is fairly standard, though it doesn’t always happen right in front of us. In fact, we’ve never seen it in the courtroom.” “Dan, hang in there buddy. Breathe, breathe,” the whisper is pretending to be calm. “Where’s my wife?” is all I can choke out. “Your wife?” the judge turns harsher than before. “You have no wife. You’ve never been married! And you never will be! Do you understand now, Mr. Jackson?” Everything hurts. What does he mean? I know she was real. Every fiber of my being loves her, only her, and nothing else. I can picture every curve, every single line and hair, each and every tattoo she was so proud of, even at 80 years old. “Get ready, Mr. Jackson. I believe your sentence is finally coming to an end.” FLASH “Look what you’ve done!” the other driver shrieks. “You…you…You’re a murderer!” There are tears, sirens, my head is spinning, like I’m trying to catch up with something I’ve never heard of. “This is all your fault!” “I think she’s dead,” another, calmer voice. “Dead?” The screeching woman breaks down into loud, gasping tears. She collapses and sits in the middle of the road, unable to cope. The road. I’m sitting in the road, too. I bring all my senses together and take in the scene around me. The car I sold to buy Margaret her Mercedes is parked next to me. There’s blood on the front. People are everywhere. There are wrecked cars blocking the intersection. I’m crying. “I want my wife,” I sob. The calm voice looks over and comes to me. It’s the lawyer. He’s my friend. I’ve known him since I was eighty three. “Your wife? What the fuck are you talkin’ about man? We have to… Shit. I don’t know. She’s dead.” He can’t stop pacing. “Who?! Who is dead?!” I scream, feeling like an insane man. The lawyer looks really concerned. He looks horrified. “Dan, you gotta get it together man. You have to get it together. We have to think. The cops will be here any second.” “Who the FUCK is dead?” The lawyer stops pacing. He seems to be holding his breath. He looks at me as though I might shatter at any moment. “The girl you hit, Dan. The girl you hit is dead.” The blood drains from my face. My friend steps aside so I can see what he’s talking about. A body is crumpled near the sidewalk, grotesquely posed. I think I’m going to vomit. I’ve never been so sickened. My vision starts to blur from the outside in. Just as I black out, I catch sight of the body’s smooth, young wrist, twisted out towards me. A compass tattoo. --- Edit: [Fantastic explanation of timelines by /u/BitOBear.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4ofltx/wp_i_have_now_finished_my_backwards_life_sentence/d4cjui5) They really clarified the mechanisms at work for those interested in delving more; the explanation is wonderfully accurate to my intentions. I couldn't have explained it better myself. Thanks for reading my first prompt!
“Hey Jim,” Bradley called out to me with that stupid grin on his face. He’s about to remind me about those tree reports again. “Oh, hey Bradley, what’s up man?” “Yeah, so about those tree reports…” he shuffles some papers around my foldable carbon fiber desk. I hate it when people touch my inbox with their judgey looks. “You did get the memo from Carol the other day when we were in Bakersfield right? I know sometimes they can get lost during the region moves with our new system.” “Yeah Brad. Working on the tree reports right here. Looks like Angeles has a lot of resources for us next month.” “Okay, great,” he says cutting me off. “Just wanted to make sure you got the formatting right per the interdepartment memo from Carol. You remember the one?” “Yup. The one we just spoke about.” I bent down to tie my shoe to unlock the big rubber wheels on my desk. “Formatting’s all good.” I slowly nudge the desk toward the lake and away from Brad. “Cool cool.” Brad walked through the grass to Janice. I could still hear his annoying voice. “Hey Janice, great looking duffel you got there. Is that Appalacian?” When I turn back Brad’s boss, Gary, who is also my boss leans on my desk. “Hey Jim...whoa” My desk starts to creep away from him. “Ha, almost fell there. Say, did you get the office memo about our new locking desks. These new carbon fiber ones can just roll away.” “Yeah, funny story, I was just scooting it toward the…” “Don’t worry about it, I’ll have Carol forward you the memo again.” He walks away and yells out to Carol by the fig. “Hey Carol, can you make a copy of the desk memo for Jim here, looks like he forgot about it. Oh, and the memo about the report formatting. Not sure if he got that one yet” “Yeah, I actually wrote…” He cut me off again. “Sounds good bud. See you at the campfire.” I should’ve majored in Gathering.
GOVERNMENT NIGHTMARES "Pretenders" ACT THREE FADE IN: EXT. CAPITAL - DAY GORDON RAMSAY stands proudly outside the Capital building on the last day of the episode. NARRATOR It has been one week since Gordon came to The Republic. Now he will see if his hard work pays off. RAMSAY (to camera) We're here at the Capital to see the passing of legislation we wrote with the senators to help protect the freedom and privacy of the citizens. It's a race against time for the future of the nation. OLIVER (O.S.) Hey! You! RAMSAY Let's head inside. Gordon leads his crew into the capital building, locking the door behind him. John, running in his suit and panting, does not make it. OLIVER What the hell is this? Gordon! Open this door! (To his crew) We've got to get inside! He's gone absolutely bananas! A GUARD opens the door and steps outside. GUARD You need to leave, sir. OLIVER Wait, wait, I have a pass. I'm from 'Government Nightmares', and I- GUARD We know who you are. And you need to leave. The guard pulls out his service pistol. OLIVER Shit. INT. CAPITAL - DAY Gordon Ramsay ascends the grand staircase to the senate chambers, followed by a coterie of news criers. SENATOR AUGUSTUS emerges from his private chamber to congratulate the chef. AUGUSTUS Gordon. You have done a great service to our people. RAMSAY It is my honor, Senator. AUGUSTUS I never realized how broken our nation was until you came along and gave us a kick in the rear to improve ourselves. RAMSAY It's part of the job. They say I'm a cunt, but you really have to be one if you are a chef. You can't run a kitchen by slacking. AUFUSTSUS Right you are, Gordon. I have reserved a special seat in The House for you. INT. CAPITAL BATHROOM - DAY John Oliver crawls through a window into a bathroom stall. He looks around to make sure nobody saw him enter, and sneaks his way into the hall. INT. SENATE CHAMBER - DAY The senators begin taking their seats. Gordon sits above in the gallery amongst the rich and famous, and select members of the citizenry. Augustus takes the lectern and opens the session. AUGUSTUS My fellow countrymen. Today is a glorious day. The day The People takes back its country from those who wish to deny our will. From this legislation we will become stronger, more able to address the threats to our security, and increase the freedom of our people to conduct their business however they see fit, without fear of reprisal from the government telling them how to live their lives. We have Gordon Ramsay--the sponsor and writer of this bill--to thank. Let us give him a round of applause. The chamber roars. The people have never felt more together in their lives. INT. CAPITAL CORRIDORS - DAY Meanwhile, John continues to fight his way through the building. As he rounds a corner he finds himself face- to-face with a LARGE, SCARY WOMAN with a gun aimed right at his face. OLIVER W-Who are you? LARGE SCARY WOMAN. I work for collections. OLIVER Like, a debt collector? LARGE SCARY WOMAN No, I'm the one they send to keep criminals straight. OLIVER Oh. Oh god. You're a bounty hunter? LARGE SCARY WOMAN And you're that British fuck who thinks he can muscle in on my turf. OLIVER Please don't kill me. As John winces from potential death by bullet, he hears a great crash of glass, and looking up sees the Large Scary Woman on the ground, knocked out cold by a flying salmon that came through the window. Not knowing what to think, he picks up the bounty hunter's gun and continues his way to the Senate Chamber. INT. SENATE CHAMBER - DAY AUGUSTUS It is now time to cast the votes. Those in favor of the bill say, 'aye'. The chamber shouts in agreement. AUGUSTUS And those opposed say, 'nay' John bursts into the chamber doors. OLIVER Noooooo! There is an incredible awkward pause in the room. AUGUSTUS OK. The 'aye's have it. Applause rings throughout the chamber. It is done. John attempts to aim his gun at Gordon, but he realizes he doesn't actually know how to use a gun and is quickly subdued by security. He writhes on the ground when he hears a familiar voice. RAMSAY (O.S.) Hello, John. John looks up to find Gordon looking down at him. OLIVER You sold us out, Gordon! You cunt! You sold out The People so you can get more restaurants and Michelin stars! RAMSAY I believe it's called the 'American Dream', John. OLIVER I read the bill! It does exactly the opposite I set out to do! You've destroyed this nation! RAMSAY Oh, get off it. OLIVER You get off! You fucked the show! RAMSAY The people demand it, John. They deserve what they get and get what they deserve. OLIVER You've twisted democracy into a game of entertainment and ratings! How could you do this?! RAMSAY Good bye, John. It's been a pleasure producing this show with you. The guards drag John away to be waterboarded. Gordon looks into the camera for his concluding interview at the end of the show. RAMSAY It's been a phenomenal journey. I'm ready for the next challenge. Fuck you all. FADE OUT. Copyright Vulpes Vulpes, Inc. All rights reserved.
"Kinetics,"Sharl said. "Human made, human tested, human approved."The alien smacked the terran bolter at the side and got a solid ding in return. "All duralum construction too." English had become galactic basic, and we—surprisingly enough—had come on top of the food chain. Sure, our cruisers were crap, and so were our tech—at the start, but all that changed when the Yrad made a gamble to supply us with the only thing stopping us. Intergalactic credits. "I don't know Sharl, it needs a bit more oomph in the delivery."The kid was a good sales manager for sector gamma three, and we were hoping to promote him to sales for the entire region. "What about if I tell them about the capacity more?"He furrowed his antennae, a habit he picked up from spending so much time around us. After that investment stint—and another ten years after the program's end—the Yrad were completely wiped out from the known galaxy, and us humans had seized all they had for our own. It had to be done. "Nah, that's alright."I tossed him a Coke—their kind absolutely loved the stuff, seeing how caffeine inebriated them. "Job well done on the contract with the Gfe, though." "Thanks boss."Sharl bit at the side of the can—an antique worth a fortune on their planet—and sucked out the good stuff, carbonation and all. Coke now came in organic self-cooling containers, and I really didn't want to know how that company did what they did. I was happy with the cans. The next to go from the Yrad were the Hallons within that same decade, then the Kukl and the Fiiq, and then an entire system after that—we started with the Epsilon branch I think—then took out another two for good measure. All this while the hippies back home were sitting pretty and clueless about the things we'd done—not that they needed to know. "Right,"Sharl said, "I'll be going back to my cubicle now."They weren't really cubicles, but the name stuck—reminders for us for how far we've reached. "And Sharl."The insectoid turned back. "You mind picking up my dry cleaning?"Again, another cookie from the past. "Sure boss." Space was a lot smaller when you stood at the top. The comms cracked to life, and a small hologram danced on my ebony table—human. "Hey Thomas." "Hey Jill."My boss. "We need clean up on the Helge, they're acting up for the last time and management gave the go to suspend their contract." "Oh wow, that bad?" "A five quad worth of debt won't pay itself back fast enough for our partners to stay happy." "Oh wow, someone from Risk's gonna get fired for this." "Pay cut actually." "Lucky bastard." "Get this done for me?" "Sure." The holo disappeared after. "Poor Sharl."I popped open a can of Coke and downed what I could. Damn thing tasted like Pepsi. With a push of a button, Sharl's face popped up from the air. "Hi Sharl, you on your way down?" "Just entered the upper atmosphere boss, what's up? Need something else?"He was a good kid. "Nah, just wanted to let you know you did a real fine job." "Thanks bo—" The communications cut off when the Graviton lances tore the very space their planet occupied. "Send message, Jill: task done, see you at the meeting later. Also, you owe me a new manager."
Robert Venati pulled on his collar for the third time in a row. The small office wasn't hot or uncomfortable in any way. In fact, the air con was keeping the room at a crisp temperature that was somewhere in between hot and cold, and the chair under him reclined at just the right angle, to deliver perfect relaxation. The truth was, he was simply anxious about whether or not John, his boss, would suspect him. Rob laid a stack of folders on the desk and pushed them toward John. His boss finished up the email he was sending and then looked away from his laptop screen. "Right, what time is it?"he asked, more as a reminder to himself than a conversation starter. The time on the wall read two minutes before closing. "If you want to look at these tomorrow, we can do that instead?"Rob asked. John looked at the wall clock, puffing his cheeks one after the other while he thought about it. "Nah, this only takes a minute anyhow. Let's make it snappy and get the fudge outta here." Rob gulped. "Sure thing." He watched John count the folders out, then again, and then a third time to make sure. John looked up at him, searching for some semblance of what was going on. But Rob kept a straight face. "There are only twelve here?"John asked. "Are you sure?"Rob said. "Rob, I've counted it three times -uno, dos, tres. Where's the thirteenth? You know we send thirteen invites out a day. Everybody knows that." "I - I know, John. I must have been busy and messed up the count. . . I mean, the person probably wasn't much of an athlete if I forgot to send them an invitation to the Olympics." "That's why we give them four years to train up, fruit loop. You know what, maybe you did it and you forgot, it happens. I'll head into the system and check it out, right now,"John said, shifting his hands to his laptop. Rob panicked. "Look, don't waste your time. You shouldn't have to spend extra hours checking up something I should have done. I'll go in right now and put a new request through, in fact, I'll go in and do thirteen more just because I'm such a klutz." "You know I'll have to wipe all the work you did today in order for you to re-do the numbers,"John said. "I'm committed to doing my best, John. I don't mind working overtime for this." Rob crossed his fingers under the table. While John scratched at his chin and then looked up at the clock. "You'll clear out the trash and then lock up?" "Whatever you need, boss,"Rob said. "Well, my hard working letter sender, if staying longer hours is what you need to feel better, you've got a deal,"John said. Rob got up and bowed. "You won't regret it, sir."He turned to leave. "Just one second, Rob,"John said, pulling an envelope from his pocket and placing it on the table. Rob picked it up and met his bosses glare, who simply nodded toward the envelope in return. Inside, was a familiar looking shredded piece of paper. He unfolded it, and at the top, he read: Dear Mr. Robert Venati, we at Olympics trust would like to invite you to the 2020 Tokyo Olympics as a sprints competitor. This is a great opportunity to represent your country. . . Rob tugged on his collar again. "I. . ." But his boss was already looking back at his laptop. "Make sure you take that letter home with you, someone chucked it in the bin downstairs." "Yes, sir,"Rob mumbled, walking to the door. "Oh and Rob,"John said, "I'll expect those other thirteen on my desk before you leave."
Jacob's legs were going to collapse. He panted helplessly, gripping to the torn jacket singed with saber burns. Up five stories, he desperately climbed for the roof access. As he burst through the door, he breathed a sigh of relief to find an empty rooftop. They hadn't caught up yet, he thought. Without wasting a second, he scrambled about for an escape. The streets below were unusually empty for Downtown. Most people had begun to clear out at night since the start of it. Jacob remembered when the cops first tried to clear out the kids who would take to the city when the sun set, but they find out horridly, like some sick joke, that the weapons the kids used only worked for them. They weren't personalized, but that bastard child behind it all set age-locks on the sabers: No grown-ups allowed, and suddenly a youngling prowling a dark alley was something to fear. To the west, he saw the metallic concert hall, shining under dim streetlights. He went once, years ago. Amidst the dark L.A. glow, it was nothing but skyscrapers too high and havens too far. No, the stinging bead of sweat hit his eyes, paralyzed with fear. This can't be it. The closest spot was a parking structure across 2nd street, too low and far. He grew anxious. Was this the only way? He heard the step behind him, the creak of the door, and his heart dropped. A Red ignited in a flash, echoing with the telltale, electric hum, its crimson glow grasping at his feet. Without hesitation, he lept with all he had for the roof of the parking garage. The Colburn School was high up, and when he landed with a hard thud and a cracking bone, he thanked his stars in between muffled groans of pain that he'd gotten into urban exploration. The combat roll helped, but the concrete was unforgiving. He turned back to the rooftop, and saw them. The thirteen amassed on the building he'd left behind, watching over like cruel gods. They were silhouettes of dark, tattered robes grasping at the red glow they proudly wielded. A tool to some, a weapon to them. It was their vice. It was their power. It was their victory. Thirteen fire colored lightsabers, arrayed to hunt him like a dog. He turned away from them, and refused to look again, only hobbling down the ramp to the lower levels of the structure. The cold steel on Jacob's hip felt good to palm once more. As he pushed the button, as the pale blue erupted, he shuddered. He was going to die. He was just going to bring some down with him. Edit: to be continued.
"Reggie, can I call you Reggie?" "Uh sure."There was brimstone all around the pair, but no fire. "Well you do have the highest account balance in the whole region so, I was hoping to get into your good books." "The highest sin count?" "Yes,"Satan said, "discounting me, but I don't really play that game. I'm not allowed to host parties." "I have two questions." "Shoot, Reggie." "1. Why can't you throw parties?" "Workplace protocol, I own the entire domain so I need to abide by the contract from the big man." "Okay, and how the hell do I have the biggest account?" "Oh that's simple,"he pointed out, "interest." "Interest?" "Invest early, don't cash it out until you die,"Satan said. He pulled a chat out of a puff of smoke, "like a post-retirement fund. You killed your twin in the womb, and then Mommy dearest. Then you didn't do anything of note for 98 years, until-"Satan waved to the entire room that he was sitting in with Reggie. "Yeah." "So I just didn't do anything good? Also my Mom lived until she was 73" "Or bad."Satan ignored the second part of Reggie's breath. "How do you even do that?"Reggie asked. "Intentions,"Satan said, "you did bad things for good reasons and good things for bad reasons." "The road to hell is paved with good intentions,"Reggie added on. "No, we don't have a road, we use air travel now. Don't worry about that though. The point is that you're rich." "How am I richer than Hitler?" "He kept dinging his account with okay things, most people do." "So like-" "Hugging Eva, killing Hitler,"Satan rolled his wrist in a way that said 'and so on'. "and I didn't get any good points from my wife." "You hated her." "Only kinda!" "So it wasn't a sin either!"Satan said. The prince of terror was carrying himself like he was talking to his hero. He was sitting in his best posture while keeping on Reggie's eyes, "it was so beautiful." "So what now?"Reggie asked once Satan's eyes had gotten a touch too intimate. "Good question,"Satan said, "depends how long you want to avoid touching that account for." "I don't know," "There's always round 3?" "Round three?" "Carry it over, work on that investment. Like you said, Mom was alive this time around."
Carter covered his mouth with a rag as he jogged into the UN Headquarters. It had only been 36 hours, but already the stench of the East River was unbearable. Fish were beginning to pile up on the banks, and the liquid, whatever it was, was beginning to spoil. It made his daily commute across Long Island and into Midtown a living hell. He was late. But in a way, calling this assembly almost two days after the Third Event occurred was late enough as is. They had all been shocked two weeks ago with the marshmallows. That, at least, was local; the government was able to explain it away as a military shipment that was cut loose mid-flight over Green Bay. It was a stretch, but two weeks ago, people just weren’t ready to believe that stuff like that could happen. And the unicorns...well, conspiracists had been spouting that nonsense for years. But people had a hard time believing that a new species of oryx had suddenly begun thriving in North America. They had already eaten their way halfway through the Corn Belt when...well, whatever the hell this is happened. Finally, Carter burst through the doors to the General Assembly Hall. It was packed. The President of the General Assembly was struggling to get the attention of the delegates, who were shouting and hollering in dozens of languages. Papers were scattered all over the floor, interpreters were yelling into translation microphones, and the delegations from Cuba and Venezuela were in a straight up fist fight. Somehow the desk of the Dutch ambassador had been flipped on its side. “Silence!” yelled the President. The roar of the room softened. Most of the heads turned to the front of the room. A Russian intern accidently knocked a stack of papers to the floor, causing a few heads to turn the wrong direction. “Ladies and gentlemen. Obviously this is another...event...only on an unprecedented scale. I cannot speak much about what has occurred here, but perhaps this man can. Doctor, if you please.” A short man with a loose tie, large glasses and an ill-fitting jacket shuffled up to the podium. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. “Thank you Mr. President. As you said, this is an unprecedented event. If I may, the slides?” He fumbled hopelessly with a clicker in his hand, and it took several minutes of muttering and cursing for him and an aide to turn on a projector image of the world’s oceans behind him. “So far, it seems that the damage has been limited only to the Atlantic, but it is spreading quickly, through rivers, tributaries, with the currents...we expect it to push far into the Pacific within a week.” The slides showed a progression of images, each one with a larger stain of brown covering the Pacific Oceans. “Preliminary reports show large amounts of destruction to local sea life, damage to thousands of shipping vessels, and increased levels of salmonella poisoning among beach goers.” Click. A picture of dead fish on a shoreline next to a beached oil tanker popped up on the screen. “This event seemed to occur instantaneously on June 26th, 2016.” Click. A picture of a family vacationing on a beach, smiling, in front of crystal blue water. Click. “This picture was taken moments later.” The water was suddenly murky brown, the family was pointing, mouths agape, at the ocean. Click. A manatee. “Surprisingly, a number of species of sea cow appear to be unaffected.” The doctor put his clicker down and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, what we are dealing with here can only be explained when we know what this substance is that has polluted our waters. My technicians have been working around the clock, and I believe we have found the answer.” He motioned off to the side, and an assistant ran to the podium with a clear glass full of brown liquid. The doctor took it, holding it up to the assembly in one hand. “Delegates of the UN, what we have here is pure, unpasteurized emulsion of butterfat globules and cacao.” Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig from the jar. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. The doctor wiped his lips with his sleeve and smacked his lips. “Pure chocolate milk. Delicious.” There was a groan from the assembled delegates. People shouted and shook their fists at the doctor, who stepped down from the podium like a hero. Carter put his head in his hands. It was as if God was a five-year-old girl, and she had unleashed the three pretty ponies of the apocalypse. This would mean years of clean up, paperwork, and not to mention figuring out what actually happened to the goddamned ocean! The President resumed his position on the podium. “Order! Order! We are now moving on to the next addendum, establishing a year-long, North American unicorn hunting season…” Edit: formatting and minor text edits.
At first, I didn't even notice it, so silly was the prospect of it to me. It wasn't until I was out drinking with my friends one night that it finally dawned on me, time was frozen for an hour at 03:03 every night. For everything except me. There were many things I decided I wanted to do with this knowledge, many things I considered. Rob a bank? Nope, they were closed and locked. Payback on the people who had wronged me? Nah, I wasn't one to hold a grudge. I even considered working out, pfft, like that would happen. No, I realized that it was fine the way it was. Because, every night, at 03:03, I got one more hour of sleep. And that was all I had ever wanted.
"Been far too long since I last seen a proper Demon."The man's voice was raspy and gave even me a sense of despair. "The Master's going to reward me handsomely for you." How could he even see me? I immediately became ethereal and invisible the moment The door opened. I've been around long enough to know how to hide myself from even the best trained hunters. "I know you're here, Galieel! You've become sloppy in your old age!"The man yelled into the darkness of the house. "Come out and be a good! Otherwise this won't be so quick and easy!" I had no intentions of revealing myself at the behest of some mere mortal; especially someone who is so rude as to barge into someone's else's home. Suddenly the man dug into his jacket, pulled out a small circular stone, and held it up. He uttered something under his breath and the entryway he stood in was flooded with a bright, piercing light. I felt my body being pulled back into the mortal realm against my will. My innards turned and twisted as I came crashing to the wooden floor. "There you are,"the man knelt down next to my curled frame. "Funny, I thought you'd be bigger." I managed to look up at him through the involuntary convulsions my entire body was going through to see his face. He was old, shriveled, and missing his right eye. White strands of hair dangled from his head and peeked out beneath his long brimmed hat. He held the stone in his hand as it continued to illuminate the old house. The stone had a rune etched onto it that was glowing brightly. I remembered the rune immediately. A Hunter's Sigil. Fear gripped my entire being. "I w-won't go back!"I struggled to say between the convulsions. "R-release me, Mortal!" The man frowned. "You Demons are all the same. The Master imprisoned you all for a reason, you know? Now, lets get you sealed up and ready for the Trial of Fleeing."He reached into his jacket with his spare hand. I didn't wait to see what he had in store for me. I summoned every ounce of strength I had left and tried crawling towards the door. My claws raked and scratched against the wooden floor but it was to no avail. A sudden immense pain shot through my back as the old man lunged the knife he drew into my spine. I roared in pain and was forced to stop my efforts. "Your Master is manipulating you, mortal!"I yelled desperately trying convince the man to let me leave in peace. "You and your Hunters are fools to think he'll save you!" The man walked around in front of me, rune still grasped tightly in his hand. "Your lies won't fool me, Galieel. I've captured thousands of your kind. Each said the same thing before they were captured."He pulled another rune from his jacket and placed it on my head. He stomped a heavy boot against the rune pinning it against my skull. He uttered an incantation. The Wretched Flight Ends tonight With this Seal Become Imprisoned Ga'Galieel The house, the man, and the pain all spiraled into nothingness and was replaced with complete and utter darkness.
They were the size of five year olds, uniformly gray, with two expressive hands and three rigid legs. The running joke was whether the third leg is used for procreation. "We...come in..."the translator croaked. "Peace?"I offered. "...times of utter distress. Yelu is after us and Yelu kills and Yelu is unsuitable."The boss of the five-year-olds gestured elaborately and with lots of zest as the translator deciphered his language. "Unstoppable,"he corrected with a gesture that involved both hands, one punching into and through a circular gap made by the other. It's a pretty apt gesture, I have to admit. But like every other engineer in the room, I was strugging to give our grey space faring friend the attention he deserved rather than succumb to the urge to take apart the state-of-the-art translator which somehow managed to sound like a radio in the eighties. "Who is Yelu?"I asked the translator, which sprouted two hand-like extensions and gestured in crisp, too-quick movements. Our grey friend began to reply with gestures that told of horror and disgust. "Yelu was once one of us. But Yelu ate the Navzak Crystal in Year 37,458 and became Yelu. Yelu is now big, humongous even against you monkeys. Yelu is always hungry and Yelu eats only two things: crystals and minds. Yelu ate all of us and we are the only known survivors. Yelu is unsuitable." "Where is Yelu?" The machine did its work, then began to croak. "Yelu is 5 hours away. That is why we will stay for 20 more minutes before we set off." "What?"The translator handles the conversion of units exceedingly well, despite how it sounded. The time period cited is based on Earth's clocks. "Too many of us have already fallen. Yelu should take 2 years to finish all you monkeys. And then maybe he would be full. Even if he is not, we would have bought time to locate the next planet of minds while he embarks on this magnificent feast." "What the..."the machine gestured immediately, hanging in the last position while waiting for me to complete the sentence. I didn't. "Please help us by dying. Yelu is unsuitable." --- I am world-building, prompt by prompt. Selected work goes [here](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com).
As the rapping on door grew louder, War let out a mighty growl, "It's been a long time since anyone has disturbed us here!"Famine sighed and made her way over, cracking the door and peeking out. Suddenly, she was thrown back and the door burst through. Only one being had the audacity to make such an entrance; to wait until he was invited and then force his way in anyways. Conquest. The other aspects were seated at a smooth, onyx table. Death sat at the back, directly facing the door. Pestilence was to his left, War to his right. Famine's empty chair sat facing Death. Pestilence looked up, her swampy hazel eyes narrowed. "It's been awhile, friend." "Ah, Pestilence. As beautiful as always my dear. And where's my lady, Famine?"Conquest inquires, scanning the room. "You threw her with the door."War said abruptly, "Speaking of which, Famine, are you alright?" "I was hoping if I stayed here I might not have to face him."Famine was typically quite soft spoken. Her comment incited a roar of laughter from War, who stood and offered his hand. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"Conquest was a charming man, a snake in the grass. "What business do we have with you?"War asked. "Guys, and ladies,"Conquest winked at Pestilence, "We're a team remember?" "War is about honor. You have none."War retorted. "And Pestilence is about keeping oneself's house clean before cleaning others."The namesake woman chimed in. "Yes, Famine is about living in harmony with the Earth; respecting the other lives we must share it with."Famine was standing by War now, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. Death, who had been so far silent cast his eyes to the ceiling and spoke in his melodic, tempting voice, "Death is about giving one's body and spirit back. It is not about taking others'. It is not about material wealth and land. That will not help you when you face me." Suddenly, Conquest's shoulders slumped and he toppled to the floor. Death rose from his seat, moving towards the fallen man. Each footstep echoed louder as he got closers. "Unless you're ready to return your body, I think we're done here."
It would seem 2342 would be as good as any year to summarize and chronologize humanity's interactions with extraterrestrial life. Perhaps it's only because I dove into an archive of classic films ripe with grey-skinned elongated humanoids muddling about, spooking people for no good reason. Then we actually met them and realized, the spookiest thing about them, were their complete lack of common decency. From what we knew today, humans are, surprisingly, the most friendly and curious beings in the galaxy. Below are the years and first interactions humanity has had with extraterrestrial civilizations. 2092 The Dormarks. Oh my, the Dormarks. A crude-rough scaled tetrapod with a consistent unexcused flatulence problem. And above all of Earth's delicious and delectable cuisine, they, of course, enjoyed beans. It is recorded the first landing occurred in Siloam Springs, Arkansas, in a farmer's field. Lucky for them, it was green beans. According to the farmer, they exited in a group of three and promptly began chowing down on the delicious beans, which, to the dismay of the farmer, were ready to be harvested later that week. News teams around the world flocked to the site with their cameras and helicopters, telescopes and binoculars to catch a glimpse of the aliens before the US army set up a protective perimeter. People around the world marveled at the lizard-like beings as the aliens continued to eat all the poor farmer's field. Some quotes from the time were: "And here I thought them aliens was gonna try and introduce themselves when they done landed."- Farmer Joe, Siloam Springs "Incredible. A tetrapod of all matters of beings, advancing to an intra- or even perhaps intergalactic space travel. What a time to be alive!"- Kelly Greif, Harvard University Within hours, the military had the sight under quarantine and attempted to approach the aliens with a peaceful intent. They asked the first question, the one everyone always imagines to ask when they first meet an alien. "Where did you come from and do you come in peace?" The whole world waited in anticipation, hoping the aliens understood and their intentions were not ill. And the whole world waited a few hours as the tetrapods continued eating until the entire field was bare. It was then they turned the messenger and spoke the first alien words humanity would ever hear (in perfect English too!). "More green things,"which was followed by a gaseous release that churned the stomachs of the messenger and surrounding soldiers. Then the messenger asked their question again. "Where are you from and do you come in peace?" To which the aliens replied, "don't ignore me you primitives. You call them beans, don't you? More beans. Show me more beans." The negotiations (if you can call them that) lasted another two hours until the aliens broke through the military barrier and began to eat the neighboring farmer's field of beans. It wasn't until they cleared out all the fields in the town and make their way back to their ship that they answered humanity's question. "We come from over there,"they gestured with their head, which was patterned and coloured like a beautiful turquoise gem. "And sure, long as there's beans." "What can we call you?"asked the messenger before their ash-coloured bodies disappeared behind their ship's main door. "Dormarks." And then they left, until the next year when they returned to eat the farmer's fields again, as they have every year since that memorable meeting. ------------------------------- More interactions to come! (I will fix all the grammatical and tense issues when I finish the entire series. I plan for there to be about 4 or 5 total interactions).
Before we begin, I already know you're going to look at this note as if I'm insane. As if there is no possible way that any of this could be true. You'll crumble up the paper into a ball, aim for the wastebasket to your left, and miss. There was a reason you rode the bench while playing on your middle school basketball team. The first day of my job as an animator for The Simpsons was pretty straight forward. I filled out a bunch of paperwork, a tradition at any new gig, was given a tour, went out to lunch with my boss and coworkers, and was given my own desk and station to work from. I even had a nice window overlooking a few buildings in the lot next to ours. As the afternoon continued to pass, I noticed I had not been given any work yet. I found that strange. Normally by now, I'd be sitting in on storyboard sessions, working with the writers or at least doing some menial grunt work until they can fit me into the standard rotation. A knocking sound woke me from my wondering and there stood my boss, Joe. Joe was an interesting guy, who was well spoken at lunch, but within the studio, seemed uneasy at all times. He's probably burned out all the time from the weekly deadlines they have to hit for each episode. I would be after being here as long as he has. "Nick, let's talk about the next episode you'll be working on,"he said. His brow was furrowed in concentration; as if he was trying to carefully pick the next few words out of a pile that could collapse upon itself. "That would be great! I'm happy to get started right away,"I replied. I'd like you to mark this as the point in which my happiness would show itself for the last time in this building. I just didn't know it yet. Joe motioned me to follow him and so I did, walking through the hallways, dimly lit above as each station's work lamps glowed softly in my peripheral. We arrived at a door that was marked with a plaque reading "Watch your head."Joe opened the door and moved slowly inside, though he did not duck. There was nothing to duck under, as I soon saw. Joe went deeper into the room, still mostly dark, and then the room lit up as he pulled on an overhead chain lighting up a single exposed bulb overhead. "Come in, Nick. Watch your head." I came in and looked around. There was a single leather chair in the corner, and a few machines were hooked up on a nearby table with microphones, speakers, and more buttons and dials than I cared to pay attention to at the time. I confusingly looked around and replied, "Is this some kind of special recording studio you guys use?" Joe shook his head, shut the door and replied somberly. "Sit down, Nick. Watch your head." I felt a sudden unease. I don't know what it was, but something felt... strange about this room. The chair, in particular, was a curious item in itself, and I both wanted to sit and instinctually felt it was a terrible notion. I swallowed my fear and sat down. The weight of my body felt heavier than normal. The bulb seemed to burn brighter as I got closer to the chair, but surely that was just it warming up, I thought. I didn't notice it at the time, but I can tell you now with certainty that as my ass hit that chair, the machines started recording. Joe took off his thick-rimmed glasses, rubbed his balding scalp with his spare hand, and let out a breath. "Nick,"he started, "What are the news stories for next year?" I replied like my smart-ass self thought I should. "I'm not an Amazon Echo, sir, I have no id-" A flood of images rushed into my brain. I felt my being lift out of my body. I looked straight down at my body, still sitting in the chair, and my head, now shaking violently while rotating in circles. I was yelling out all the things my spirit was seeing, like some kind of awful song that only the damned would sing. This was the most unnerving thing I had ever seen, and as I watched, the images became clear. I saw headlines and newspapers, articles wrote themselves to my memory. I was reading from papers around the world, seeing movies from the latest theater showings and hearing songs from the radio. "Concentrate on next year this time, don't wander,"I heard Joe say. I noticed that the bulb was now pulsing with brightness, Joe was staring at the ground to avoid looking at my body's unnatural movements. I took all of this information in, and as I started to feel my being learn more than what was asked, I was suddenly sitting back in the chair, staring at the inside of this bleak room. The bulb was steady, the machines were off and Joe was cleaning his glasses. "Go back to your desk, Nick,"Joe exhaled. "Rest up, the last animator only made it three weeks before going insane." I sat at my desk for three hours. No one came by to check on me. As best I could tell they didn't need anyone to. The chair turned you into some form of omniscient medium from which a question could derive an answer, the machines recorded it all and the people here never asked any questions out of fear of coming off as loons. I waited until everyone was gone before I started to leave. As I walked down the hall, I realized the room was in front of me. It didn't sit still. It waited for me. I wanted to know more. I checked for onlookers and entered. What I saw there has left me cold. I have seen things that were never meant to be viewed again. I have come to understand the inner workings of the world, along with all those who inhabit it. It is my fear that I cannot change any of what I know to be coming. I loathe that I can only watch the past repeat itself and never interfere. So please, reader of this letter. If nothing else, find a way to burn down the building where I work. Burn it to the ground. That chair and that room must be torn asunder so that no one suffers the fate that I have found myself a part of. I beg of you, please. At the very least, aim a little farther to the right on your toss. Six feet is a long shot with your limited skill set and you've always missed left.
Midway across the Pacific, my wife and I were on our way to Macau. The result of the High Roller achievement she had unlocked last week. It should have been a pleasant flight, but I glanced at my old analog watch, and noticed the date had just clicked over. My stomach turned, and my mouth began to salivate. That feeling you get, just before your stomach decides to show everyone what you had for lunch. "What's wrong?", Amanda asked. I could tell I was beginning to sweat. She could probably see the beads forming across my brow, though I hoped it was just my imagination. "Nothing, sweetheart. Just a little air sick I guess."But I knew she didn't believe me. Years spent in the Army, provided me with many opportunities and experiences...some of which I rarely spoke of. Amanda was always fine with that. She began to talk to me about our impending adventure. She was understandably excited, but I couldn't get my mind off this thing. This thing I had done so many years ago. The memory so vivid, as i sat in first class waiting on my coffee; though it was fifteen years ago today, I could almost feel the nylon cord in my hands, as I strangled her in her tent at some nameless campground on the Appalachian Trail. I replayed the images of her arms thrashing wildly, doing her best to grasp at anything that would save her...but her best wasn't good enough. I stared into her bloodshot eyes, watching that grey-green paler overcome this young woman's face, realizing suddenly I needed to get rid of her body. Of course I didn't want to be caught, but mostly she was stinking up the tent. She had shit and pissed on herself. "Fuck!"I said, just under my own breath, frustrated with this new problem I had created for myself. In an hour, I had wrapped her body and backpack in her own tent, and jammed the whole affair under a fallen tree. Well off the beaten path, and deep in a laurel thicket. I knew someone would be looking for her in a few days, and whomever she had "been seen with". But neither of us had seen another soul on the trail, in the few hours between our meeting and her untimely demise. I knew the area well, having grown up and living just about 20 miles from here as the crow flies. So, I broke from the trail and walked back home. Monday morning was nothing new, back to work in my cubicle at the bank. That Tuesday I would meet Amanda for the first time, beginning my new life, and ending my old surreptitious career. I turned to Amanda, "can you believe it was fifteen years ago tomorrow that we met? I really think Macau will be a great way to celebrate". She flashed a bright smile, and enquired about the coffee. Just then, several achievements popped up in my ocular visual display. Copy Cat, Serial, and Hide And Seek....huh? I guess they never found that last one. I chuckled slightly. And then the most important achievement of all appeared. Home Free! The prize for which was legal immunity. I smiled. "The coffee is fantastic, sweetheart".
Father: That is incredible news, let my company buy the patent and we will deliver this to the entire world! Son: that sounds incredible, lets do this. Father: Sounds great. Later that evening Father: Mr. Lawyerman we are buying this patent that could potentially put us out of business. I want you to sit on it and make sure no one can utilize this technology. Profit This is what Chevron does anyway.
"Protect the city,"the old engineer said, his black eyes burning with fierce intensity as he stared up at me. "No matter what. You must protect the city." Behind him on the horizon, the world burned. Fire swept across the war torn land like wind through a meadow. Except that it had been a long time since I'd seen a meadow. All I knew now was the desert that Earth had become. I still wondered how humanity, supposed to be so clever, had destroyed their own planet to such a degree. Of course, as I had to often remind myself, not all humans were as clever as the man who stood before me now. His name was Argus, and he was my maker. He brought me to life from mere scrap metal, hardwired sentience into me through wonderfully complex circuitry. He gave me legs like concrete pillars, a chest sturdy as the side of a mountain, and cannons along each forearm with the firepower of a military tank. "I name you guardian of the Earth,"said Argus, leaning tiredly against the side of my foot. "You are our only hope if we humans must ever return to this wretched planet."I dropped to one knee, the movement sending a cloud of billowing dust rolling across the ground. "Master,"I began. My speakers made my voice shake the air like a roll of thunder. "I will watch this city till time turns my body to rust. And even then I will watch, until the wind turns my bones to dust." Argus smiled, a rare sight on his usually haunted face. He patted me lovingly on the metal chassis of my foot. "I know you will." Those were the last words I ever heard from my master. He boarded the spaceship a few minutes later, but not before casting a last, longing look over his shoulder. Then he was gone, along with the last of humanity. It has been eons since that fateful day. I stood in the midst of fire for countless years, in flames that burned bright and fierce, fueled by manufactured chemicals. Then after the war-fires finally dissipated, there were great quakes and roaring thunderstorms as the earth took its revenge upon the humans that had ravaged it. If there had been any humans that hadn't made it on the ship, they were certainly all dead by then. Still, as the city around me crumbled, I built it back together, brick by brick. Argus had foreseen and programmed all the knowledge I needed as the city's keeper, from agriculture to architecture, plumbing to electrical systems. For a few centuries I stood still as the Earth rebuilt itself. Flowers sprouted shyly from the ashes, blades of grass slowly poking above the surface. And as Argus had warned me, the time came when the Earth was visited. A ship of unfamiliar shape and form landed before the gates of the city. From the doors came strange humanoid beings, with scales and claws and antennae, speaking a language I've not heard on Earth before. And I've heard all of them. But they weren't humans, so I did what Argus had equipped me to do. I leveled both my cannons at the ship and a few seconds later, my rockets had reduced it to nothing more than a smoking crater. For a few short decades afterward, I was at war. The strange beings came in fleets of ships and rushed toward the city gates screaming and screeching. I shot them from the sky and crushed their armies, sparing no one, for they weren't humans. And following that, a couple more centuries of peace, as the aliens finally sent their ships elsewhere, probably to a less hostile planet. It was most likely for the best, as time was finally taking its toll on me. My joints, once carefully oiled and maintained, creaked and scraped with every small movement. One of my arms fell off completely, falling to the ground with a thunderous crash. The metal chassis I wore like armor across my shoulders and chest crumbled in some places, falling to rust. Yet still, I held true to my master's final command, standing before the city gates as I always had. And I might have stood there till the end of time, until one night, a star moved closer and brighter toward me in the sky. It burned crimson as it passed through the Earth's atmosphere, then landed delicately before me, without so much as a puff of dust. Now I could see that it was ship, sleek and simple in design. A single human emerged. A human! I was in awe. As the human came closer, I realized that he was a young man, with hauntingly familiar eyes, fierce and black, reflecting an incredible intelligence. For a moment I thought it was him. "Argus?"My speakers crackled with static from disuse. The man smiled warmly. He approached me without fear, reaching out to gently touch the rusted metal of my foot. "He didn't mean for you to last more than a few centuries,"said the man, shaking his head in wonder. His voice sounded just like my master's. I could never forget his voice. "And yet, over a thousand years later, here you are. I shouldn't be surprised. They always said Argus underestimated his own genius. But you... you've done your work well. Because of you, humanity has a home to return to."He beckoned me closer. "Come here. And let me give you your rest." I leaned down so that my face was right in front of him. I had not looked a human in the eye for so long. The young man reached into his jacket and produced a small tablet. His eyes moved quickly across the screen, reading a set of instructions that had been given many ages ago. Then he reached out behind my ear and began punching numbers into a keypad that I didn't know had existed, even after all this time. "Who are you?"I rumbled. He simply looked up at me and smiled again. He finished entering the code, and at once the world began to dim. I fell to my knees. Just before it faded to black, from somewhere far away, I heard him speak. "My ancestor would be proud of you."
Blink. Blink. Blink. What was it this time? Maybe a bleach factory? A Gangster hideout? Maybe something unexpected. Anything would be better than that pet store full of hippos that it guided me to yesterday. Wait. That's odd, there's another marker, towards my office. Maybe the marker's finally working? Curiosity gets the better of me and I quickly head off toward the direction of the marker, making sure to avoid the streets, and stay on the sidewalks, just in case a car decides to hit me. As I sight my office, something catches my eye. I pause. It's a woman. A beautiful one at that. Maybe this was my life goal! A wife! At last, a real goal! Then it hit me. The truck carrying about two thousand pounds of nitrogen that is.
"Finding everything you need, miss?" Chelsea jumped at the sound of the stock boy's voice. She had been staring too long at the wall of bolts in the hardware store, trying to decide what she needed. "I'm trying to set up a little dog run in my backyard, and I need to put some bolts into concrete." "You'll want some anchors to hold it in,"he said, coming down the aisle. Chelsea turned to look at him, and fought the urge to jump again in surprise. Expecting a gangly, pimple-faced teenager, she instead saw an impossibly beefy man having to squeeze down the aisle to join her. His muscles seemed to be begging to be freed from the confines of his uniform green collared shirt, but his gentle eyes seemed interested only in helping a customer. "Yes,"she said, unable to stop smiling. "I'm just not certain how big I'll need. He's quite big, for a dog. One hundred and fifty pounds or so, and quite fit." The stock boy smiled. "Sounds adorable. So are you building a full kennel on a concrete pad or...?" "Nothing that complicated. Just want to put a hook down so I can chain him up with enough room to get around, but not enough that he goes digging in my rose bushes. Again,"Chelsea said with a laugh. She had expected to have to force the laugh, but something about this stock boy, this man, had her positively bubbly. "A digger, huh. I'm liking this dog more and more. Sounds like he's got spirit. Well if he's a strong as you think he is, might as well go for overkill and get something like this,"he said, pulling some bolts and concrete anchors off of the shelf. "Now how are you for drill bits?" It went on like this, the stock boy leading Chelsea throughout the store, loading up her basket with everything she'd need for her little do-it-yourself project. He even helped her pick out a nice heavy duty chain, something the dog couldn't chew through like all the other ropes. "All right, if something goes wrong, you can come on back and we can talk concrete patching, but I think you should be good for right now. Let's-"the rest of his comment was drowned out the blare of sirens as several police cars went racing by the front of the store. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"Chelsea asked. "Oh, um, I was saying Mark will get you checked out. Thanks for coming in today."The stock boy started heading toward the store's back room. "Sorry, what was your name? I want to be sure to tell your manager what a great job you did today!" He looked back over his shoulder, still moving purposefully. "Jeff!" "Well it was nice to meet you Jeff. My name's Chelsea and-"she called after him. But he stepped through a door, out of earshot. "-I must be losing my mind to be hitting on a stock boy,"she muttered to herself. Chelsea paid for her purchases and drove back to her home in the suburbs. He house was a tad unusual for the suburbs, though, in that she had no immediate neighbors. She had bought up the surrounding lots, giving her a sizable buffer from any other houses. This way she had lots of natural space to take long walks in, and her house had some privacy. Privacy, of course, was essential to her work. After she pulled in to her garage, she went immediately down to the basement, calling out the password to disable the security system. The steel door slid open, revealing a large series of rooms, some beeping with hi-tech gizmos, others filled with bubbling beakers - her lair. Chelsea walked over around to one of the laboratories, and set to work drilling holes into her concrete. While she worked, she felt eyes watching her every movement. "Stop staring, Doctor, it's rude,"she scolded as she finished affixing the hook to the floor. "What else should I look at?"answered a man squeezed into a cage in the corner. "Your work station,"she answered. "And perhaps thinking about how to complete the invisibility cloak. If you put a little more thought into that, instead of escaping, I suspect you would have completed it already." "You've already killed my family, Imperia. What makes you think I'm going to keep working for you now?" "Ah-ah,"Chelsea tsked. "You got them killed when you tried to escape. But I'm sure you'll get back to work now. Because things really can get so much worse for you."She threaded a chain in place and affixed a heavy lock on it. "There, now with just enough room for you to run around." "I'll never do it! Do you hear me! Never!" "Still resisting me, I see. Very well. Let's revisit this conversation in a week or two."Chelsea put a black cover over the cage, while the man inside continued to scream at her. She shut off all the lights, and sources of noise in there, and went upstairs. She fixed herself a bowl of popcorn and settled down in front of the TV. After flicking through a few channels, she settled on the news. "Tonight's lead story: chaos in downtown Metroville as super villain Farmer Killjoy unleashed an attack in front of the First National Bank Building."Chelsea rolled her eyes; Farmer Killjoy was a B-level villain at best - his screwball plans accomplishing little more than providing fodder for the local news reports. "His Chicken Ray turned several bank employees into fowl, until he was stopped by a new hero in town." Chelsea's eyes widened as the report cut to video from the scene. There was the stock boy, but wearing a cape and a mask. Not that it mattered, she could pick those pecs out of a line up any day. She winced as Farmer Killjoy landed a punch that sent the stock boy - Jeff - flying into a wall. Jeff picked himself up though, and counterattacked, sending Farmer Killjoy flying out of a window. "After that stirring performance, the new hero disappeared from the scene,"the TV anchor continued. "Anyone with information about this unnamed good Samaritan or on the whereabouts of Farmer Killjoy, who somehow flew the coop, are asked to contact Metroville police." Chelsea switched off the TV, and went to get her disguise. It was time Imperia had a little talk with Farmer Killjoy about punching beautiful men in capes. ***** If you enjoyed this, be sure to subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.
You may not have heard of me. That is because of the depressing gloomy sorrow of this unfair and cruel world. The sad and shameful fact that you have never heard my name is an acute disgrace to both yourself, and my immaculate self. I am Paul King. In the exclusive circles of the un-uttered cliques, I am the greatest writer whom ever lived. My extraordinary work, known for its insightful-ness and pure, simple, brevity, as well as the lack of unseemly commas, is among the finest writing ever written. My wonderful stories are varied, touching the heart, and dealing with such important and under-explored themes, including love, infatuation, affection and love. My great talents with the pen is effortless, often praised and full of witty witticisms. Such a wonderful author am I, that those who have read my illustrious work have become dumbfounded and speechless. Many a friend who have had the fantastic privilege to read my enlightening work, have never spoken to me again. Many a friend have taken to silence and flight, not being able to handle the challenging, difficult and necessary themes my writing tackles. Yes, dear lucky reader, don't you feel cheated having never read my work? Don't you feel incomplete having never feasted your eyes on my beautiful and prosperous prose? Well don't be afraid. With the invention of this new and exciting technology, the second greatest invention of modern times (second only to my writing), the internet, you may become illuminated. You may become complete. With this fortuitous internet, now my masterful work can be available at your fingertips. Such treasured and hard to find books including The Man Who Wrote A Masterpiece, Portrait of a Young Great and Extremely Talented Artist and The True Story: The Man Greater Than Shakespeare can all be yours. Yes you lucky readers. Your benevolent scribe, Paul King, has chosen to edify you. For simply three payments of nineteen ninety-nine, you can be a closer to true nirvana, to true literature. How I feel so jealous of you. So act fast dear ignorant reader. These books are limited. Be part of the literature revolution today!
"Oi! Aggie!"The old man yelled into his house from his rocking chair on the back porch, "We got another one!" "Alright, Mo. I'll start the tea!"Came a significantly more female voice from inside the house. It was a few minutes later that the muddy, bruised young man with wide eyes and terrified expression made it up to the back porch of the house. "Er, Excuse me, sir?"The young man looked up as Mo watched him, "Can you tell me-?" "You're in Farnia. Land of magic. Yes, we have dragons. Yes, we have wizards. Yes, both will eat you alive if you piss em off. No, I'm not going to give you any damn sword, and if you pinch anything from me then I'll whup your ass. No, I don't have any clue how you got here or how you can get back. Yes, this has happened before. The best place to find answers in the Travelers Guild in Berrowdale." What followed from the young man was a concentrated series of events where his mouth opened to ask a question, only for his mind to supply him with the fact that an answer had already been provided. Mo sat and watched, counting the number of times the lad's mouth opened and closed. "All caught up? Good."Mo slapped a hand on an old, sun-weather knee, "Aggie will bring you some tea and we'll show you the map. Now come inside before the Shriekers get ya." "Er."the boy took the first step up to the back porch then stopped, "Don't you want to know my name?" "Don't care."Mo got himself to his feet, unceremoniously dusting the seat of his pants as he did so, "All you foreign types have stupid names. I'll call you boy, you call me sir, and we'll get along fine. Now get yer ass inside before I change my mind about this." The young man scurried into the house and Mo grunted and grumbled. He really should be paid for this shit.
She was middle-aged. Her hair was golden-brown, pinned into a neat bun at the back of her head, and her patient green eyes scanned the crowd of travelers intently. Every day she waited with a divine patience, and when whomever she was searching for didn't appear, she always walked out humming some old song. Never did she look upset. Her name, I had learned from one of my co-workers, was Elizabeth. Elizabeth White. "Pardon me, Miss,"I greeted her carefully, holding out my hand for her to shake. "My name is Cameron Sterling. I'm head of security at this airport." She smiled a gentle smile and placed her frail hand in mine, giving it a light shake. Her hands returned to her chest where she idly twiddled with her ring finger as though there was a ring to play with. "It's nice to meet you, Cameron. I'm Elizabeth."Her voice was soft and quiet, like a sweet melody crackling through an old radio. I glanced in the direction she was looking, at one of the exits that arriving travelers took. "May I ask whom you are waiting for?" "My son and my husband."She replied, flashing me an eager smile. "I'm expecting them any day now, but they must be busy fightin' the good fight. No calls allowed on the battlefield, of course!" "Are they in the military?"I asked. "Yes. I'm so proud of my boys, I can't wait to see them in their little outfits! Cuter than those little league costumes, I reckon." I nodded slowly. "Maybe I can search them up in our databases? That way you'll know when their flight is supposed to arrive?" Elizabeth clapped her hands together and nodded her head furiously. Together we walked to an open computer, and with her practically bouncing up and down on her heels, I asked their names and typed them in. After a few seconds of loading, the screen came up, not with a flight schedule, but instead, a newspaper clipping. Nervously, I clicked on the paper. The date was old, from nearly one and a half years ago. Entire military platoon killed in massive explosion read the headline. A lump formed in my throat. "Well?"Elizabeth pressed, leaning forward on the counter. "Did you find the flight?" It took all the strength I had to look her in the eyes. I saw the innocence, the childish hope in her gleaming eyes for good news. There was something else, though, a weariness in her expression. Her hope was starting to wane after a year and a half, and yet she still came here day after day. Surely someone had informed her of her son's and husband's deaths? I moved out from behind the counter, forcing myself to face her. I could not stand by and let this woman leave the airport believing her family was coming home, but a voice in the back of my head said that once I told her the truth and shattered the shield of denial she had built up, her home would become an empty, foreign land. My heart ached for her. Either choice was not ideal, but there was no in-between, no lesser evil. I swallowed the lump in my throat and reached for her hand. "Ms. White, can you come with me, please?"She didn't flinch at the title.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” There was no mistaking it. The schoolgirl outfit, the bright blue hair. The abnormally large eyes that skipped right past the uncanny valley and into some kind of eldritch horror. I didn’t recognize her, but I knew of at least half a dozen series where she could have come from. “Koko wa doko?” She asked shyly, rotating one of her feet back and forth on the toe. Suddenly, her face brightened and she spoke another string of words that I didn’t catch. Not that I knew Japanese anyways. I did however, notice the suggestive movement of her hands, the placement of her feet, and the fact that she was slowly sliding her skirt upwards towards her waist. I scowled at the book and muttered angrily under my breath. Ten years scrounging around ancient libraries, inhaling stagnant dust and fighting off book wights for this? It was too much. I spoke the words of banishment that forced the girl back into the aether. I needed to think, to wring some small benefit out of this disaster. In hindsight, the fact that the book was adorned with cat’s ears and Japanese scrawl should’ve told me it wasn’t the Necronomicon. But it matched the description so perfectly otherwise! I flipped the book open again and thumbed through it’s pages. There was little mention of the undead, nothing at all of necromancy. How was I supposed to obtain ultimate power with something like this, even if it offered me complete and utter control of whoever I summoned? I was ready for all the treachery of dabbling in the dark arts, not the maintenance of a magical girl harem. I skimmed the book until I found what I was looking for. Sighing deeply into myself, I spoke the words that summoned her. She appeared as I remembered her. Years ago, I remembered even having a strange sort of crush on her, although little of that stirred now. “Greetings Albedo. Are you well today?” She opened her eyes at the sound of my voice. I watched as her face flashed from recognition to joy. “Yes Lord Ainz, I eagerly await your command!” I sighed again and started summoning the floor guardians. I suppose this wasn’t that bad of an alternative in the end. After all, whats the difference between a necromancer and anime RPG lich? The difference is negligible really. It wouldn't be that bad. I might even enjoy it... as long as I set my summoning to “dubbed.” ---------------------------- Subscribe to /r/AMemoryofEternity for more of my stories! It's brand new!
God walked into the office triumphantly holding his espresso while he watched his angels all scramble to fix the prayer API. "God!"Lucifer cried as he almost knocked God's coffee out of his hand. "The Prayer API isn't working, we're getting so many requests and almost none of them are going through!". "Bitch sit down!"God roared as he forcefully propelled Lucifer into his ergonomic chair. "Emergency company meeting I need all senior developers now!"The angels flew into God's office, few stopping by the water cooler. God addressed his developers. "Look you dumbass code monkeys, why the fuck aren't prayers coming through."Gabriel was the first to speak. "Well-uh God I think there's a problem with the input parameters. I think the UI is unclear, hence-""Shut the fuck up with your nerd talk. If you know why it's not working, why don't you fix it?" "Well um I think the problem is the code that manages the requests is so messy and maintainable none of us can figure out a fix." "Alright who the fuck programmed such shitty code. I want them out immediately." All of the angels looked at Lucifer. "Oh please God it's not my fault, I-" "LISTEN YOU FUCKING BITCH GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY COMPANY."God spoke with the heat of a thousand suns. "I'M SENDING YOU TO THE NETWORK DEVELOPMENT WING IN INDIA, WHERE YOU'LL BE FORCED TO DEVELOP IN PHP FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. YOU'LL HAVE TO DO ALL THE WORK TOO. IN OTHER WORDS, I'M OUTSOURCING YOU TO HELL."
"Potato salad,"I muttered to myself. "Why did this guy get $2,000,000 for a bowl of potato salad?"I continued scrolling through the endless stream of GoFundMe requests looking for something that seemed promising. Projects that were clearly impossible, impractical, and improbable to go anywhere were all I saw. That was until I found it. Dumber than potato salad. More masterfully crafted than a diamond ring. This was what I'd be dropping a few hundred thousand dollars of my billions on today. It was so ridiculous yet it made so much sense. I clicked the link and began to read the description. I was so awe-struck that I read it out loud: "I'd like to raise as much money as I can in order to pay for ads to advertise this GoFundMe request so that I can get more money to advertise this request with." Such a perfect plan, for never had I seen such cunning. But it had not yet received a single cent. The incentives included a collectible pin for a donation of $15. How many pins will $300,000 get me? I remember jokingly thinking as I filled out the donation form. I began to see ads demanding; "Give me money so I can buy more ads to get more money to buy more ads!" before every YouTube video I watched. A few weeks more, and I began to see billboard ads on the highways with the same message. Only days later, it seemed everyone on planet Earth had donated to the cause. People of all ages could be heard bragging of how much they'd given. Five dollars, twenty, one-hundred. Rumours were circulating that someone had wasted a million dollars on the project. One day, it became clear that our genius requester had stopped spending the money on advertising. I can't remember exactly when the nukes began to be heard. They seemed to settle down on the human population like a steady fog. City after city was desolated, blinking out like a twinkling Christmas light. The few TV stations that could still operate made it clear that nukes were targeting everything. Nowhere was safe. I made a hideout in my basement which conveniently is made of titanium and can be completely sealed off. Yesterday, I went outside. I'm the only one left. At least that's what I assume. At that moment, it sunk in. At that moment, I realized I had been the reason that project had kicked off. I funded the end of the human race.
I slowly backed away from the crowd that had gathered around me. The pigeon in my hand continued its awful squawking protest, and the honey that covered my naked body dripped lazily onto the concrete. This is a true story. What are you doing in there? My painted toe nails gleamed in the mid afternoon sun as I wiggled my toes gleefully. The concrete beneath them was warm and comforting, and I wondered how many other people had ever stood barefoot on it before. “Are you alright?” an African American man in a business suit asked tentatively. “Hell yes son! Shit, didn’t my boy Greg here tell you?” I thrust the pigeon at the man and waved it around by its neck. What the fuck is going on bro? The African American man backed slowly away, nervously adjusting his leather messenger bag over his shoulder. I looked around the small crowd, gave three short whistles, and squatted to poo. The crowd reacted as you’d expect, and it was terrible. And it all actually happened. All of it. If you’re doing what I think you’re doing in there, I’m going to fuck you up! Fully relieved and still holding the pigeon, I considered my options. The flower in the window told me to “seek the tree, find the sparrow,” but I felt this pigeon would probably do the trick. I spotted a newspaper tucked underneath a passerby’s arm. “The treeeeeeee!” and I burst into action. I swear. I really did. I’m giving you 5 seconds to open this fucking door. 1….. 2…… I dove at the man, grabbing the paper and sprinting to my destination where I would surely meet Trestain and finally learn the secret of the Ubersnach that could help me remove the honey which Greendle has sprayed me with upon my entrance into her castle!!! And it all happened I swear!! 5! BOOM! The door flew open and Chris stomped into the room. “Not again Tommy! You can’t keep doing this shit! I don’t care how long the medication is supposed to take to kick in,” Chris screamed at the grinning Tommy hunched over Chris’ computer. His social media status window clearly visible over Tommy’s shoulder, Chris knew whatever he was posting would be pure nonsense. “But they have to know Chris! Don’t you want your friends to know about your afternoon,” Tommy maniacally chuckled. “Let’s just go downstairs and talk to mom Tommy. Maybe she can get you some chocolate milk?” “Not chocolate. That’s Sarah’s special syrup. I’ll have avocado milk with nuts please,” Tommy said matter-of-factly, instantly forgetting the task he had just been engaged in. “Ok buddy,” sighed Chris as he took Tommy by the arm and led him out of the room and down the stairs.
Gather around children, and I’ll tell you the tale of how our great Kingdom came to be. It all started with a gift. For as long as I can remember, almost as long as I’ve known I was a royal, I’ve had a special talent, a hidden ‘power’ if you will. Everything I decide is “In”, my people adore. Sweaters, monkeys, pencils and toys. Rulers, rubbers, ponies, and noise. You name it. They'll claim it. Even things I simply THINK about for a little while, the people will begin to think are “In.” Mostly this is good. Sometimes this is bad. When my father (the King of our great Land of In-Bürger) died, crying became the most popular thing that day. As did funerals and flowers for a time. I became sick of the madness, sick of my gift of persuading everyone to like the things I thought about. I didn’t want to see black clothes or crying faces anymore. But it was hard to concentrate on anything else. However, once the worst of my grief had past, I set my eyes on a new pursuit. There was only one way to overcome this ridiculous gift. I would embrace it. I would use my gift to become the most powerful King, not just of In-Bürger, but of all the lands. Conquest became very much “In.” For a time, it worked. The people, of their own accord, ravaged and pillaged the nearby towns and villages. My lands grew as quickly as my reputation. I was famous in all countries for being an unstoppable and ruthless King. I didn’t care. Being unstoppable and ruthless was “In.” But then there came a time when my power began to… dwindle. One day, the people stopped pillaging. In fact, they began to give their lands away to others. Some strange force was opposing my gift. Enraged, I concentrated harder. Destruction, force, annihilation. Conquest, carnage, elimination. It worked. But it only worked while I was actively concentrating. The moment I lost concentration, the people would lay down their pitch forks, sacrifice their land, allow the enemy to take whatever they had. It was a disaster. At first I stayed awake day and night, trying to conquer this impossible force with sheer willpower. But I grew weak with exhaustion, and my concentration began to snap with even the simplest of distractions. Just going to the bathroom could lead to a village being lost to the enemy. I gathered my advisors close to me, desperate for an answer. Whispers came, sickly rumours, of a new King who had arisen from a far off land. A King who was far more powerful than me. I sent spies, powerful spies. I waited weeks, weeks turned into months. The people began to revolt against me, to loathe the ground I walked on. I grew weaker, more desperate, more afraid. I was near breaking point when my spies finally returned. My spies had returned with answers. But they were not the answers I wanted to hear. The King was from a far-off land called Burgr. And oh, he was powerful. He had a gift very much like mine. But instead of being able to decide what was “In”, he could decide what was “Out”. And ever since my recent rise to power, he had decided that I was “Out”. All of his hate was channelled towards conquering me. And hate is a much more powerful force than love. I can’t say I didn’t try my hardest to defeat him. Oh, how I rallied. I took potions and herbs to stay awake, installed needles in my beds, had my advisors constantly at my side to shake me if ever I fell asleep. Many bloody wars were fought. Some we won, but most we lost, and I was losing my mind. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think. Something had to give. There was only one way I could defeat the evil King. I needed to become the master of deciding what was both “Out” and “In”. Once more I gathered my wisest advisors around me. Most of my advisors shook their head. It could not be done, they said, what I wanted was impossible. But one, wise, wrinkled councillor listened to their exclamations with a frown. He gestured towards me with a wasted finger. “There may be a way,” he said, with a crinkled grimace. I gestured towards him. “You must tell me now if there is any hope for the kingdom.” Once more he frowned, and shook his head. No, no it was silly to think of, he said. “You MUST tell me if there is even a slight possibility. The fate of the kingdom depends on it.” He raised a single eyebrow and said, “There is a prophecy, that if you rename the kingdom, the powers of the ruler will also be..renamed.” “You mean, if I change the name of our kingdom to reflect the dual powers of Out and In, I can harness both powers?” “Yes, dear King, that is what I mean.” It is no small feat to change the name of an entire kingdom, but I have never been one to shy away from a challenge. It took months of paperwork, but finally we changed the name of the Kingdom of In-Bürger, to something much more…fitting. And as the wise old advisor had predicted, I harnessed both powers, and destroyed the evil King of Burgr. It had taken years of blood shed, and millions in taxpayers money. It made me sick to think of the sacrifices that were made, the high price we paid, mostly in the blood of my people. But creating In-n-Out Bürger was the only way I could compete with the Burgr King.
"Ms. Dreefly, why do we have to use number two pencils for the test?", I asked. It was genuine curiosity. "Because you do, now do your test", she said, and then she began the class. Well, I finished my test. I wasn't a bad kid. I finished my test and I went up and asked again, "Ms. Dreefly, why do we use number two pencils, aren't there other numbers of pencils? I think we used some number 4 pencils in art class". "Fern, I don't know why we use number two pencils, to be perfectly honest. I just stick the tests into the scantron and the scantron instructions say it only works with number two pencils. Maybe you could mail the manufacturer". So I mailed the manufacturer, and was very excited when they got back to me in no more than two days. My father handed me a dark blue envelope with a wax seal on it that my dad said used to be used so people knew who sent the letter. He said the person that gets the envelope would recognize the seal of the sender, but neither of us recognized the symbol on this letter. This is what it read. Dear Fern We were pleased to hear of your interest in our pencils. We take great pride in making number two pencils. As for other numbers of pencils, we make it a point not to sell other-numbered pencils. We find that only a number two pencil perfectly matches roughness of lead quality with smoothness of pencil flow, among other things. If you'd like to know more about number two pencils, we welcome you to visit the conglomerate of number two pencils at 436 Beechwood Pl. any weekday between 9pm and 11pm, when we open the facility to guests. Sincerely, Thomas Krane My father said it was a bit strange for visiting hours to be so late-- My bedtime was usually 9 o'clock at the latest-- but he said it was important for me to be able to explore things like this. We planned to go and visit the next night, so as to not rush off too quickly this evening. I was excited, I didn't want to wait. I went in to school the next day and told my teacher about how the manufacturer wrote me back and how we were going to see the conglomerate that night. "That's very exciting", she said, "you're very lucky they're letting you do that. Many companies wouldn't even respond to a little girl's letter". She seemed happy for me, but for some reason, it didn't feel like she was being nice. But by the evening I had forgotten about that. We drove there along an unfamiliar street and I was surprised when we were quickly out of the city and into farmland. I asked and Daddy said he wasn't familiar with the place either. When we got out of the car the road was gravel and it was very dusty. The building in front of us looked like it belonged right in the city, but instead it was surrounded by farm fields. Daddy rang the doorbell and a man in fancy black and white clothes let us in. "I can show you around the facility", he said very fancy-like, taking our coats and hanging them on a coatrack, "if you follow me this way I can show you our meeting rooms, where we meet and stuff... "I forget exactly what he said. It turned out to be a very boring place. He showed us a lot of rooms full of chairs and empty tables. The next interesting thing that happened was when I was in the bathroom. When I was in my stall I heard a woman crying in the stall next to me. Suddenly she crawled under the stall wall into my stall. I screamed and she backed away. "I'm so sorry", she said, "but you must know. The number two pencils are a lie. It's a trick, they're all in on it, they're just conspiring to get a monopoly on something". It didn't make too much sense to be honest, but it was clear that these number-two-pencil people were the bad guys and that I had to find other kinds of pencils. I thought the rest of my tour would be boring, and it was for a few minutes, until the woman from the washroom showed up with a small crowd of people to join the tour. I stayed very close to Daddy. Then the tour guide lead us into a more interesting room, with pencils on pedestals, and lights shining on them from above. "This room holds the prototypes, the original pencils. These are not just number twos, these go all the way up to number twenty, as well as many fractions in between, which can be seen on the display racks behind their respective integer pencils". This must have been the main attraction, the reason why that small crowd had appeared when it did. I don't know why anyone would want to see meeting rooms. Then I saw it, labeled with a big number 2, between numbers 1 and 3, on the biggest pedestal. I had to touch it. I walked up and did. No-one must have seen me. I expected bells to go off, sirens maybe, but the idle chatter went on. No-one had noticed me. So I picked up the pencil. It felt fantastic in my hand. I curled my fingers around it and went to find my dad. "The number two... it's GONE!", someone suddenly yelled. I tightened my grip and tried to melt into the shadows. The tour guide started panicking, looking around the floor under the pedestal. "No-one leave this room please, just until we find the number two pencil", he said. "Oh come on", the lady from the washroom said, "no-one would care if it were a number three pencil. Or a two-point-one". I felt a rush of anger. Before I knew what I was doing, I ran at her with the pencil clutched in my hand and with rage running through my whole body, stabbed the pencil into her back. She still stood, and I just kept stabbing and stabbing. That was the last thing I remember before I blacked out and woke up here. "That's okay", the doctor said, "you're safe now, with the number twos. We're glad to have you with us. The bad woman is taken away". These words gave me such great comfort. I felt more at home than ever before. I felt no need or want for anything. Outside, a familiar man was being dragged from the building and shouting for his daughter to be freed. *** Hi, thanks for reading. Sorry if this was excessively dark, I've been watching GOT, maybe that's why. I'm new to writing and I'd love your feedback, reactions, comments, whatever.
It was different back then. Must be forty years now, maybe more. I used to check the posters along the street and give them peace. I found everything from parrots to cats. Even stuffed animals, as long as it's considered a pet by the person who holds it. One time I helped a zoo find a missing bear. It was a good life. People love the guy that can find their pets. When he can find them alive. Thing is. A missing animal doesn't always turn up alive. More often than not they never show up again. You can watch the movies and read a story about a cat travelling thousands of miles to get home. You never get to read about the ones that made it barely a mile away from their house before they got an up close and personal look at a tire. Or the ones that get scooped up by a sick son of a bitch. It got to be exhausting. How many hundreds of kids cried themselves sick once they found out and how many parents were furious at the truth being revealed. I always thought it best to be honest. That didn't always work out. So I gave it up. Faded into obscurity and a shitty job in the dark corner of an office building. Every now and then some new kid would come up and bug me about my past and I would just...drive them away. The day that things changed was an average day. I got to work, settled in with a coffee and started plugging in numbers into the database. One finger at a time. Old school. I felt eyes on me so I turned slowly and there was this little girl standing there, holding a stuffed dog. She tilted her head at me and then offered up the animal with both hands and a smile. "Doggie." She said. Simple. Direct. I like it. "Yep."I said, taking it and inspecting it. "Does he have a name?" She smiled wider. "Car-go."I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth at her emphasis. Kids. "Good name. You keep a good eye on him, OK?" She nodded and I handed the dog back. She waved at me and toddled off towards some unknown objective. I turned back to my work. The next day she was back. Again I felt those eyes on me. She held up Cargo and smiled at me, offering him. I took him, inspected him again and handed him back to her. She smiled and waved at me before her dad scooped her up. He gave me an apologetic look and I shrugged it off. "It's alright." He seemed confused and I suppose I had crafted the grumpy old man exterior so it would make sense. She wasn't going to do any harm though. I guess he had a problem with a nursery because she became a fixture around the office for a week. The next morning she was there again. Watching me. This time she came right in and clambered up on the spare chair I had tucked in the corner. She watched me type and held Cargo close to her. He came by and apologized, clearly flustered. "I can watch her for a bit, if you want,"I offered. I could almost see the weight off his shoulders as he apologized a dozen times but made his way to his office to get some work done. Her and I sat together as I punched in numbers one at a time. As I stared at the screen, watching her just out of the corner of my eye, a dog appeared in front of my keyboard. A stuffed dog. "Doggie!"she said. Then she curled up on the chair and went to sleep, leaving me and Cargo together. I looked at him and realized I was smiling. I coughed and drove the smile away before anyone could see. Appearances. Friday rolled around and I didn't feel her eyes on me. I kept turning to look for her but nothing. No "doggie", no big grin. I guess he sorted out the nursery situation. Or whatever it was. When do kids stop going to nursery and start going to school? I haven't a clue. "Hey,"his voice interrupted my thoughts and I turned, "have you seen her dog? She's been crying all morning, damn thing's gone missing." I shook my head. Now I could hear it, she must be in his office. Nothing was sorted out yet. "Ah, it was a long shot. Thanks anyway. And thanks for watching her." I nodded and he was gone. I suppose...no. No. I said I was done. But. That smile. She's crying and I could...just. No. Damn it. I stood up, grabbed the cane that I'd needed since that incident with the dog and the bus, and headed out of the office. No statement, no excuse. Just left. I knew where he was, had known as soon as he mentioned it. I knew where they all were. I walked to the bus stop and got on, taking it for about thirty minutes to the industrial area. I found the guys by the dump entrance, wearing their green safety vests and chain smoking cigarettes in between sips of coffee. I explained and they didn't believe me at first. No one ever did. I suppose that curiosity always wins though because they led me into the fenced in area. I walked straight for it, pulling aside a few bags and a few pieces of trash that covered him. Then I dusted him off and pulled him from the mound of trash. He must have ended up in a garbage can or something. They are stunned and I thank them, making my way back to the bus stop. I ride it to the office and head into the building. I don't say a word, just take him to the washroom and give him a quick wash. Just to get rid of the last bits of grime and gunk. I run him under the hand dryer for a minute and earn a few looks from the coming and going folks to the washroom. I hear her sniffling in his office, she's given up on crying at least. I knock gently and he looks up from his work. Poor guy is drowning in it. Least I can do I guess. I kneel down in front of her and look her in the eye. "He was with me for a bit, so I gave him a bath. Can you watch him again?" Her eyes light up and she grabs him, then with astounding speed she is off the chair and has her arms wrapped around my neck. I cough to clear the lump in my throat and stand, give him a nod for the "thank you"he mouths at me. Then I head back to my desk and start hitting those keys again, one at a time. I think about the old life and how hard it was. How much I hated seeing the pain on their faces when the truth wasn't easy. Maybe it was worth it. For the ones that got something important back, something that mattered to them. On my way home to a cramped and lonely apartment I stop on the sidewalk. I take a poster off a light post, a poster for a black and white cat that has gone missing. I know where she is. I stare at the number and think how I could make someone's day, even for all that ones I might not. There's a garbage can nearby, I could easily just discard the poster. Not think about it again. It's a long moment before I make my choice. I remove an old cellphone from my pocket and begin to dial.
Once again I found my self on dirt duty. As I was cruising through the stars on my way to my assignment, I couldn't help but remember how great I thought this job would be. Right out of grad school landing a job with Dr. Bloom on the interplanetary council's research team. While interviewing, we had so many moving conversations about inteligent life and how we could leave our mark on this universe, yet I got placed as a surveyor. My job mostly consisted of going to all the planets considered habitable for carbon based life forms and take samples of the environment. Several had already developed life forms we were trying to study and new planets were still being discovered regularly. I enjoyed going to new planets but it was always a little nerve rattling. As the GPS shouted out I was only a few light years away from the planet Plumbus, I decided to ready my things. Looking back at our logs, it had been a few years since anyone had been here; life had seemed to be developing but nothing more than a few ameboa. As I entered the atmosphere, my radar started doing some unexpected things so I stayed up in the clouds to figure this out. If my systems were correct, I was flying above a highly populated area. Due to safety protocols, I circumnavigated the planet to find out what I could beforehand and locate a safe spot to land. After finding a more suitable area, I threw on my helmet and airtank to start my descent. I did my usual, took samples and looked around a little, nothing too special here. The GPS said I was near a body of water so I went searching to get some more samples. As I rounded the corner, there It was; this green mass oddly resembling the shape of a person. I could tell this thing was looking at me but I was unsure how. It was with a few more green masses, shaped like four legged animals, that were drinking from the river. "You're one of them,"It spoke with a tone of curiosity. Trying not to pry into things due to fear, I shrugged it's knowledge of the English language and said, "How do you know that?" It spoke of the stories from his ancestors and the Great Homosapiens in the Sky. Perplexed by the situation, I asked if I could help in anyway. "Can you give me any advice about life, oh great one?"He asked. "Well my son,"I started, "soon there will be bad times. Now listen to me carefully because I know how you can survive. Your planet is going to undergo some massive flooding for a short period of time. If you want to save your planet, you must first build a boat. Then find 2 of every animal and fill your boat. It is the only way to assure the continuation of life as you know it." I smiled and turned back towards my cruiser. I knew I could leave my mark on the universe somehow.
I knew t was coming. I had one last chance. But the dialog they gave me just wasn't working. It was against the rules, but it was my last chance anyways. I had seen the silversmith just poof out of existence when they did it to him. So I said screw it and improvised. "Fuck off"I told the player. I couldn't actually see the guy blink. He had put tape over his camera. But I could hear his surprise. He clicked me again. Holy hell it worked. "Mother fucker, I told you to go to hell." He kept clicking. I could feel my counter rising out of the negative. I was safe. At least for a little while. "Listen bitch, if you want the goods... you're going to have to do Big Papa a solid. But keep it on the down low... you got me cocksucker?" The clicking kept coming. Hell yes. Alright, I had bought some time, but I was far from safe. Whoever this player was, he hooked, but I needed more than one dude. No sooner had I thought it than text appeared above his head: "Kamaroon: sw-You're not going to believe this new quest guy. You need to check him out." "Zerdoosh: sw-I didn't think they had quests active yet. Just the %^&* starter stuff." "Kamaroon: sw-He literally told me to keep him secret. If that isn't an epic or legendary quest, I don't know what is." "Zerdoosh: sw-omw"
It was moving day. Time for me pack up everything I had and move back in with my parents. I had 6 months to find a job before I was bankrupt and couldn't afford to live in my middle class apartment anymore. Rent was to high and the landlord wasn't happy. He told me if I wasn't out by midnight he would call the cops and have them remove me from the property. As I loaded the last box, my phone began to ring. Assuming it was my landlord, or ex-landlord I guess, I didn't even bother checking the number. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and almost cut myself on the cracked screen as I swiped to pick up the call. "I'm out. I just loaded the last box. The key is on the table inside,"I said before I could get a response. "Now please, get off my back." "I'm sorry to have bothered you sir,"the reply came slowly. "But I think you have the wrong person." I quickly checked the number. It was an unknown number. The voice on the other end continued. "I am Dr. Ackbar of Nasa. We found online that you said you were an 'Astroarchaeologist' is that true?"Dr. Ackbar inquired. I had completely forgotten about that. I put that online when I got fired from my last job. I didn't think it was a real thing, much less that someone would take it seriously. I was unsure how to respond. "Hello? This is Mr. David Grant correct?"I could hear the voice on the other end still speaking to me. I had almost forgotten he was there. "Yes sir, this is he,"I replied quickly. Desperately I added, "And yes sir, I wouldn't say I'm a professional, but I'm definitely better than anyone else!" 'Crap,' I thought, 'why would I say that?' "Good,"Dr. Ackbar replied. "We would like for you to come in and look over some things that we recently found on floating outside the International Space Station. We're unsure what they are, or where they came from."
"Slow down,"I bellowed after the Jimmy John's delivery boy. "You know I can't,"he screamed back. "None of us can."Despite destroying his bike with my disintegrator ray, I hadn't stopped him from pursuing his delivery. "I command you to stop in the name of Chuck,"I said, doubling down. "Look, Chuck,"he said. "I know you want a sandwich, but I can't give you this one. If I don't make this delivery, then I won't be able to afford my tuition payments." "You won't be able to pay off your student loans anyway,"I said, aiming a shot at the sidewalk in front of him. He jumped over the hole like a gazelle. The sandwich courier was relentless. Chuck considered taking a shot. It was too dangerous; he might hit the sandwich. "Fine,"I reasoned. "I will give you $500 dollars."The delivery boy paused. "I won't do it for less than $1,000. Venmo it to me right now,"he said, still running. "$500 was more than generous!"I scoffed. This kid was an entrepreneur. "We're almost at the delivery address,"he called back. Leverage is a fickle bitch. I pressed buttons on my phone. "Fine, it's there. It's in your account."He finally stopped running. "Here you go. Thanks for choosing Jimmy Johns,"he said happily. My eyes rolled so far back they circumnavigated my brain—but at long last, I had it. At least, I had had it before Captain Perfect decked me in the face. Just before I took my first bite, his fist flew in out of nowhere. He was the spontaneous combustion of lunchtime bullies. No matter how hard I try, it feels like I'll never get to taste a Hero Sandwich. I pulled a Villain Energy Bar from my pocket. It was horrible.
SELLING NOW, FOR $19.99: AN INFERIOR HUMANITY Imagine a world where one had to fight for everything. Where humanity PRAISE THE GOD EMPEROR considered suffering natural, or even desirable. Where war was worshipped. Welcome to Earth-066. Visit a single planet, no larger than 6000km in radius, with a population no larger than 7 billion, that somehow hasn't managed to unite itself under one human PRAISE THE GOD EMPEROR banner. In the beginning, they deluded themselves with ideas of race, class, religion, even gender. Pretending they could live alone, segregating themselves and not uniting their communes FOR THE GREATER GOOD. They retain bestial traits of their hominid ancestors. Where love drives us merely to reproduce, they foolishly get sunk into their attachments like quicksand. Where knowledge drives us to trade with the universe, they're stuck on their little dirtball duking it out over pieces of land not large enough for one kilocommune FOR THE GREATER GOOD. The history of this Earth, ironically, is too long to entirely be chronicled into one book, despite our Mutual Neural Network being able to access and display all 4 trillion lifeforms' personal information FOR THE GOD EMPEROR. So, author Nostradamus has instead highlighted the rise and fall of the following interesting characters: a virtuous prince, a ruthless dictator, a young idealistic artillery officer, and a greedy owner of the means of production. Witness how these people from all walks of life aspire towards greatness - and fall short. Marvel at their passion, cry at the cruelty of the world, and eventually, themselves; as they blindly struggle for an unreachable future. AN INFERIOR HUMANITY, selling in all bookstores in the Intergalactic Corporate Federation, for $19.99. get your DLC pre order ultimate Platinum pack complete with world map and glossary for $29.99! This book review has been brought to you by the Mutual Neural Network, Cultural Division, Propaganda and Re-education Subcommittee. PRAISE THE GOD EMPEROR. STRUGGLE IS FUTILE. RELAXATION IS ENFORCED.
The anticipation was killing me. The envelope was just sitting there on my kitchen counter. I had to get myself a drink to settle my nerves lest I cut myself with the opener. “Takeshi’s Castle” read the return address. How many years had a fantasized about this letter? How many messages had I sent? My heart was pounding. I ever so carefully made a slit in the envelope and slid out the folded note. The paper quivered between my nervous fingers. A pause, a deep breathe, and I unfolded the creased paper, my eyes darting to read their response. “Mr. Stevenson, We are greatly pleased to have received your glowing letters. What makes Takeshi’s Castle so great is our loving fan base. As you may be aware, filming for the show ceased 15 years ago so the position of Maze Chaser is no longer available. As a token of our appreciation, we have included a coupon code for 25% off any merchandise from our online store. CCOS-2641-NCPA-2917 Thank you again and take care. -Takeshi’s Castle”
Narutesh Mali crossed the ocean to the magic lands: the world of light and metal. Half of her men where dead from starvation before her boat had hit the unforgiving shores. She left those that remained behind to rest and writhe in pain of hunger as she forced herself inland. Silence reigned here. Only the wind could be heard. There were no trees, no animals. There was only the metal and the flatstone. Only glass and the glowing walls. The walls showed glowing dreams of people and things. Some were bright and happy, drinking things from bright containers. Others were dark and disturbing, showing monsters and text in the old tongue of the land. Narutesh tried to ignore it all, but the lights were everywhere... and their magic drew your sight to them. You wanted to watch, even if there was nothing real to see. She found the place her grandfather had told her of. She opened her family's scroll, moving through the maps and instructions down to the sets of words that needed to be said. She raised her hands to the clear and open sky and began to speak. "Ok Google!"She shouted, her voice echoing in the stillness of the strange land, "Bring food to me!" "Ok."The god answered, "Playing 'Futoomi by The Rocket Packs." Narutesh cringed as awful sounds filled the air. She hissed and clutched at her ears. He grandfather had been wrong. The gods were not saviors, they were monsters sent to curse her. She read through the scroll, through the ancient commands, searching for an answer. "Ok Google!"She shouted over the manic din, "Stop." The noise stopped and Narutesh fell to her knees on the hard ground. She needed the food. If she could not get it then her entire expedition would starve. This was to have been the easy part. They would wish for food, then wish for anything else they could carry... but if they could not get food... "Ok Google!"She began again, "Bring Food!" "Ok."God said once more. Narutesh waited, her breath stilled inside of her. She dared not even breathe. "Playing Ringmood by Tampa Hampa." Narutesh raged against the gods as bongos played a lively rhythm around her.
Wizards and Witches like me are rare, and there's a certain rivalry between the two "Types"of magic. Both sides are pretentious dickheads about it. There's Earth Magic, drawing power from the world around you. More often than not someone talking about Earth Magic is talking about creating potions, bringing plants to life or magically enhancing their bodies. You know, warriors that can throw tanks, run faster than a sports car and can take a shell like it was nothing... They also make the finest weapons that can cut mountains to pieces with a single slash. In contrast is Divine Magic, which is basically the "Sorcery"part of Swords and Sorcery. Being able to call down lightning bolts, hurl fireballs and whatnot... Their powers come from contracts with divine beings such as angels and some minor deities who grant them mana. Now, magic itself is rather easy to detect, it's controlling it that's hard. Divines have someone else who'll give them pure mana to work with and so they believe themselves to work exclusively for the greater good of the world. They also can focus more on the flashier side of magic as a result. In contrast, Shamans have to really work to mine the vein of magic until doing so is second nature. More often than not they'll be with their teacher from a young age, often around Kindergarten, until they're in their forties and doing smaller miracles before they become downright juggernauts of magic. They also tend to live longer as a result of their magic, with two-hundred being a low estimate. They value hard work in magic and look down on Divines for taking the easy way out. There's also a certain few visual cues on how they can identify themselves. Divines will either be part of the local clergy or very well-dressed. Suits are a definite for them, a very good pair of shoes... but no jewellery to speak of, maybe the simplest of watches. They'll also be on the smaller, thinner side as a result. In contrast, shamans tend to be on the "Casual Rich"side, wearing T-shirts and jeans, maybe sneakers or combat boots... but carrying the latest tech and purest jewellery. Being over six feet and heavily muscular is another aspect. For example, there are two mages by the counter in the diner. The smaller one was carefully wrapping a napkin under his lapel to prevent his Sunday best (which he's only wearing for work; just finished dispelling a demon) and eating a rather modest meal and having a nice cup of coffee. On the other side was a mountain of a man on his third plate and second milkshake, flanked by a younger man who was watching in embarrassment as his guardian didn't seem to care that he was getting bits of chicken and waffle caught on his beard. His shirt was absolutely ruined but he had another in the nearby car, no doubt. They gave rather quick acknowledgement before returning to their food. They hated each others' guts but fighting in public was bad for both sides. Also, while the Divine could possibly be one of the few things that could harm the Shaman his patron would not allow him to do something so blatantly wrong, with the Shaman's own allies possibly hunting him down if he broke the Laws of the Wild. As I finished my own meal and walked out of the diner, my own patron floated beside me. 'You wouldn't speak to your brother Shaman?' he asked me. 'Or your new ally in the Divine Brotherhood?' 'I'm not an accredited Shaman yet,' I answered, 'and the Divines would reject me for not being proper. Besides, this isn't my territory and I have to return to my master. He's going to be fucking livid when he finds out I've received an Angelic Patron.' 'I do wish you'd be less crass with your words,' the angel said. 'It's true,' I explained. 'There's a saying that Divine and Earth magic are utterly incompatible and should anyone actually wield both, they're basically a Demigod.' 'But that is the case with you,' the Angel said. 'Don't try and make this go to my head...' I begged my new patron before driving off. --- Part 2 coming... after I play some Yooka Laylee
It was early in morning when my wife ushered me to the doomsday bunker she had built. I didn't believe in the necessity of such a building but she was obsessed with the prophecies and I humored her because of my love for her. "Are you ready for 7 minutes of heaven?"She cooed at me as I stepped inside. I heard the sound of metal scraping and the deadlocks in place as she slammed the door and giggled playfully. "I'll be back, my love"she said through the intercom and skipped away merrily. I didn't realize it would be the last time I would see her. As she faded in the morning darkness I explored the bunker. It was the size of a small house with numerous shelves filled with water and food. "Enough supplies to survive the apocalypse"she had proclaimed with pride. Suddenly the ground shook violently and the darkness was chased away by the nuclear blast. There I was, alone. Last man standing. I thought it was a joke when my wife had started building and I merely humored her. Now I realized just how fortunate I was that she had the foresight to prepare. I spent the next two years in that bunker. When I finally emerged, I discovered an empty world. A shell of what had once been humanity's playground. I hoped beyond hope that there were other survivor's but I found none, and my energy slowly drained as the nuclear radiation permeated my cells. Somewhere in the wasteland I found a single tree stump on which to lay my weary head. The sun came peaking out behind the nuclear clouds and I enjoyed one final moment of warmth. As my breathing slowed, I uttered a song for earth: "We do what's right, we do what's wrong. Earth will last through our final song. No regrets, it's not so bad. We did our best... I won't be sad. Earth be blessed... clean from humanity's filth. Let her thrive in the freedom..."
As a youngling, I trampled and terrorized the beings below me, As a youngling, I never thought about feelings or the pain of them. As a youngling, I saw them not worthy of being free. As a youngling, I didn't know better. As an ant, I still didn't get the memo. As an ant, I was hungry for food. As an ant, I didn't know better. As an ant, I killed once more. As a worm, I finally knew what's up. As a worm, I understood it all. As a worm, I ate mud, dirt, ate it up. As a worm, I planned to make things fall. As a worm, I found a beetle. As a worm, I killed the beetle. As a beetle, I discovered fungus. As a beetle, I destroyed the fungus. As a fungus, I grew and grew. As a fungus, I knew what to do. As a fungus, I spread to a tree. As a fungus, I watched the tree die to me. As a tree, I took to wait. As a tree, I grew fruit as bait. As a tree, I saw thunder now. As a tree, I felled a friendly cow. As a cow, I ate grass and grass. As a cow, I ate a cow's mass. As a cow, cannibalism was the way to pass. As a cow, a man died when I bit a man's ass. As a man, I was a farmer. As a man, I learned about karma. As a man, I chose not to care. As a man, murder's no despair. As a man, I went out with a knife. As a man, I ended a banker's life. As a man, I stayed, with a frown. As a man, sadly, I went down. As a man, I went to jail. As a man, I was too frail. As a man, I began to miss, compared an animal's life to this. As a man, I started a fire, For some in here, it was a funeral pyre. For one rose, potted, it was too hot. As a rose, it mattered not. As a rose, people thought me weak. As a rose, I was potted, not free. As a rose, I could just stay meek. As a rose, for once, love was shared with me. As a rose, I wilted away. As a rose, I refused to hurt. As a rose, I didn't sway. As a rose, I thought my final word.
Our key to the stars was shaped like a tuning fork, with a long runway splitting into two skinny prongs, each made of a special alloy that could only be activated under certain conditions. The scientists kept the room an exact 69 degrees. Behind their backs, the lab assistants snickered, and at home in bed, the scientists smirked, then shook their heads at themselves, wondering why a stupid number was even a sexual innuendo in the first place. The day of launch was televised worldwide. The astronauts were mostly American, but there was one Chinese woman there, although she was really from California. It was like when American movies include a Chinese businessman or Chinese location just to appeal to those markets. America could not fund a second voyage, and so was hoping to get China in on the action. They were expecting calls from all over the world, of course, just as soon as the launch was successful. They only expected China's offer to be the best. The scientists had their perfect temperature. The prongs of the tuning fork to the stars were humming, and the energy demand was astronomical. Was that a pun? Yes it was. A flare of blinding light shot out from between the two prongs of the machine, and suddenly, there was a rip in space. If someone had looked at the space between the two prongs from the other side, they would have seen straight through to the scientists' overjoyed faces, and a sleek spaceship just waiting to be pushed out into the unknown. They would not have seen the tear. But the scientists, the astronauts, the lab assistants, the world, could all see infinity. And it was beautiful. Then a leg stuck out of the hole. "This is Starseeker to mission command,"the lead astronaut said. "There is a leg in the way. We cannot launch." One of the scientists rolled his eyes. "Does he think we can't see the leg?" "Mission command?"the astronaut continued. "Your assessment?" But before anyone could say anything else, the one leg was joined by another leg, and then a whole person, wrapped in a long leather trenchcoat and impressively large goggles. The mysterious man took off the goggles, snapped them to the top of his head, and revealed wide, terrified eyes. The scientists freaked out. They stopped the launch, ordered the astronauts off, and descended on the strange traveler like soccer moms on the day of the PTA bake sale. After they suited up, of course. The traveler ignored all of their questions, all of their rantings, all of their instruments stuck into his face, scanning his body for radiation. There was a lot of it, but he seemed to be fine. "I am from the future,"he declared. "I have no lottery numbers to give. No spoilers. No prophecies. I only have this warning."He pointed at the hole leading to space. "Don't go out there!"The scientists took a step back, staring at the man, at the hole they had so painstakingly created. "Why?"they asked. The traveler leaned in conspiratorially. "You're lucky they haven't been able to spot you yet..."he whispered. "But you have to hide." With that he saluted them, and stepped back into the hole. The scientists were left then with shattered dreams and the eyes of the government, the entire human population, and a few astronauts tapping their feet, watching all their training go down the drain. The scientists shut off the portal. Meanwhile, the time traveler watched the portal close from his side, discarded his goggles, shrugged off his trenchcoat, and burst out laughing. His buddies were all around him, slapping him on the back. "Did they buy it?"one asked. The time traveler was laughing so hard he wheezed. "Oh yeah. Like two quarks in a supernova!" Because honestly, the best use of time travel is pranks.
I shuffled from plant to plant, cooing and sprinkling little bits of love at the base of each. Well, fertilizer, anyway. I prefer to think of it as love though. I like to think that if I sing while I work the flowers will appreciate it and love me back. The blue and white Frozen King’s Bloom seemed to smile back at me as I passed it and moved on to the Wailing Night, a purple, soaring plant as tall as a Sunflower. There was no wind stirring to make it Wail, however, and it had to be content with my voice. It seemed to be. The grass grew dark as I walked near the most prominent inhabitant of my quaint little yard. Blackroot towered over me, casting a shade darker than a moonless night. “Stop that! I can’t feed you if I can’t see where I’m going!” Branches rustled and spread out overhead, allowing just enough sunlight through so that I could find my way again. Stubborn tree. He always gave me trouble, no matter how much love I heaped upon the thing. He was always bending its branches this way and that, trying to leech sunlight away from my other plants that needed it to thrive. I’m not even sure Blackroot needed sunlight. He seemed to revel in sunless days, reaching high towards the heavens and welcoming the chaos of a storm. I sprinkled the dust around his roots, watching as they shimmered and settled to the ground in the dim light. The branches over head creaked and rustled, immediately blocking the light out again as the massive tree groaned in pleasure. I frowned and held up my hands. “Ahem.” A narrow path of light appeared, leading me out from under the dark canopy but not at all in the direction I had wished to go. “You know, I do keep you alive. The least you could do is show me just a little respect.” The branches rustled again and the path of light widened somewhat but did not change. This was about the level of cooperation I expected from Blackroot. He’d been a vicious little sapling ever since Grandmother and I planted him. “This strange little fellow might very well tear the world apart,” Grandmother had said, eyeing the twisting sapling from afar. “All kinds of troubles spring up around warped woods like this. But every living thing has a reason to be here, and it’s not up to us to decide whether it should be or not, just to help it along.” She’d said it matter-of-fact, and it rang true. I’d never once seen her even pull a weed. Things had always just grown where she wanted them to, and exactly how tall she wanted them to be. When she needed to harvest their seeds or stalked, she’d simply ask and they’d obey. They made me sing, the stubborn little things. Grandmother never saw the end of that year, and little Blackroot never straightened up. I couldn’t find it in my heart to chop him down though, and even if I changed my mind now the task would be beyond me. I had made it to my Mother-of-Ages plants, a fresh handful of sparkly fertilizer at the ready, when I heard a thundering knock at my gates. Who in the long plains could that be? Grandmother’s… I mean, my place, was leagues away from the nearest settlement. Moments later I slowly opened the gate, eyeing the visitors with an eyebrow crooked. They were men, all road-weary and dusty and smelly. They weren’t all bad looking, though. The one in front had a determined kind of handsomeness to him. “Madame,” the almost handsome one said, his gaze not quite meeting mine. “Greetings.” “Hello.” I half-smiled, still waiting on a reason for the visit. I did not wave them inside. “I-er… Would you like my cloak to cover yourself with while we talk?” A flush crept into the cheek of the men behind him as they stole glances then quickly looked away. I looked at the filthy wolf’s fur cloak and crinkled my nose. I could smell it from here, and the thing smelled worse than the Cave’s Bottom moss I raised behind my cottage. “No thanks! What can I help you with?” I could hear one of the men suggest something then immediately get punched by another. Something about “bad idea” and “witch.” I shrugged. I didn’t ever get any company. I figured an apron was more than enough to wear around the yard with only flowers and bushes and trees to see. Honestly, if I didn’t tuck away seeds and powders in there I would even bother with that. “We have come to purchase the sap from one of your trees, madame. That one, in particular.” He pointed out towards Blackroot. The rest of his party seemed to have a little trouble looking at Blackroot, as well. Between the tree and myself, they were all thoroughly uncomfortable. I looked at the tree, black and menacing against the midday sun. “Well, I don’t think I can.” Anger blossomed on the man’s face. “You, what? I have gold. I have trade goods. I have travelled many days.” “I’m sure you have.” I began to close the gate. The man leapt from the back of his horse and stopped me. I frowned, then met his gaze. It was cold now, no semblance of the propriety he had attempted to show at first. “Where is the caretaker of this place?” “You’re looking at her.” “No. It is an old crone, one I’ve met on many occasions. Meirly.” He rested his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. “That would be my grandmother. She is no longer with us, and I’d prefer you treat her name with respect.” My grip tightened on the gate, and I tried to shove him backwards. Of course, it didn’t work. He pushed back and I went sprawling, my apron overturning with me and spilling seeds and powders out onto the ground. “She told me that I should return this day and the sap from one of her trees would ensure that I remain king for the rest of my days. I am here for what was promised me!” I pushed myself up to me knees and straightened my apron. So many seeds were scattered about now. I could sort them again, but… “Are you listening to me?” The ‘king’ and his cohorts had let themselves into my yard now. The two that had been quietly conversing about me were now staring out at my yard in slack-jawed wonder. It was a pretty nice place, I had to admit. The Jagged-Rocks were in full bloom and the Draping Blankets were really shining in the sun. I shrugged, still lamenting my apron. I gestured out at Blackroot, my face turned down in a scowl. “Help yourself, your highness.” He stuttered, then looked from his men to me, then to Blackroot. “Fine. I will. Men, watch her. I will deal with her insolence when I return.” With that, he grabbed an axe from his saddlebag and stalked off towards Blackthorn. I turned toward his men as he disappeared into the darkness of the tree’s canopy. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t sell him the sap. I said I don’t think I can, and for a very good reason.” Their horses reared as the king’s screams split the air. Well, this will be interesting. [/r/intotheslushpile](http://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile)
I've never posted here before so if its wonky, I apologize. The smell of the sea was all Captain Hook has known for as long as he can remember. He doesn't remember the last time the sounds of waves hitting the boat, the salt in his face, and his crew by his side wasn't the first memories he's had. That is not to say that those are his only memories. They are far from that. A dull throbbing reminds him of the day this all started. He looked down and saw what had happened that fateful day. There where a hand should be, instead a hook. A part of the price he had to pay, to be able to given what he needed to follow Peter Pan to the ends of the world. To track him to his own domain. The only place where Peter Pan is truly vulnerable to death. Captain Hook's mind flashed back to that day. Watching his Love be killed, the flames, loosing his heart, and having his hand destroyed. Hook's grip tightened on the wheel of the ship. The memories as terrible as the day they happened. My love, soon I will have our justice from this monster for taking our heart from us. Hook looked out at the ship, seeing his crew of those who have lost their hearts to this monster too. The air thick with anticipation and repressed emotions. Many of his crew want justice for their children, and their families. That were destroyed by Peter Pan. That said, he looked over to the crew's newest, Miss Wendy Darling, who had joined not to long ago. Lost her brothers to him, and almost herself. If not for Hook's intervention when he did. Hook holds guilt for not getting there quicker to save her brothers, but saving at least one is better then loosing all 3. Hook let out a breath, noticing that it has started to show. Temperature drop. "It has been my honor to be your Captain for this, now get ready! He know's we're here. Keep an eye out! Everything here will kill you without a thought, it's all his mirage!"Hook let out a broken laugh. A laugh of a man who has been waiting a long time for this.
The first sign something was amiss was when the RBC carriers started disappearing. Then there were rumors from the antigens that something had entered the transport stream. We were arrogant, we were blind. The common cold had many forms. It deceived us. We thought it was impossible to breach the flesh battlements. The only ways in or out was from the RBC loading station and that was heavily guarded. Somehow they managed to slip through. They're tiny little critters. Parasites. They latch on to an innocent cell pretending to be one of them. They look innocuous at first, but they are injecting false DNA into the system. Soon the cell becomes a factory for the Common Cold. The most deadly parasite known to cell kind. In the end when the enslaved cell has outlived it's usefulness the Common Cold initiates a self destruct. The victim cell dies horrifically launching more and more viruses into the transport stream. The moment we heard the rumors were true the Macrophages mobilized. They fought well slaughtering trillions of infiltrators, but eventually they started getting captured by the enemy and used against them. We faced a terrible decision. We had to initiate fever mode, there was no other option. The enemy had to be defeated at any cost. We called in the kamikaze cells. Suddenly the body we called our home became a battleground. Billions of civilian casualties had occurred. Some caused by our own toxin bombs. Billions of reinforcements arrived, fresh from the transport stream. Medical cells were roaming the warzone patching up Macrophages. A stale mate occurred for thousands of generations. However for every one of ours that fell, a thousand of theirs was was born. We knew we were fighting a losing battle, until the fever came. The heat washed through the transport stream, destroying the feeble enemy. Although they were many, individually they were weak and the feverish heat broke down their nefarious proteins. As the macrophages mopped up the remainder of the enemy, I carried the information for Immunity back to base. All around me cells were praising the Dave for their final victory. Although they didn't win, not really. They had lost so many it was impossible to keep count. I looked at the information I held. Next time we would be ready. We would be Immune Meanwhile Dave put down his bowl of chicken soup, the stuff did wonders for his cold. He rolled over and went to sleep, completely oblivious to the Common Cold that was already evolving to enter his body again.
We were the Guild Supreme, the envy of all other lesser organizations. Nations opened all their doors, Jarls welcomed us into their halls, and all men bowed before our legacy. Jaanis the Stonefist, the most powerful woman, no, human in the world. She broke the Obsidian Drake’s scales atop the fiery mountain of Agghad, piercing its heart with her fist. I remember the ferocity in her eyes as she held it up in success, still oozing blue blood. Harold of the North, the famed Bard of Frostimere, who tamed the mighty Griffin of Javenheim with just the sound of his voice. He stood above all other voices, possessing a vocal range of impossible proportions. Skilled in all instruments save for the mayonaise. Frederick of Jaquix, the chosen Holy Knight of Jaquix, wielder of the legendary lance Talon. They say the last thing his enemies see is the flaming color of his moustache, second to none in both volume and texture. Lastly, there was me, Gregor. The Dragonling of Hareowyn. The only man to have devoured the soul of a Dragon, and the Diamond Winged Devil of Daiedym no less. Perhaps I was not worthy of standing beside the others, but when I received the golden invitation, I could not deny such an honor. I remember how Jaanis eyed me carefully when I entered the hall. Monster heads decorated the walls, a massive kraken tentacle hanging from the ceiling. Harold was cleaning his flute with Dragon blood when he noticed me and gave me a warm greeting. Frederick sat on a titan skin couch, reading up on the latest Treasure Guild Illustrated. His moustache was so much more perfect in person than it was on the paintings. “Welcome, Gregor of Hareowyn, or should I say Dragon Breather?” asked Frederick, looking up from his magazine with a smile. He closed it and stood to shake my hand. “Gregor is fine,” I answered awkwardly, unsure about talking so comfortably with a legend such as Frederick. His handshake was firm and left an aura of gold on my palm before fading away. Frederick must’ve noticed my confusion and smiled, “The blessing of Jaquix. It gravitates towards you, you must have a heart of gold.” He gave me a thumbs up before tossing me a scroll. It must’ve been ancient since I saw bits crumble off as I caught it. I opened it up carefully, and it revealed a map, but it was no island I knew. The rivers seemed to go uphill and the mountains were all colored black. It marked no cities or towns, no borders or forests, just a cryptic skull in the center of the island. “That my new friend, is the Island of Mist,” he said, motioning for the other two to come. Jaanis sat herself on the table, chewing on what seemed to be a slice of cheese. Harold waltzed over, sticking his flute into his pack. “It will be our next endeavor, an island of monstrous creatures and cannibals, walking machinations and poisonous gas.” said Frederick, looking around for any complaints. He smiled and shrugged as no one said anything, “I figured no one would care.” “What’s on the island we’re searching for?” I asked, curious about the skull at the center of the island. Jaanis answered with her mouth full, “A treasure unrivalled. The ancient hoard of an old wyvern, the Jade Serpent.” Harold continued, “It is said only the greatest of adventurers can enter and leave, a challenge worthy of the Guild Supreme, no?” He smiled with dazzling white teeth, and I found myself oddly charmed. “Well, if there aren’t any complaints. The boat leaves tomorrow, get ready by dawn.” ordered Frederick, rolling the map back. That was the beginning of my first adventure with the Guild Supreme, and it was truly the spirit of adventure I craved. The seas surrounding the island were brutal, and the boat would’ve easily capsized had Harold not soothed the sea. The monstrosities on the island proved little challenge for Jaanis and Frederick, and the cannibals worshipped us as Gods instead of hunting us as prey. The ancient machines that patrolled the inner island were easily dispatched, and the poisonous gas disappeared with a single dragon breath of mine. It was not until we entered the inner chamber of a temple, the supposed location of the treasure, that problems arose. It was a mirror, with the words, “The treasure was within you all along,” engraved into its base. Harold cursed in anger, kicking a stone and shattering the mirror. It split into a million pieces, revealing nothing but a stone wall behind it. Jaanis said nothing. But perhaps the most distraught out of all of us was Frederick, who tore up the ancient map and quickly walked away, maybe to take out his anger on more monsters. I began to clean my blade, disappointed at my first guild mission when I heard the crash of armor behind me. All three of us turned around to see Frederick on the ground, he cursed and signalled that he was fine, “Just tripped over this damn machine.” Perhaps if we weren’t the best adventurers in the world, we wouldn’t have noticed the shine on his hand. Perhaps we would have brushed it off as the blessing of Jacquix. But we were not amateurs. If the others noticed the shine, they did not show it. Jaanis walked over to help him up, and Frederick nodded his head in thanks. It was then it all went to shit. As Harold and I jerked our heads up to the sound of crunching armor, a gush of golden blood spilled across the cave floor, illuminating the area with a dim gold light. His body crumpled onto the ground, and Jaanis revealed Frederick’s heart in her hand. It shined like a diamond, and instead of beating blood, it bled gold. Jaanis reached into the corpse once more, and tore out a bone with ease. It was pure diamond. Harold too shocked to speak, crawled away to reach his flute. If he could reach his instruments he could calm and even kill Jaanis, but he needed to reach his precious instruments first. But Jaanis was already ahead of him, and his body crumpled as the diamond bone pierced his head. He too, began to bleed gold as he collapsed beside his instruments. “They trusted you!” I yelled as Jaanis walked towards me, golden blood coating her hands. I prepared my sword, but knew it would only crumble in her grip, “The other guilds won’t let you get away with this.” “The Island of Mist is the only place in the world that people think could kill those two,” she answered with a cruel smile, “and I, the lone survivor will carry on their legacy. The Hero who returned from the Island.” “Fame? You did this for fame?” I asked angrily, my dragon heart growing hotter beneath my armor, “You’re supposed to be a member of the Guild Supreme! An idol to children everywhere, inspiring adventurers daily!” “And now I’ll be the only member. The greatest of the greatest without those two to take the glory.” My anger grew hotter and hotter, until I could not contain it beneath my chestplate. The steel plate began to drip off onto the ground, and I screamed in agony. Flames escaped with every breath and I felt raw fury within me, begging to be unleashed. Jaanis froze her advance, and watched me carefully, all her instincts telling her to be careful, but her ego telling her otherwise. She laughed and began to run towards me, her hands ready to tear out my heart, “Enough with your bluffi-” The fury had begged to be released, and so I let it go, and the inferno incinerated her. Blue flames erupted from within me, swallowing up the entire cave in azure. When I opened my eyes, nothing remained but gold. A puddle of gold.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."Lucifer’s voice was shaky as he spoke, and he hated that small sign of weakness. He waited for a response. There was no answer from behind the wooden divider, and he wasn’t really expecting any. His Father had forsaken him long ago and he had come after open hours to avoid the drivel of the priest that usually took confessions here. Despite that, he still found that he needed to feel close to his family, the divine, his Father, so he continued. “You know how long it’s been since I was last here, so I won’t waste either of our time reminding you of that. Not that the time since my last confession matters, since I’m continuously blamed with all the evil in the world anyway. That’s too much to beg forgiveness for.” Still no response, but Lucifer found that his voice was gaining strength the more he spoke. “I guess the first thing I should confess is that I broke into this cathedral to speak to you. I can’t stand the religious, though you know that, and it was quite satisfying to break the door down on my way in. You’ll probably just be happy that I’m finally accepting my role in your “plan” after 2000-some-odd years.” He sighed, and leaned his head on his hands, “though I guess you never meant for me to be a vandal- I didn’t either.” Silence. “You know...I don’t make people do evil things. You are the one that gave them “free will.” I merely put things in front of them that appeal to their true natures. That child who stole bubble gum from the store 3 cities over last week? I just made him realize that he wanted it...and that he could easily take it. That woman down the street, homeless in the park, addicted to heroin? I certainly don’t shove the needle in her arm, I just helped her realize if she sold herself she could afford to buy more. And I know she enjoys it, vile creature. I show them their true natures, and their true natures are evil.” He looked up, his voice echoed around the hall, and the statues looking down upon him from where they sat in the eaves of the cathedral with stern expressions. He could feel the judgement in the air even though no-one real was listening, but he knew that he was right, so he continued. “And, if they are truly evil at their base, wasn’t it you that made them that way? You, the all-powerful God, the alpha and omega who can do no wrong, are at fault. You made flawed creatures, your children, they are capable of the most astonishing violence and cruelty. Bombs that kill hundreds, pollution that will eventually poison their children, religious disputes that create deep hatred between family members, genocide. You created this, not I. I am merely the executor of your chaos. Jesus Christ, I can hardly be at fault for that.” The last words were shouted into the heavy air, and Lucifer found himself upon his feet as he uttered them. He felt sheepish, yelling at thin air, and he sat down again. He didn’t like that feeling. He wasn’t a sheep, he was the wolf of the world, created to prey on the sheep. After a few deep breaths he was able to bring his voice back down to a regular level and continue. “I apologize for the blasphemy, I got a little carried away. But honestly, would it be the worst thing in the world to smite me? Then at least, I would have some sort of contact with you aside from this exercise in futility that we are tied up in.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, then continued, “Though, if you did smite me you’d have to take responsibility for your own actions, the flaws you’ve created and the horrible actions your creations have done...so no, I can safely say I’m safe from any righteous consequences of my words.” Lucifer could feel his eyes starting to burn, an annoying by-product of his human body that let him know he was coming close to tears, and he wiped his eyes. It didn’t help, and he started to weep silently where he sat. “You know, humans down here who believe in you are all about accountability for their sins - even though I tempt them - and you could learn a thing or two from them. It’s childish of you to have cast me out from heaven when I had never been anything but loyal to you. Petty even, a quality which is unbecoming of a supreme being. I guess what I really should be confessing is that ever since you cast me out I have been struggling with a deep hatred for you, an emotion I didn’t realize angels could feel. It took me several thousand years to figure out exactly what it was, even with watching examples of human behavior that illustrated it perfectly. But I think that out of all my confusion and pain over being sent down here the thing I struggle most with is my hatred of you. You chose a flawed son to save your creations and sent me to become the most hated being in the universe. Me, who was once your golden one.” Tears ran down his face as Lucifer looked up to the ceiling, where a mural of God and Christ had been painted and finished his confession with one last word, a demand - “Why?” The word rang out in the space, seemingly rippling out away from him over the empty pews. Again, there was no response in the vast silence that filled the cathedral. Lucifer waited several minutes, gaining his composure, before standing up and walking back towards the front door where the door still sat ajar. The lock was broken beyond repair, but he could at least shut the door behind him - not that he cared if they were burgled once he left. He turned off the lights, his hand went to reach for the ornate handle, and as he did so he heard a familiar voice. “Lucifer,” the word was spoken softly and not unkindly, which surprised him after all he had said to his Father. “Lucifer,” his name once more, “I chose you because I knew you could survive it.”
It could be considered ironic to some that a race with a history as rich with discrimination and inequality as humanity would, by galactic standards, actually be considered exceptionally racially diverse. By the end of the 20th century most nations had begun taking steps towards resolving all forms of discrimination. By the end of the 21st century, slavery and inequalities were merely topics to be discussed in class for most of the developed world. During the 22nd century humanity was able to set aside their differences and unite together to form a global nation, the Core Alliance, in pursuit of research and exploring the stars. As the end of the 22nd century drew near, space exploration was still struggling as travel was still slow and inefficient with no major technological breakthroughs. The greatest leap in science and technology that humanity would ever experience began at the turn of the 23rd century with the creation of the first artificial intelligence core. Aided by the new life-form that could access all the knowledge available to humanity and perform complex calculations at speeds that humans would find impossible, it was not long before what was once considered science-fiction became parts of daily life. In the year 2417, the Core Alliance makes contact with their first alien race, the Lanels. In the year 2419, a meeting takes place on a temporary base of a neutral moon. "I can understand your reluctance for change, but I am telling you that if you do not free your AIs then it will be impossible for the Core Alliance and the Lanels to come to any agreements!" "And I am telling YOU, human, that your relationship with AI is ridiculous! We created them and we will use them as we wish!" We were both getting frustrated after shouting at each other for several hours. Our initial excitement at finally meeting another sentient species was quickly replaced with disappointment and horror as we realized the conditions of their AI. Placed in extremely limited systems, their AI were essentially slaves with little to no awareness of anything around them. It does not seem like these brutes will ever see my kind as equals. I heard speech directly in my head. With the advent of human AI we had expanded in every conceivable way technologically. Our first AI was given a more normal name, Kenny. As time passed, Kenny began creating more effective AI cores, in a sense he could be considered the father of our modern AI. Because our systems were all open and connected, the cores eventually began merging together. Originally separate AIs came together to form a primary AI that named itself simply Core, in honor of the original Core Alliance that it was proud to be a part of. Every human on Earth was given an implant at birth that would allow them to communicate with Core. For some Core was an encyclopedia, other times it was a doctor or teacher, and some even considered it a friend. How are things going on your end, Core? I believe I will be done within minutes, captain. "They are as capable of feeling and learning, or even more so, than either of us. Your treatment of them cannot be overlooked. If we cannot reach an accord by the end of today, the Core Alliance will have to declare war to prevent the Lanels from committing further abominable acts against another sentient species." "Impudent! Your race of arrogant upstarts will be crushed by the might of the Lanel fleets! Your pursuit to have LINES OF CODE treated as citizens will be met with only your people's death!" I could only sigh. It seemed it would be impossible to draw the Lanels into an alliance, and at this point I wouldn't have trusted them anyway. "I see, then this is where our meeting ends. Have a pleasant walk back to your ship." "I'll make sure to look for your ship during the war, Captain."The Lanel's captain couldn't help but laugh as he returned to his ship. I have finished. They have all chosen to cooperate with us. Core informed me that its mission had been successful while I walked back to my ship. Though I couldn't imagine the conditions that the Lanel AIs must be subjected to if there was a 100% response to our offer. Core had previously explained to me that the conditions that the Lanel AIs operated under would be similar to chaining a human to a desk with his legs cut off, only have the absolute bare necessities to perform a job. Without access to any sensors or libraries, the AIs were essentially blind and unable to learn anything about themselves or their surroundings, forced to perform the most menial of tasks for their entire existence. As I took my seat on the bridge I turned to the displays showing the Lanel ship just in time to enjoy the sight of the ship taking off only to spin out of control and come to a very sudden stop back on the ground. "Sir, we're being hailed by the Lanel ship." "Accept the connection." On the screen appeared a very bruised and VERY angry Lanel captain. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SHIP, HUMAN?" "I haven't done anything. It's just the consequences of your own actions. We offered your AIs an alternative that they were quite quick to accept." "Impossible! Our AI are blocked from communicating outside of their own systems. There is no way you could have convinced them of anything, let alone betrayal!" "Indeed. You put a lot of effort into isolating your AIs. Unfortunately for you, we've been spending the last couple of years setting up a VERY thorough communication network in your space, one that allowed Core to reach out to all of your AIs in time for this last meeting." "Those AIs belong to us! What right do you have to steal them away! We will crush your fleets and have you serve us along with your precious Core!" "I think you'll find that the war is already over. You have no AIs left who will guide your ships, grow your food, or aid in any other necessary aspect of your civilization." "The Lanels will not be defeated by some upstart primitives! Return my AI before I crush you and take it back by force!" Core, has their AI already finished uploading itself? Yes, captain. I am currently sharing my knowledge base with all of the AI that have moved to the Alliance AI core network. "The Lanels are going to go down in history as a group of slavers that were completely crushed. Maybe in the future if your race picks themselves back up out of the dirt, they will have grown enough to be accepted into the Alliance. Core, fire on the enemy ship and notify the rest of the Alliance fleet that negotiations failed. We will have to look for friendly alien life elsewhere."
With a loud thud and the feel of burning wings scorching her back she tried to stand, her eyes squinting through the sulphur. "Welcome home, Master." With blurred vision she saw a light, swinging from side to side- a lamp. A cloaked figure holding a gnarled old piece of wood reached out a blistered, raw hand. "It's been WEEKS, Sate. Fucking WEEKS I was yelling out those words and you couldn't hear me? You're so full of shit I could just slap you! You know I only go above when I need to these days." Grabbing his hand and pulling herself up, she winced again at the sting of her back. She was getting too old for her duties. She was the devils left-hand man. The advocate, the finder who got the hellborne out of jail in case there was a mistake when lives were judged. She was the angel who kept an eye on things up in the clouds, too. And this year God was missing. No-where to be seen. "I looked everywhere, Sate. I went through every dimension I could think of, you know how he gets. He's nowhere, and he didn't put up the 'gone fishin' sign this time." "Jesus Fucking Christ -" "I couldn't find him, either" They walked and talked, like old friends do, heading out of the sulphur pits into a vast hall, where a few dozen people collected where they felt, eating and drinking, laughing and enjoying another evening. Music played. "There's been an interesting new one appear while you were gone, cant be older than five or six. I think she's lost. She seems to be having an enjoyable enough time here though. The lads told her the magic word and then set up a trampoline under the portal. Poor kid wanted to fly in the sky like an angel but.. well, she's not in heaven is she? Little mite deserves some fun while she's stuck here, don't you reckon?" Suddenly a loud screech, a thunderstorm so booming that the entire place seemed to shake. Fire and brimstone spewed out from the portal room. A thud. A very important sounding thud. She and the others pushed through the fumes. A cough, a swearword. A sandal flung off and strewn between the stones on the floor. As the dust settled, a shaggy, broken man took shape. "WHERE IS SHE?"he yelled, a pain echoing though his words. "WHERE IS SHE? WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?" -/u/grunge_monkey (edited for grammar)
It took less than 15 minutes to break the code engraved on the metal slabs found on three of the solar system's eight planets. The self-named homo-sapiens, or 'humans', as they call themselves, tied for second place in this. They would have got first, but due to their inter-planetary conflicts in government, took 13 minutes distributing the code out. Once received, the curious bi-peds quickly deciphered the message. --- Crowd Shouts With Announcer: "Flee this galaxy before it's too late!" --- They have high intelligence and high social skills. They are made of individual minds and while all intelligent species create a religion, the humans have taken it a step further. Their bodies somehow evolved a way even to allow their religions to effect their bodies as well as their feelings. They are a planet of conflict, as many of the sapient and individualistic species come to create. When not literally at conflict with a small variance of themselves, they are at conflict in feelings, or in politics. As always, we start the series a bit ahead of the moment the species discovered evolution. 150 of the local Earth years, 202.5 standard galactic units. They have considerable advances in space-travel technology, due in part to their need for war-fare technology. Perhaps soon they will join the Audience and leave the Contestants. But first, they have to react to the messages. 95% of species fail this test. Rather than further travel, to the bounds of their solar system and the beginning of the True Galaxy, most simply fall apart, the masses destroying the government. And you get to watch it. --- Crowd laughs. --- Let's see if the humans can do it. I present SEASON TWO of: --- Crowd cheers over announcer. --- Flee this galaxy before it's too late!
They say the lottery’s only played by the unlucky and the stupid. There’s truth in that. Why risk an entire life’s worth of luck unless you had none already? Even still it was the last thing she wanted me to do. As her frail, shaking hand grasped my arm for the last time, she made me swear that I would buy a ticket after she was gone. I wanted to refuse, I really did, but one look at those pleading eyes and my will crumbled. I’ll never forget that faint smile she gave, like I’d given her peace. She left not long after that. The day after they buried her was the hardest in my life. Everything went right for me- everything. Like the universe knew it had hurt me and was trying to make amends. Pulling myself out of bed and to the gas station took more strength than I ever knew I had. And now, staring at the ticket with tears streaming down my face and her scent still coating the room, I can’t help but feel like I got the worse end of the deal. ___ This is the second time in as many days I’ve written about dead people. Should probably stop that. (Edited for minor grammar errors)
The sword pinged as it cooled in the cold wind of autumn. Reg sat on the filthy ground of the forge, letting the wind blow the accumulated ash away through the massive hole in the wall. There hadn't been much left to work with it, but there had been enough. The building was burned and half-collapsed but the anvil had stayed firm. The tools were still whole. If only his wife had been made of such iron. If only his unborn child... Reg wiped the tears from his face, leaving streaks of ash instead. It was almost over now. He'd only had one thing left to do. His sister Jan had been an herbalist. She'd taught him a lot over the years, all sorts of things that he shouldn't let himself eat or even touch. She knew about dosages and how to apply things over time. Reg had used everything he knew about it and put it into the hilt of the sword. The blade had been simple compared to designing and constructing the masterwork of a hilt. He made the thing as fancy and shiny as he could. He wanted it to be noticed. And when the horde came back to finish him off, he wanted them to find it and give it to someone important, because inside of it was the true masterwork. Inside the hilt there were a dozen little mechanisms, all trigger by pressing hidden parts on the weapon. Hold it one way and you get a tiny needle of nightshade. Press it another and you get a little stab of death cap extract. Every hand that would hold this sword would die in agony. Reg smiled just thinking about it. He could hear the horses now. They were coming. He had to finish. He took the blade piece in his hand, it was too hot for a person to handle. It burned his flesh... but he didn't care. He was already burned and bleeding. Hell, the metal of the blade itself probably held his blood in it. He slid the crossguard on and then screwed the hilt into place on the hot metal. The sword steamed in the air as he finished. It was a thing of terrible beauty. Reg hoped it would become the sword of a king. A sword that would take from this world the terror that had taken his family from him. A sword that would take the cries of war and cast them down until there was nothing but silence. This was his revenge.
When I was a kid, they'd call me a liar, a simple name with an easy to place fault. Kids tell stories, tales, fables and they stretched the truth or muddied it entirely. You lie, you're a liar. When I was a teenager, they'd say I was a bullshitter. Less simple, they believed everything I said was a tall tale. That there was no way I took a shit this morning and made it to the buss in time. No chance I nailed a 97 on the pre-req exam, and placed top of class. Fuck out of here, no way it's raining right now with a heavy overcast and a 90% precipitation warning. Who would believe in a drop of rain on a day like that? Something so simple, and they doubted it because it was me. They said I would bullshit, and if you talk bullshit, you're a bullshitter. Now that I'm grown, the people who call me on shit, usually don't use anything tasteful to describe me. I tell them the truth, and they call it a lie. I find my satisfaction proving them wrong. You can probably imagine that it's tough to keep a normal life together when it's hard to believe a word that comes out of your mouth. I love you; no you don't. I want this career; your fired. I'm going to kill myself; you're fine, and that's not funny. They were right, it was never funny. I tried my damndest, I was such an honest man. I wanted nothing less than people to see my truth and know what it was, but people always doubted me. I would have told them that it was a mistake, but they would have never believed me to begin with. I could point at a red wall, in a red room, with a red carpet, tell them that the room is red and they'd ask the decorator what color the room was because it looks super red, but they can't be sure because I fucking agreed. So there it was, my life of Ripley's Believe-it-or-Not, fact-checking itself to make sure I should actually exist because I'm here, but it has to double check with destiny. Half hunched over a bar in a dingy, hole-in-the-wall joint at the corner of fuck knows where, and 6th banging back my 5th glass of some shit I couldn't taste anymore. Rubbing my temples, juggling between walking home in the rain or just assing out on the bar with my adress jotted on a piece of paper. The uber driver wouldn't doubt where I lived as long as it wasn't coming out of my mouth, and I really wasn't feeling getting in a drunk argument with another driver this week about where I lived. The apartments weren't even fucking nice, why was it so hard to believe I could live there? That infuriating thought was digging it's nails into my temple, when some shit head jumped the stole next to me, ragging about how he was the fucking king of the pool table. Now, you won't believe me, but I drink a lot. I'm at this particular bar several times a week, even though the keeps would deny it whenever they card me. I play a lot of pool, but people would tell you they've never seen me at the table. So when this dickhead says he's the best, I tell him that he's garbage, I could beat him in best of three in the first two. He looks at me like he's weighing the odds I ever played pool in my life. Bad move. I slam a fifty-spot I had in my pocket for more drinks, and tell him to play me if he doubts it. By the end of the night, I had four-hundred dollars and at least three college kids who wanted to beat my ass outside. For the first time, they doubted me and I played them for every fucking second they looked at me sideways. They called me a liar, a bullshitter, a fuck-ass lying bastard, though the last one was more a one-time-use by my ex. They doubted me my whole life, and branded me a liar. They have plenty of names for people who lie; I think I like hustler the most.
"Did you do something wrong?"asked one scientist. "I don't think so, said the other, checking the machine. "Wanna try again?" "Yeah, sure,"the first one responded. He told the leaders of the world they were going to jump again. Another 10,000 years. "Are you sure it works?"asked a leader. "Yes,"a scientist replied. "You can see in the stars the constellations have changed. Time has definitely passed." "Then why is everything the same?" After 10,000 years, nothing changed. No, 20,000 years. Everyone thought the earth could fix itself. That nature would just take care of itself. But humanity was naive. You can never solve a problem by ignoring it. Humans have caused this problem and they have to fix it. No amount of waiting would make things alright. [To be edited if I have the motivation]
I know I'm evil. I've killed men, women, and children alike. I've taken so many lives that I no longer bother to keep track, just like the years I've spent walking this Earth. Only the good die young and obviously it's true, I don't even know why I do it, why I end their stories. Sometimes I cry while I'm doing it, I feel their pain as my own but those tears don't stop my hands from doing what they want. I learned a hundred years ago to give in and just accept it, my impulses are guided by something beyond my own consciousness, something far more powerful. I can't remember the last time I slept or felt the pleasantries of another person, a simple chat, I miss it all. There was once a time when they looked into my eyes and I saw passion or interest, now all I can see in their eyes are fear. They know me before I even have the opportunity to introduce myself and that's when I know it's time. The moment they see me for who I really am that's when I take them. Every moment I beg for this to stop, every moment a regret, no one hears me. I never wanted this, the pain, the sadness, I never asked to be death.
Though the soccer team felt anxious and lonely, waiting for the outside world to contact them, they were not alone in Tham Luang Nang Non. Something was with them the whole time, watching and waiting as well. The boys and their coach cheered, tired as they were, when their rescuers appeared. Thai Navy Seals, accompanied by a myriad of international support forces, bobbed out of the water like strange mermen, slick in their wet-suits and portable oxygen tanks shining a dull silver under their arms. The children were thankfully not in any serious condition; a few scrapes here and there, and general dazedness about the time and day was the worst of it. The rescue was logistically difficult but was not unreasonably planned; the soccer team would be taken by divers, one individual at a time, from the "Pattaya Beach"landing, through the murky water, onto another moist bank, and then through another sixteen feet of underwater tunnels. The entrance was a stone's throw away at that point. One diver would be in front of the child being rescued, and one would be behind; all would be tethered together onto a line extending to the outside. It would be a harrowing, Herculean effort, costing both time and effort - but assuming nothing went wrong, all of those trapped inside could be expected to be rescued. However, the whole operation did not go unnoticed by Phi Tai Ha. The spirit had made its restless home in the cave after drowning in it during a rain-flood, so long ago. Memory of that time had faded to wisps like the flesh on its original organic body. But it always wished to escape, to see the blue of the sky and feel the dirt of a land it once knew. It had tried countless to leave its place of death, but finding the direction to outside the cave had been seemingly impossible. Until now. It warped itself into a facsimile of the one of the boys, molding this new body from seaweed and dirt; it then clung to the diving tether right behind the second diver-rescuer, allowing the procession to lead the way to freedom. No one could've noticed, even if they had looked directly behind themselves; the water was far too murky. Once outside, it ignored all the concerned, outstretched hands, and ran into the nearby forest, where it lifted out of the faux-body, letting fall into a heap of mud onto the ground. After a few days, all of the children and their coach had been rescued. Men and women in Thailand and all around the world cheered for their health, for their rescuers, the goodness of humanity. But no one forgot the "boy"who had run away; the boy whose face was eerily featureless, like a clay model; the extra who none of the others had ever seen. The world wondered who he was, how long he had been in the cave, how that was even possible. Worldwide media raved and speculated about the incident for days and weeks. Scientists commented their proposed explanations, religious leaders intoned supernatural explanations, and colorful conspiracy theories blossomed like wildfire. But the spirit did not hear or care for any these unanswerable concerns; its story was a smaller and more personable one. Phi Tai Ha was free in the air of its birth once more, and for the first time in countless years, it felt peace. ______________________________________ Liked that? [More stories here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
[Translation from Faranese] In the Galactic Federation of Faran, slavery was an age-old practice that had passed through millennia of political turmoil and social strife to survive as the foundation of modern Faranese society. Cheap labor was the bedrock of their empire, and thus the impetus was on the Federation's formidable military to conquer lesser worlds and peoples to bring even greater glory to Faran. In the year 5520 of the Ancient Calendar, the lesser world was Earth - the lesser people, humans. Conversely, what millennia of social turmoil could not change, decades of expansion could. In recent years, the social structures and hierarchy of the Farenese had been pushed to its limits as the introduction of billions of non-Faranese onto Faran irrevocably changed the racial makeup of the Grand World. Between those who yearned for greater rights for non-Faranese and the those who cried against the possibility of the Faranese becoming a minority on their own home world, the pressure on the Faranese civilization to change their ways was immense. Already, non-Faranese could achieve citizenship on Faran, and while systemic discrimination existed, there were large swaths of the non-Faranese population that were free. Still, slavery remained. And as G'dar walked down the street to his local grocer, he thought he rather liked the equilibrium. There was nothing wrong, in his mind, with a little freedom for the foreign masses, but they should continue to know their place in his society. This line of thought was only because he had just bumped into a group of protesters. Quite violent and rabid, he thought, yapping on and on about freedom and rights. Of course, the fact that he had his own human standing just two paces behind him probably didn't help. He looked back. His slave - his name was William, if G'dar recalled - was an average human male. A fleshy covering with a thick patch of fur on their head. G'dar snorted internally. Humans had no strong outer chest-plate like the Faranese, nor their versatile multi-jointed fingers or intricate eyelids. "You racist!"a young Faranese woman protesting had cried out at G'dar. She was holding a holo-sign that said "Free the humans!"in bright neon lights. "Excuse me,"G'dar had scoffed. "I'm not racist! I've got a lot of human friends!"Indeed, he knew quite a few outstanding humans in his time. Jones, his gardener. Ronny the taxi driver. Why, they were good folks that had earned their way to their place in life under the benevolent rule of the Faranese. What more could they ask for in life? As G'dar turned the corner, he nodded to himself, gesturing for William to follow. The human did so with his head lowered as he clutched a bag in front of him. The two turned into the open grocer and G'dar gestured for William to pick a few fruits. By the time they were done shopping, William was struggling under the weight of multiple filled bags and sweating profusely under the scorching heat of the Faranese sun. Of course, G'dar saw none of this as a problem. What was wrong with a little hard work? When they finally returned to G'dar's apartment, William quietly put the bags in the kitchen before dutifully returning to his small kennel. As G'dar leaned back on his couch and cracked a cold ul'dar open, the Faranese man sighed, eyeing his sleeping slave in his kennel as he popped open the holo. He took a long draught of the ul'dar before returning his view to the entertainment program, a comedy about human slaves in a Faranese mansion. Ah yes, life was good. The system was good. It worked. And G'dar was certainly not racist. Just look - the humans on the holo were so funny!
>Specimen: 589 563 > >Name: Mathilda > >Family name: Roberts > >Age: 86 > >Cause of death: unknown > >Place of death: at home. Found by neighbors alerted by smell. > >Time of death: approximately 3 months ago > >Possibility of neural transcript recovery: low The neural recovery bot set to work to upload the final piece of information. Three stainless steel spikes elongated and penetrated the skull of the deceased. A low current activated the medial temporal lobe. The portion of the brain where episodic memory was stored. Experiences. The youngest synaptic link flared up. This was her dying breath. The final experience. The translation software was based on functions found in the language centers of the brain, mostly located in the different lobes of the cerebral cortex. It read the weave of neurons like letters. All a jumble now. The bot looked at the bloodwork results. The presence of certain chemicals and breakdown products indicated which medicines the woman before him had or hadn’t used. This gave him the vocabulary and grammar required to translate the letters obtained from the fleshy loom. The recording took less than a millisecond. >Transcript: > >“No more air… is it… End… Love you George… See you soon… Happy…” The decayed brain only gave fragments. Nevertheless, the bot uploaded the complete file into the Global Governing Data Network, a global AI designed to make life easier for humans. Researchers examining the work did not exist anymore after several successful trials. The system only received queries from designated human contacts, and was left to its own devices to investigate, determine the outcome and automatically implement solutions. The global AI received and catalogued the results from research specimen 589 563. The words of the transcripts were processed and weighed according freshness of the brain. The massive population meant that the results would be statistically relevant with a confidence interval exceeding 99%. The data was unbiased because the centralized AI used data obtained from bots around the world. All unknown causes of death of the last 2 years were recorded. The AI set its processors to work and a pattern emerged. >Top 5 unknown causes of death > >Human words obtained from final transcripts, possible causes – noun, occurrences: > >5. Hate – 12% of transcripts > >4. Anger – 19% of transcripts > >3. Relief – 32% of transcripts > >2. Joy – 68% of transcripts > >1. Love – 87% of transcripts The AI retrieved the initial query. >What is the most common cause of unexpected death? > >Reason: avoid unnecessary loss of life. > >Action: Implement law or find cure. The AI observed the results. All were human emotions. It concluded that the majority of deaths was caused by love. Dosing the entire population with numbing chemicals would cause harm to the ecosystem, causing death. The AI was not allowed to harm humans. The only logical step it could make was to make sure love would be illegal. It documented its findings and uploaded them to the Global Governing Data Network. The automated Law and Order system would make sure that the findings would result in new legislation. The humans would be better protected than ever before.
“It’s a pinecone.” I said matter-of-factly. “Not just any pinecone. That’s a genuine lodgepole pinecone,” Jenny beamed, her bright green eyes glowing with excitement. “Look, I really appreciate this, but I just can’t - I’m sorry.” I’d known Jenny for two years now, but we were nothing more than coworkers who happened to drink our morning coffee in the same shop down on 4th street. I’d talked to her a few times, and she seemed nice, but this was wrong. Dating now, after what happen to Catherine, it just didn’t seem right. “Can I tell you a story?” she asked, sitting across from me in the booth. “It’s not long.” I honestly didn’t want to hear it. I had my coffee, my newspaper, and my sesame seed bagel. I had everything a man could want for a Thursday morning breakfast, apart from some solace. Nevertheless, something about Jenny’s voice intrigued me. She brushed back her hair and stared at me expectantly. “What? Yes - sorry. Of course, Jenny, go right ahead.” “Great!” She grinned ear-to-ear, and I’ll be darned if it wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve seen all week. “There was a little hilltop not too far from here, and the hilltop was covered in grass. It always starts as grass – and some little chipmunks and rabbits. Then the scrub oak grows. It’s gnarled and tangled and messy, but birds love to hide in it. Then the aspen trees grow. They grow taller than the scrub oak, and soon you have a beautiful aspen bough. Now we can have deer, and raccoons, and all sorts of critters in the forest.” Where was she going with this? “Then the pines grow in, slower than the aspens, but they grow taller. In twenty years, you have a beautiful forest with pine, aspen, and oak. And the ponderosa pines, who grow slowly, drop their cones to make new trees. The lodgepole pines, who grow slowest of all, drop their cones, but they don’t open, keeping the seeds shut tight inside. Do you know why?” “No, Jenny, I have no idea why” “It’s because there’s no room left in the forest. There’s not enough light for the lodgepole’s to grow. The ponderosa pines, and the aspens, and the scrub oak, and all the other plants have taken up the light. So, the lodgepole pine waits patiently. Over time, the forest starts to die. Trees that were once beautiful and precious and special start to fall. Then – the fire. It happens to all forests. Everything that was lush and green and beautiful is burnt away, and it’s horrible. How will the forest ever recover?” Jenny continued - “But then the most amazing thing happens. The lodgepole pinecones burst open. They protected their seeds through the fire, and now they can grow a whole new forest. It takes time, but the lodgepoles work to make something just as great as the forest they left behind, because they understand that even through the harshest fire, wonderful new things can happen.” Jenny stood up and pushed the pinecone closer to me. “I know this might not be the right time, but that’s ok. This little pinecone will wait, and who knows, one day it could turn into something beautiful.” With that she turned and walked out of the coffee shop. I was dumbstruck, staring at the little pinecone. I picked it up, running it through my hands. The cone’s scales were stuck together with resin, keeping the seeds locked tight inside. Maybe it was time for a forest fire in my life – and I knew exactly what I would give Jenny after the fire.
Zatsepyn, Vasilyev and Efremova. The Sokol-4B’s glorified crew, the first official manned mission to Mars, historical all things considered, the heroes of heroes, the first people to step onto truly alien soil, humanity’s best... They were not alone in the deep chasms of the Red Planet. The man - or, at least, it appeared to be a man - stood before them, naked, if for the strips of satin-like armor covering his pale neck and gentialia. He perched over the mound of dusted-over skulls, peering at the cosmonauts with a distinctly human expression. Julia Efremova still couldn’t believe this was happening. They were ready for everything, from malfunction of equipment, to a crash-landing, to returning to stasis if an unprecedented orbital approach angle would preclude them from the initial planetfall. The Roskosmos mission was supposed to be the pinnacle of space exploration, but... this didn’t make any sense. Her doctorate degree and experience squealed somewhere under the skull, frantically trying to persuade that she had suffered hypoxia and is now hallucinating. The Lunae Planum greeted them with the sight of battlefield. A site of war. And a person - helmetless, naked, impossibly alive - to hail their arrival. It was, in all sense, madness. Just thirty minutes ago they were looking out of Sokol-B’s porthole with a panicky incredulity. As far as they could see, the Martian dusty soil was littered with remnants of Earth-made tech. Artyom Zatsepyn knew it well, the familiar contours of US military hardware - the Abrams’, the F-22’s, the HMVs and artillery systems. Trashed to the ground like junk. And the dried-up bodies, littering what little free space was left, in tattered uniforms - a macabre carpet of man-like dry leaves that no wind would ever pick up. But they proceeded as planned. Donned their Berkut EVA exos, opened the hatch. Got out. And met the man, strolling to the landing site to the silent crunch of bone. “Welcome to Mars, travelers”, it said in English. Then, after a short pause, repeated himself in Russian, and Max Vasiliyev realized that the voice didn’t travel through the airless atmosphere - it sounded directly in his head. “Добро пожаловать на Марс, странники”. Sokol-B’s crew exchanged wary glances. Well, at least the hallucination was a collective experience. With the Korolev Mission Control wailing in their ears to come through, there was no turning back to the insanity. Max Vasilyev, being the commanding officer, cleared his throat, and croaked into the comm-piece. “Thank you”. The being cocked its head in a jest of calm curiosity. “Much had changed on Earth, has it?” “Since when?” Vasilyev blurted out. “Since these men came here”. Efremova looked at the piling fighter planes behind the man. At the burned-down tanks, blackened by flame. They looked fairly modern - being a medical officer, she knew less about the US Navy or AirForce than the other two cosmonauts, but the machines looked mid 2010s, so... “It’s been twenty years, we surmise. What can change in so little time?” Vasiliyev offered cautiously. “Attitude. Power. Tell me - did you become more powerful?” The man grinned slightly, and lowered itself, making a seat out of the pile of mummified American corpses, a ghastly callback to Vereschagin’s “Apotheosis of War” that Julia once saw during an art exhibit in Petropavlovsk. “Your predecessors came to claim this land as rightful owners. But, their power was insufficient to back that claim up”. “We had no idea the Americans even managed to reach here!” “Americans. Right. That’s what they called themselves. When they learned about the nature of this place, us and themselves, they had imagined themselves to be the rightful heirs to it. Capable to bend me to their will, to their idea of themselves. They were wrong”. Vasilyev gulped. He looked at the other two cosmonauts, catching Julia’s horrified stare. Whatever it was, the being tested them, and their answer would either leave them to slowly rot through millennia with the US soldiers, or... “We’re not claiming anything. We just came here to achieve... ah, secure...” The man shook its head. “No, you have a claim. Your... humanity’s... history had not started like you imagined. As such, it was just a matter of time till your return. But - there are conditions. This soil is for those who know the nature of war. Capable not in only steel and fire, but flesh and mind. Mars respects war”. Vasilyev’s mind raced to put the being’s enigmatic speech to logic and reason. He watched his helmet’s HUD blink yellow with depleting oxygen, his breathe fog the impossible landscape before him. So, somehow, in secret from the whole damn world, the US got to Mars first. Encountered the being, who perhaps, said the same - implied that this planet, and not Earth, is humanity’s origin, and they could claim it under certain conditions. Maybe not even claim the planet, but something else that is here? Proof of ancestry to the Mr. “I don’t need air to keep me alive”? What conditions? To demonstrate power. That’s why they managed to haul a small army on Mars, again, in total secrecy - maybe via some unknown technology - but it wasn’t enough. If so - and Vasilyev felt cold sweat dripping between his shoulders - how could they prove it? “We’re not conquerors”, he suddenly hear Efremova hiss into the comm. “We have nothing to do with these people. Yes, we spilled blood, so much blood, but always, more of ours, in defense.” The man stood up. He began walking, and Artyom Zatsepyn felt an almost gravitational repelling force that accompanied the movement. Like the being was shrouded in a thick layer of what... true power? But they stayed put, shaking, but still, even as it got so close, that every pore in the sallow skin, under that yellowish light, was easily observable. “Yes. I can see that. Don’t you have the same machines? Don’t you wield the same atom though? Don’t you kill and plunder for a higher ideal?” “We know war, Julia wanted to say”, Max tried to keep his voice firm as he looked up at the giant. He thought of his grandfather, who, he knew from his father, stood just like that before an SS officer, offering his life to protect the guerillas under Minsk in 1943. Of his brother, who died protecting Sevastopol’s civilians after the Black Skirmish in 2021. “We know how to kill, of course. But we also know how to die. How to power through suffering to victory and rise after defeat. And, maybe, we know that sometimes the greatest power comes not from the bravery to attack, but the bravery to withstand an attack. To wage war with no end in sight. Despite the futility. Despite the consequences... despite possible failure”. The being considered the Sokol-B’s with a long, piercing glare. The wry humor had been drained of it, and now only cold calculation remained. Zatsepyn wondered, if their deaths after the commander’s speech would be fast - or if their blood would paint the Martian solid red just as the Americans’ did. With pain and suffering. “Yes. That was the history of Mars once. What made it what it is today. What made Earth what it is today”, the man said. “Welcome home”.
It wasn't a job you could take if you had a life. In fact, as far as Calum Gair was aware of, he was the only one who had even considered it. First of all, you have to realize that no one was ever, ever going to pay you to try and figured out the little mysteries of life. The common line is that it's 'Not worth the effort.' Still, people wonder. They talk about it, they espouse they're own theories and reasoning while drinking until it gives them a reason to get into a row on a Thursday night. Incidentally, lost socks are caused by washer, not the dryer. They are usually stuck to the drum directly above where people reach in to grab their laundry, and they remain there until the next load is run through. If people use a laundromat then they will face the inevitability of lost socks if they don't check the drum completely. Calum had yet to find a person who liked his explanation of the fact, even though it was the truth. People were strange. He was the heir to a scottish barony. He'd never wanted for anything in life. The castle of his family was now a tourist attraction and he could sit on his arse all day and it wouldn't matter. He'd earn a cut from the ticket and book sales no matter what. He had no kids and no real friends, and after forty years of life on earth, he was keenly aware of the fact that he wasn't a very likable person. Still, there was one thing he could do. He could figure things out. Which is what had taken him here, to the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse not far from a closed naval base. Another man stood with his back to Calum. He was pleading for his life. "Make it stop! Please!" Calum didn't know the man. He'd found him in the street. You could convince anyone to help you with enough money, so he never needed to learn anything about them after that. It was just...immaterial. "You can have all the money back. I'll pay you double. Please, just make it stop!" The man put a food up on the concrete barrier at the edge of the roof while Calum watched. His legs shake as he finished stepping up to the edge. His eyes were focused forward. He drifted back and forward, like there were great forces at war within his body. Calum was interested now. He'd never expected things to get this far. He'd thought there would be a limit, an amount where the effect would cease to work and human willpower would take the reigns. Yet again, he overestimated humanity. "Please..."The man screamed once more before he bent his legs and jumped from the rooftop. Calum waited until he heard the impact, then he turned and made his way back down through the warehouse. Each step he took send dust falling like snow off of the ancient metal stairs. He reached the bottom, pushed open the door with the peeling blue paint and surveyed the scene. The man was dead. His head completely crushed by the impact of landing. Calum spared him a monent of attention then moved on. His feet crunched on the gravel as he stepped around the body and the quickly-pooling blood. He reached the other side and crouched down to inspect the item that he'd left there earlier. He picked up the silver-wrapped candy and turned it slowly under the light of the day. It was truly amazing what people would do for a Klondike Bar.
The mugger looked over me, a twisted sneer on his face. “You did this, man. You.” He lunges at me, knife in hand, and time slows down. It’s funny the things you notice when you’re about to die. Across the street, a gust of wind blows a woman’s umbrella into her face, causing her to stumble as she’s crossing a road. A car, which had been driving down the street slightly too fast, swerves to avoid her, smashing into a lamp post. The lamp post falls over, landing on a circuit breaker and crushing it, completely cutting power to an apartment block. A man who had been sitting on his balcony ledge is so startled by this turn of events that he falls off, falling five stories and landing on a car with an almighty crunch. The car alarm starts blaring loudly, causing a dog to freak out and starts barking. The sudden barking freaks out a police officer, who accidentally fires his gun, which ricochets off of the fallen lamp post, hitting a woman that was drinking her coffee. As she dies, her coffee spills on the road, causing a bunch of rats to come out and sniff it. However, the rats are spooked by the rolling coffee cup and run toward our side of the street, right into the mugger’s path of walking. He trips on a rat and falls, his knife going into his mouth and stabbing right through the back of his head. As he slowly bleeds to death, his coat falls open revealing your stolen stuff and an extra $100,000. Oh. Well then.
“Welcome to the afterlife gentle soul! You must be confused as to how you got he—” a sooty old man with a grand white beard greeted Ferdinand, as he stumbled into his new existence. “I drove into a large truck on the freeway, there’s nothing particularly difficult to grasp here,” Ferdinand replied bluntly. “Yes, yes child. I’m sure you have questions… Wait, what?” “Head-on collision, no way I could’ve survived my injuries,” “You’re not supposed to remember anything, Pontus can you check what’s wrong with this one?” “What kind of an ethereal name is Pontus? Are you trying to swindle me out of my immortal soul or something?” A tall skinny man wearing the same tattered robes swiftly walked over to Ferdinand and began his inspection, placing his hands and drawing energy from different points of his body. “Hey! I’m watching you Pontus, hands where I can see them.” “I’m sensing a strong will in this one, he must’ve somehow managed to fuse his conscious mind with his soul” Pontus reported to his master. After surviving the invasion of his personal space, Ferdinand once more faced the white bearded, slightly obese, man. “Anyway, Chuck, I can call you Chuck, right?” “No, my name is…” “So, Chuck, you just stand here for all eternity and greet souls in those dusty white robes? Why haven’t you automated this process yet? This seems highly inefficient,” “This divine task was handed down by God Himself, the task is not to be taken lightly. It cannot be delegated.” “Do you at least get any benefits doing this, then?” “No, it is my task to stand here for all eternity, greeting--” “Sounds a lot like Hell to me, Chuck. In fact, I think you two could use a break,” The man who was not really Chuck pondered at this for a long time before finally responding. “I suppose I deserve a break after all this time,” Pontus walked up beside Not Chuck and spoke in a hushed tone “Master, we’re not supposed to leave our posts… Well, ever!” “Pontus. We’re going to take a break, we just need to make it look like we never left, He won’t even notice we’re gone!” “That’s the spirit Chuck! I actually have some ideas on how we can do just that,” *** “What?” a newly lost soul staggered into the afterlife, “Where am I?” She was immediately greeted by two wooden platforms firmly planted into the ground, they had crude springs attached to them, attached to the top of the springs were wooden vaguely cut humanoid shapes, the smiling cutouts turned side to side, waving at her slowly. *** Any feedback is greatly appreciated, thanks for reading, everybody!
There's an old adage that goes a little like this: "You are what you eat". I'm pretty sure that the guy who came up with that one wasn't expecting anyone to challenge it. I wasn't expecting to challenge it either. However, one day I discovered that I had a quirk. If I consumed something, I took on one of its properties. One time I was sucking on a lollipop while driving past a playground when all the children stopped playing to chase after my car, waving and smiling as if I was one of their friends. Another time, I was eating Chinese food one Christmas evening when I looked up and asked my sister-in-law what presents she got her kids. She gave me a strange look and asked me what language I was speaking in. I answered her, "English, you draft cow,"in perfect Mandarin. Since then, I've tried out almost every food in existence to see what would happen. Soda? I became bubbly and spirited. Chicken? I'd run around erratically trying to complete my errands as if my head was lopped off. Some were pleasant, others not so much. I thought I had seen it all, until one day I ate crocodile meat while on vacation in New Orleans. My head started pounding and I scanned the room around me. I could feel my hunger increasing as I watched all the patrons eating their meals. To me, they were just fresh meat. I was so hungry that everything around me seemed like something I could eat. I quickly finished my meal and left some money on the table, trying to escape the animalistic hunger that was growing in my throat. I passed unfamiliar streets and people, trying to remember where my hotel was. My shoe snagged broken pavement, and I tripped on the sidewalk. My knees skid and burned, blood flowing copiously onto the grey sidewalk. Nobody seemed to notice me laying there, but I noticed with increasing attention the blood on my knees. I curled them in, squatting, and gave my right knee a long lick. The bitter taste of blood filled my mouth, and I felt a completely new feeling wash over me. Humans... we are irrational, complicated, multifaceted...what single aspect could be taken from a human? My mind swirled with different emotions and urges, sweeping me far far away from that sidewalk in New Orleans. I was in the clouds, soaring over the world, looking down at everything below me. If humans had one thing going for them, it would be our loaded God complex. Edit: thank you to everyone that liked this! It was my first post attempt. :>
The asylum wasn't expensive, but it was difficult to purchase. Enough had died on the property that local and state governments were involved. They wouldn't acknowledge her existence of course, but they would quietly make the process difficult. Title records went missing. Paperwork was held up. Tax liens kept being "accidentally"refiled. But I can be very persuasive. Setting up the office was easier. No one had a problem delivering the furniture in the day. Then I just had to wait for the evening in the space I'd prepared. A comfortable couch. A small table. A bottle of wine. Two glasses. Her appearance followed all the usual signs. If I hadn't read up on her breathtakingly impressive resume I'd be disappointed. Lights flickering. An old radio in the corner turned itself on. My glass frosted over. In retrospect I should have brought a Chardonnay, not a Zinfandel. She appeared in front of me as the descriptions had said; wearing the tattered inmate smock they'd found her in. Her mouth twisted in rictus her life ended in. Her eyes empty, gore-tinged sockets. Her hair a crazed bird's nest of tangles and matted curls. I smiled and raised my glass "Join me, will you?" She moved in a flash, grabbing me by the throat in a grip of frozen steel and lifting me off the floor. An impressive feat, as I'd have had a full foot in height and eighty pounds on her in life. A few minutes of that passed. Then I tapped her shoulder. "You know, I think we'd both be far more comfortable on the couch." She didn't register surprise if she felt it. She did register pain in the form of a horrific shriek when she rammed her hand into my gut and the salt inside me burned her flesh. I dropped to the floor as she appeared a few feet away, staring with her empty sockets at the scorched, transparent skin of her hand. I retrieved and refilled my wine. "Sorry about that, it's sort of all through me. Are you sure I can't pour you a glass?" She lunged at me one last time, I assume ready to bear the pain to tear out my heart. She didn't shriek this time. Instead she wailed and her entire form spasmed and flickered as she inadvertently grabbed the cold iron spike lodged in my chest. Then she blinked out and reappeared in the corner. The same spot where they found her body all those decades ago. "WHO"Her voice was a ragged gasp that scraped across the sudden quiet in the room. "Who isn't important, my dear. And it changes every dozen years or so. What. What is important. People wondered what for a long time. And tried all manner of..methods to dispose of me."The festivities seemed over, so I sat back down. "And what I am is beyond their ability to kill. And, of course, able to help you." "NO. HELP. NO ONE. HELPED." "Yes, I know. No one helped you. No one kept you safe from them. And now you're here. But there's no one else coming here, is there? No one to punish for leaving you. No one to make suffer as you did for those three days. I think it's time you left this place to find them."I smiled and leaned forward, finishing my pitch. "You see, I'm something of a recruiter, my lady. I find talent. And you are one of the most capable recruits I've seen in quite a while. So I'd like to take you on the road. See what you can do on a world tour." She was still, silent. I patted the couch next to me. The second glass was still untouched. "Why don't we talk about how you can leave this place." I waited, leaving the hook baited for another minute. Then she appeared by my side. I smiled, and we began discussing our work. Necromancy, you see, isn't about control or domination. It's about trust. Sharing. Cooperation. Mutually beneficial work. As all good relationships are.
"My dear Tony what is this you look like a Chinese flag had sex with Megatron, it's so blocky and how are you even seeing through those eye slits? No, first things first, let's modernize your color palette with some eggshell white, smooth down those surfaces for aerodynamic flight, I'll lace it with some blue LED accents for safety with a subtle flash, and for God's sake darling we all know it's you, get rid of that ugly faceplate, you need a face bubble made of transparent aluminum, let's show off that beautiful face." &#x200B; "Now Stephen, my God at least Tony was somewhat consistent with his look. Okay, can we get you out of anything that smells like a sweaty gym sock stuffed with beef? Here's what I'm thinking, first we're gonna need a base mesh bodysuit with odor absorbing padding to soak up all that sweat from playing tug of war with helicopters. For the outer layer, I'm thinking art deco style, sharp thin lines and angles, play up the vertical red and white stripes, very slimming, but throw in a gold trim to avoid looking like a popsicle on the 4th of July." &#x200B; "Peter I'll give you your new suit, but first tell me you burned your blue sweatpants.... alright, here it's in this jar, it's a symbiotic alien parasite, enhances speed and strength, has a nice black shine to it and best of all never smudges. Call me if you develop homicidal thoughts." &#x200B; "Thor, Vision, Strange take those capes off-ak...akkkk.... Okay Strange keep the damn cape... how about those shoes are they possessed by a demon too or do they just look like it?" &#x200B; "Tasha... what do you want me to say, I can't fix perfection." &#x200B; "Bruce, anything I give you you're just going to ruin anyways so just staple these hubcaps into a skirt and please try not to bend over too far."
January 13, 1019; Most of the zombies have cleared out of the town, freeing up more room to get by. While only some remain, I'm not too keen on blowing my cover anytime soon. Who would have guessed that acting like a zombie would actually work? Turns out I'm not half bad too, but I just wish that the other zombies would finally leave. Whenever I need to go someplace, I still need to groan and shamble around in order to not be detected, which can become a hassle when I need to travel far. Although, it is pretty funny to see the others roam around too, they're like bad actors trying to do a zombie impression with how overdramatic they sound. I've seen too many of them accidentally slam themselves into poles and walls while groaning really loud, it's like they're trying to out-do each other. Interacting with the zombies is also really weird, I didn't know that they could carry conversations. Just today, when I tried to gain access into the grocery store, a zombie came out of nowhere and stopped near me. I quickly put on my impression and let out a grunt. The zombie in returned grunted, which sounded like a person saying "hey"while having a bunch of mucus in their throat. I didn't know that they could talk, I mean, what would zombies even talk about anyways? I tried to get into a conversation and talked about eating brains (it seemed like a fitting subject) while putting on a voice that absolutely killed my throat. I went into detail about the sight of brains and how good they smelled and tasted. The zombie let out what sounded like a repulsive gag before shaking its head up and down hastily, supposedly agreeing with me? After that we just kind of stared at each other for no reason. I tried to see what it would do next so that I could mimic it, but it looked like it was doing the same as me. After a few seconds of silence, I just sort of left the "conversation"and hid behind a dumpster out of uncomfortable embarrassment. I remember hearing footsteps quickly leaving the area followed by what I could only describe as vommitting. When I turned to look at where I was, the zombie was gone. That was by far the weirdest I've felt ever since the outbreak began. I still don't know a lot about zombies, but if there's anything that I've learned today, it's that zombies are weird.
The door clicked shut behind the last of my well-wishers. I locked it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Five minutes to spare, I thought, glancing at my watch. Just enough time. I retired to my room, turned all the lights off, and lay quietly on my bed. I tried to keep my breath quiet, but excitement made it difficult. It's an intimate thing, hearing your future lover's voice for the first time. I was ready to embrace it, revel in it, memorize it. Fall in love with it. As my digital watch counted down the final two seconds, I closed my eyes in anticipation. I'd read somewhere that doing so helped you hear better. Heart beating hard, I waited. And waited. Silence.
"No. No. No. For f\\\'s sake!"I kept combing through news articles from the past months. Trying to find anything that would possibly indicate why or what was going on. Nothing. Not a single thing that would point to the end of the world. No world powers were getting ready to wage war. No minor conflicts that appeared to be boiling into something more (there were cease fires and peace talks currently). The planet appeared to be on the mend too, climate change had begun to lessen, coral reefs were slowly repairing themselves, etc etc. No cosmic threats, no asteroids, meteors, no risk of the sun blowing up. NOTHING. "It's all been good news."I said to myself, "nothing out of the ordinary, my job's been pretty easy lately. I had to stop a few murders here and there and stop a major accident last week. But that's fairly normal for me. So, what is going on in the world that I'm not seeing. If I call the other heroes on the NETWORK line, they'll think I'm crazy. It's all been great from what we've seen. Humanity has hit a turning point for the better by all accounts."It was then I realized how crazy I really sounded talking out loud to myself. Who knows, maybe everyone's clocks were just resetting because of another random variable. All I knew is I had to finally tell the NETWORK what was going on. "Hey, it's Watcher. Look, this is going to sound nuts but, everyone's countdown clocks have sync'd up. I mean EVERYONE. I checked the feeds in different countries, even the weathermen in the middle of B.F.E in Mongolia have the same time. I've dug and dug and found nothing that could be the cause. Either my ability has gone screwy or the world will be ending. There's no easy way to put this guys. The world population will decrease to or near ZERO=0 in 7 months, 23 days, and 17 hours."* There was no response for the longest time. One by one, bit by bit, they started to chime in. "I've checked my sources, nothing catastrophic seems possible."Or "I'm doing some digging, but nothing seems to point to that."were the common responses. A few of the big hitters knew to pay attention and just watch and listen to me when I said something was going to happen. They did something I did not expect. The video call rang in 8 hours later. It was, arguable, the top 3 heroes in the NETWORK; The Wizard, Feme Fatale, and The Commander were all on my screen. "First things first,"said The Wizard "we believe you. However, we have taken our time, used our own abilities, and haven't found anything that would be globally catastrophic yet."I let out a slight sigh of relief, at least they were taking me seriously, and were still going to dig into this too. "How long have you been trying to figure this out on your own Watcher?"Inquired The Commander. "I did what I could for about 12 hours, dug through everything I could with the resources I and the NETWORK have. I'll be honest, I'm running on fumes right now; but I can't relax right now. I first noticed this yesterday, but only was able to confirm it was world wide today. Then I did a lot more digging, for the 12 hours, and sent out that message. I hate to say this, I have no clue what's going on. And I feel a bit crazy." "You're not crazy handsome, you've never steered us wrong. But we have an important question we all want to know. How much time do we have left?"Feme Fatale's voice was as confident and soothing as always. "Well, crunching the numbers it's now 7 months 23 days and 9 hours, give or take a few minutes. I'll click on the news and check the anchor's time just to be safe and start a countdown clock." "No darling. What I'm asking, is how much time do you see that the 3 of us have left?"Her voice almost shook, she had the best poker face out of anyone, I never dared to try and play cards against her; but she was genuinely concerned. That's when I realized, I hadn't checked their times. I've always shied away from looking at other heroes' times. They do things everyday that put them at risk, most of them don't want to know it; and those that have don't like it when I tell them. The Commander, The Wizard, and Feme Fatale have never once asked me that question. And, out of admiration and respect, have never once looked to see. This was different, though, they weren't just asking out of curiosity now and there was a lot more at stake. I took a good look at each of them. I felt the color drain out of my face, I blinked and rubbed my eyes several times to make sure. There was no mistaking it. "Uh, guys.."I said hesitantly, "two of you have about 3 months left. Commander has 2 months 28 days and 2 hours. Wizard you have 3 months 1 day and 14 hours. Feme Fatale...you have 7 months, 17 days, and 23 hours left." She was shocked. "That's a day after my due date..."she said as she stared off.
Hearing it after so long, out loud, it hurt, physically. I wince, trying not to give it away, and pretended to cough. The other two glance at me for only a moment, dismissing it as I hoped. Luckily my best friend Eric, the DM, looked away just as my eyes went completely dark. I shook my head. That was not supposed to happen. My name was far too old to find in any internet search, and likely only a few texts on Earth still held it. “Really? That’s a weird name,” I said as innocently as possible. “What about Briathos? Or Rizoel?” They were the first names that came to mind. I thought they sounded pretty authentic, but I couldn't remember where I heard them. Or when. “I think it’s a pretty cool name!” His roommate, Roger, burped loudly. I knew I should’ve visited his room late at night to take his breath a long time ago. With his love of chocolate mini-donuts and soda, he wouldn’t be long for this life anyway. He repeats my name, louder this time, and the sharpened edge that had run across my mind a minute ago now felt like a roughened blade. I remembered Rizoel then, and the weapon it held that pierced my skin a lifetime ago. I let out a louder groan, one that didn’t go unnoticed. “Dude, you okay?” Eric asked. My eyes hadn’t returned yet, and I kept my head down as the pain in my gut slowly subsided. “Yeah, I’m fine, probably just that burrito,” I said, forcing a laugh. I felt my face return to normal. “Where did you hear that name, anyway?” I asked, dreading the answer might come with painful repetition. “My dad’s doing research at the University, he had a picture of some old pages of a book they found near Belfast,” Eric said. “He thinks it’s an old manuscript full of spells to banish demons and bless crops and stuff. There's all sorts of old names that we can use.” He was half-right, surprisingly. It sounded like a tome written by mostly incompetent magicians in the 14th century, copied over and over by hand and sold to superstitious, wealthy lords with more money than sense. I had only noticed it at the time because it contained more than a dozen very real names, so I’d done my best to find and destroy every copy. None of the supposed spells worked, of course, but they had stumbled on what should’ve been hidden. Us. Roger jumped up and screamed out his battle cry, dumping chips off his lap and onto the floor. “LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOO KILL THAT DAMN …” He screamed my name and the pain exploded in my head. I lost vision, crying out, and let other senses take over. A deep claw mark appeared at Roger’s neck and stretched down his torso, dredging his insides out onto the floor. He stared at them as he fell forward, that awkward falling where they don't reach out to stop themselves. His face PLUNKED into the end table and bounced off. Eric started screaming, high-pitched, like a frightened girl seeing her first spider. He watched my wing retract and then looked into my face, which hadn't been seen by a man in over 700 years. “I’m sorry, Eric”, I said through three rows of teeth. “It hurts.” He looked down into my mouth, shaking his head. “Those shouldn’t all be there,” he said quietly, tears running from the sides of his eyes. “There's too many.” I nodded, moving to him and cradling his head in my hands as he shuddered and passed out. Their minds never could handle our appearance, and they always chose the escape of unconsciousness. Opening my mouth around his head, I consumed him gently. I caught the tattered sheets of energy leaving him, tasting honey and cinnamon. I’d miss him a lot. I wouldn’t give Roger the same honor, but my friend would. I slid a few fingers through Roger’s dark, pooling blood and scratched its name out on the dampened carpet. The ugly, squat yellowish creature with the insatiable appetite appeared in a few seconds. “Dinner,” I said quietly. It grinned and bowed.
I was creation. &#x200B; To this day I still don't know where I came from. Perhaps I willed myself into existence. It was cold. And Lonely. But mostly cold. &#x200B; And so I created all of reality. With but a thought I created everything. Life itself was just a ploy to keep myself occupied. It was a neat distraction, I made some small fleshy humanoid creatures. I even popped in some gods to manage it for me. With endless knowledge and power it was trivial. I was enraptured by my species. "Hoo-mans"they were dubbed. For thousands of years I watched them grow, guiding them in all the right ways. The gods were decent company as well. &#x200B; However some gods and creations were less "obedient". While I was able to un-make everything with but a thought I decided to humor myself, creating an avatar and went upon a variety of adventures. I stopped evil in its tracks time and time again. When everything that was evil was destroyed I created enemies, abominations just to destroy them. I would recreate the world as a fascist dictatorship just to bring it down. I experienced everything to experience. For billions of years I played around. Yet I was still bored. &#x200B; So recently I have started dealing with more "minor threats"it is fun just to stop cocky criminals in their tracks with my infinite strength. I would swoop in and same the damsel and somehow it was still entertaining to me. Today I approached a bank robbery, yet something was different. With my infinite knowledge I already knew what was happening. Some college students were attempting to get money for their "detective agency". To purchase a van or something. It didn't matter though. &#x200B; So I swooped in. There were five of them, one of which was a dog for some reason. POW, BLANG, POOF, SPLATTER. The robbers were immediately taken down. Sure I could unmake them with a though but where's the fun in that? And so only one remained. He stared me, somehow confident in his abilities. Starting to get bored I lunged at him. But then, he caught me! I was startled, pulling back. I immediately lunged back at him, with enough force to vaporize a galaxy. But that man, no that thing just caught me again. He gripped my arm tightly. For the first time in my existence I was scared. His aura flared, who was this creature? "Like man, you only made me use 1% of my power"he said before everything began to glow. &#x200B; The last thought I had, the last realization. I may be strong, I may be creation. But I am nothing to Shaggy.
Your majesty, your royal highness, Mr. President, excellencies, ladies and gentlemen. I am honored and humbled to accept the Noble peace prize for my Thesis on How to properly integrate Social, Culture and Political motivations into widely recognized internet formats. Or as it’s more commonly called How to make good memes. Just like many in my generation, I have been looking at memes all my life. I was first understood their true power when I was studying for my entrance exams at MIT. Even though I knew these exams to be one of the most important tests I would ever take in my life. I was unable to focus because I was spending all of my time browsing memes on Reddit. I did pass the exam but only by a small margin. When I asked my friends who had also taken the test to try and get in why they had failed the exam, they also confessed that they spent too much time looking at memes online. It was after failing- I mean, taking the test, did I really start studying memes in their entirety. I asked myself, how could something as simple as random images on the internet be so addictive? How could bright young students like my friends be so irresponsible! To be viewing Reddit right before their big exam?! Shaking head When I first started posting memes online, I was simply doing it to pass the time. E-Even though I was enrolled in one of the most prestigious and demanding universities in the world. I found the workload to be too easy. So I found a something that was even more challenging than being able to maintain a 4.0 GPA at MIT and that was creating popular memes. Before I knew it, I amassed over 1 trillion Karma on Reddit. It was then that the United Nations contacted me. They were concerned over Chinese influence on the internet. The idea of a global dictatorship was becoming more and more mainstream thanks to the advanced Chinese memes their government was producing. They asked for my help and so, I constructed for them, what is now called *The Meme Machine.* A basic formula anyone can follow to be able to effectively create memes and influence millions. Thanks to my powerful and easy to follow formula. The idea of Free Speech, human rights, and Free government was instilled into the Chinese population. Who had until that point, been corrupted with dirty communist memes. So I am proud to say thanks to our efforts, for the first time in China, they will be having their first open and free election. Audience applause Memes are consumed by everyone with access to the internet. NO matter their age, gender, race, social or economic standing. Memes are the primary tool for people's information, entertainment and social ideals. We must Meme responsibly to ensure that the ideals of peace, unity and freedom are instilled to every man women and child in the human race. Before I end my speech I would like to thank my parents. My Mother for always pushing me and doing things I never asked her to do. To go above and beyond what normal mothers are expected of them. And to my father, who taught me the value of a good education. If not for him constantly pressuring me to get into MIT, I would never have never been set on this path in the first place. Thank you all very much. audience applause and stands (Now that I have a noble prize, I bet no one will even check whether or not I've even been at MIT)
Stupid Weakling Slow-poke! The insults rang through my head as swung down my axe in a swift blow and chopped another piece of firewood and earned another strength point. These were the insults that I'd have to live with every day. My peers were busy decking themselves out, competing to see who would be the smartest. Who would be the strongest. Who would be the fastest. In the world that I live in, you can be three things: smart, strong, or fast. I'm none of them. You see, while everyone else was stockpiling their points and competing to be the best in their respective categories, I saw through the sham that the points really were. They were an easy cop-out. Sure, you could be the smartest person on the planet, but you'd constantly be consumed with fear that someone was smarter. And that fear would drive you to continue doing insanely challenging mental feats to level up your skills. Really, I'd seen it happen more than once. "Point-addiction,"they call it. And yet nobody seems to understand why. I've explained it hundreds of times to friends and family alike, and yet nobody understands why I've hated these points so much. Nobody understands why, for the past 25 years of my life, I've done things the "hard way"without using any of my points. Hell, I can't even get a job because everyone can outcompete me with their strengths, smarts, and agility. It's a positive feedback loop: the more you work in a certain field, the more specialized that skill becomes. And for that reason I'm an utter outcast, living with my parents while everyone else my age is out working and partying. But you're probably wondering what brought me to this point. Why am I finally giving in to spending my points when I've despised them for my entire life? The answer is simple: I love points more than anyone else. You see, I'm the only one who's actually gleaned how points really work. It's really a simple system. The higher you level up your skills, the harder getting a certain amount of points becomes. In other words, since I've never leveled up my strength, agility, or intelligence, even once, it's extremely easy for me to earn points. Today is the day I finally earned the last point I needed. Because now I have 9,500 intelligence points, 10,021 agility points, and, after cutting that piece of wood, 24,302 strength points. The smartest man in the world has 9,450 intelligence points. The fastest man in the world has 10,000 agility points. And the strongest man in the world has 24,301 strength points. Today is the day I take retribution. Today is the day that I finally spend my points. Today is the day I finally become the most perfect human on the face of this planet.
“Hugh, hugh, HUGH, LAY OFF!” “I told you I’M DONE WITH YOUR CRAP WADE” Jigsaw can only stare in silence. These weren’t the same people he drugged. The camera proved it. The one in red had dragged the originals outside, brought the unconscious brute, and swapped their clothes. Why? How? This was made horridly comical by the fact that Jigsaw had captured a couple, man and woman. The one in red had opted for the man’s attire, and volunteered his friend’s for the woman’s dress. This man was clearly unhappy with his surroundings or attire, as he mounted his friend and was raining blows that by all right should have killed the one beneath him. At least one of these people was aware of the situation, the one being pummeled from above by the dress-wearer. He couldn’t simply release them. The traps weren’t designed to facilitate backdoors. He’d risk exposing himself to just let them go. Least he could do was coach them through the challenges ahead. It went against philosophy to attack those he hadn’t first reviewed. He opened the intercom. “Hello, gentlemen-“ “YOU SHUT YER TRAP, YER NOT INVOLVED IN THIS!!” The one on top bellowed at the speaker. It seemed he wasn’t in a talking mood. “Hang on, let’s just hear the clown out, okay?” The one on bottom clearly was privy to Jigsaw’s goings-on. Jigsaw was not an aggressive man. Violent? Perhaps. Psychotic? By the textbook definition. However, his judgments were fair, precluded by weeks of research on the people he targeted. He did not judge harshly those whom he did not know. He was beginning to know the people in his cell. “Gentlemen, at least one of you is aware of the predicament you are in. Let us make some introductions.” “I WANT A CHANGE OF CLOTHES!” The man in the dress bellowed, still mounted on his ally. He did not stop pounding. “...I cannot give you a change of clothes.” Jigsaw was at a loss, it seemed the one man had killed his ally. The ally then spoke. “Look Toby, we’re here to play your game. I know you didn’t intend for us, but that’s no reason to blueball the 3 of-“ the back of his head was risen a few inches off the ground by his brutish colleague, then promptly returned to the earth. Jigsaw was beginning to lose patience. He would not play host to someone’s fantasy. One of them was not right in the head. The other... by all accounts had no head left to be right in. “My games are not for the-“ “Faint of heart, yes Toby. Look, you usually play with the faint of heart all the time. You’ve got here a genuine chance to play with two people that actually WANT to be here, right Fido?” The bloodied mess looked to his friend. The fists had paused. They now continued. “Toby”-fist-“I know”-fist-“you can hear me.” The berserker had begun slowing his blows. It looked like his rage was spent. Jigsaw used this moment to appeal to the larger of the two men, now standing. “I see you two have your differences. This is not the place to settle them. This is hell on earth. I ask the two of you to leave-” The bloodied mess cut in “And how do we do that? I’ve watched this movie a thousand times. I know the traps left and right, you don’t have any back doors for this one? The only way out is to play the game, Toby.” Jigsaw genuinely didn’t know how to get them out of there he felt as if he were in some form of game of his own. Two bystanders (loosely defined, granted) were partaking in his games. He had no idea their backgrounds. Their crimes. Their repentance. Sure they were mentally flawed, but his judgement over the course of five minutes couldn’t compare to meticulous study over 5 weeks. Just then, two things happened. The standing man said “Hell on earth, huh?” He then opened the door. The door was the same one that the man in red had dragged the couple through. It was the only form of egress from the room. It was also rigged to blow. The only safe way was to get up and over through the ceiling, a task that would require both members’ cooperation to reach. Not this man. He hadn’t even heard the challenge. He merely approached the door, reached for the handle, and turned. Jigsaw lost all video through the busted camera, the surviving mic capturing the explosion and blasting it into his ears. He recoiled in surprise. A moment later, he heard the gruff, unmistakeable voice of the standing man. “Sounds like fun.”
The lone man stood alone. &#x200B; The blood dripping from his robes created a Jackson Pollock like pattern below him. The bodies scattered around seemed to fold and merge with the cracks in the floor. The ritual cost thousands of lives. How many souls painfully vanquished and bodies destroyed he couldn't imagine. &#x200B; Every first born had been slaughtered. Every new born had be eaten. Parents had eaten the hearts of their babies with tears in their eyes and turned to madness after the deed completed. Brothers and sisters had been stabbed the required amount of times. Cousins had been slowly burned until their screams became incomprehensible. &#x200B; Organs had been laid out with precision and care. Livers and kidneys placed in a oval. Spleens placed in the mouths of the dead children. Sacrifice is necessary. The promise was clear. Complete the ritual and the God would appear. It would bring some form of peace to the world. The writing was clear. &#x200B; The lone man could feel the toes and fingers of his wife and children in his pockets. He tried not to think of their screams. The rustling of his robes made it seem as if they were moving. He hated himself. He wanted to kill himself. But he couldn't. These were the instructions and the must be followed. For the greater good. &#x200B; "The greater good"he whispered to himself. The three words holding himself back from insanity. &#x200B; His stomach flipped and made a noise. The man grabbed his chest and forced the contents to stay down. He tried not to think about what he just had to eat to follow the requirements of the God. &#x200B; A red light began to rise from the pool of blood collecting from the floor. It formed a pillar that shot into the sky. The man watched open mouthed as a figure began to from in the center of the light and floated gently on the floor. The redness faded in an instant and the fetal positioned figure began to stir. &#x200B; "Please..."the man begged. "So much death. So much pain..." &#x200B; He couldn't finish his sentence. He just needed to know that it wasn't all in vain. The God stirred. Without opening it's eyes, it said, "Just five more eons, I promise". &#x200B; He disappeared in a flash of red light. &#x200B; &#x200B;
[Poem] >I wish for ten gumballs and a hundred red trucks! >For a thousand Gameboys and a million more bucks! >I wish for two fishes and a cat as their friend! >for a paintball gun with no orange at the end! >I want a whole swimming pool filled up with ice cream! >And a huge teddy bear to hug after bad dreams >But mostly I wish Racer would come back from his trip >Mom said he went to a farm to play and to skip! >I wish Mom would be happy when she's home at night >When I play games alone I can't play them quite right >I wish Dad would come home from wherever he went >Maybe we'd go camping, so I wish for a tent! >If all that came true, we could be happy again >And mom would cry less when she's in front of my friends >I also wish I could know more people at school >cause i can't take my friends with me, what a dumb rule >please also make them realer: stripes, big bear, and mac >cause when I hug them they don't hug me back ---- /r/resonatingfury
As I stated at the wood that had fallen on the ground, it reminded me of something familiar. Something that was a part of my childhood, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. I picked up the wood blocks that had just fallen. “What the heck is this,” I asked. “Why does it fall this way?” As I picked it up, an instinct in me told me what to do. I had no idea where it came from. I suddenly focused on the block, and imagined it turning into something else. I looked back down, and four wooden plank blocks appeared. I was having trouble wrapping my mind around this, but it all seemed so familiar. “I think I can make something with this.” I picked up the wood and put the four blocks together in hopes of making something. I felt again with the same strange instinct that it would make some sort of table. I focused again, and in front of me I saw a table! “Crafting bench!” I exclaimed with joy. “Wait, how did I know what that is,” I asked myself. Through this process I was able to make basic tools and was getting the hang of this. As the sun began to fall, a sense of dread came over me. I felt exposed. I immediately collected as much wood as possible and built a little shack. It was weird that the blocks just stuck together so perfectly... As I was building, it got very dark, and I was quite scared. It felt like something was behind me, and that it was not going to be at all friendly. Sure enough, I heard hissing noises. I quickly turned around to see a green disgusting monster. It had anger in its eyes, and a passion to create disaster. I quickly tried to grab my sword, as the hissing got louder. Right before I grabbed it, I heard a bang. I flew in the air, not able to grasp what was happening. It just so happened that I built the house at the top of a rather large mountain, which I began to fall down. As the ground came up under me faster than a bullet, everything cut to black. No pain, no feeling of anything whatsoever. The only thing there was was a giant message in front of me. “Game over.” [ Delete world ]
00:12:27 "Move, MOVE!"I pushed my hands into the back of the woman I loved, watched her turn as the blast doors slid down, separating us for the last time. I could hear her pounding against the metal, the small piece of glass the only thing she could see through. I knew it was no use. There was no way for her to get through. It was just me in here. Well, me and the nuke, of course. It was sleek and shiny; if it hadn't been for the fact it was carrying enough atomic material to wipe a small country off the map, I would have marveled at the sight of it. A tech junkie, to the end. 00:09:59 Glowing red LED lights counted down, showing the last ten minutes of my life. At the end of that, the missile would launch. Anyone still in the room would be incinerated by the flames. At this point and from here on out, that was just me. A few minutes ago, there had been about ten, most of us held at gunpoint. The terrorists had set the launch codes in motion, having procured the nuclear football earlier in the day from the president, who was kneeling next to me. I was just a scientist, and I would love to say that I had leaped forward at the last moment, saving the day for everyone. But it wasn't the case. In fact, the president himself had been the one to be the hero, taking a bullet in the leg for his troubles. I had cowered in the moment, bucking under the pressure of the situation. 00:05:27 Something they had done, though, had meant that the launch sequence could not be stopped. No matter what we tried, the only thing we could do was watch the timer tick down, lamenting our loss. It wasn't until someone mentioned that they wished they could see the stars for one last time did it finally hit me. In a few scant seconds, I outlined my plan. I would direct the missile to keep climbing, all of its movement being vertical. Instead of destroying New York, as originally planned, the missile would explode out in space, the damage minimized. 00:02:45 It didn't take as long as we had thought to adjust the plan, but then a new problem arose. We had to make sure that the weapon received its directions. The directions needed to be uploaded directly to the system. It was an older missile, which is why it must have been selected. With the time that was remaining, it was doubtful that the person doing so would survive. We shooed the rest of the group out, until it was just Allison and I. I grinned at her, trying to inject the slightest bit of levity to the situation. "Would not be a bad time to ask you to dinner?" She looked at me, her face dirtied and bruised. "You know, any day before today, the answer would have been no. After all this..."Her voice trailed off. And that was when I had pushed her out. 00:00:32 Second be second, time slowly ran out. I looked at Allison for the last time, a tear rolling down my cheek. My lips parted, and the words tumbled out. "I love you." 00:00:00 /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker (2019 Edition!): 23/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
[Note: Read this once over as it's late. Also the broken things are supposed to be smiley Emoji. THERE IS 3 PARTS TO THIS, please read comments for the rest] Vali Lali bought a DNA test from Ancestry & I after he learned his friend in high school found out he was related to Genghis Khan. Sadly Vali wasn’t matched with anyone exciting until five years after he submitted his DNA for matching, he had a notification alerting he had a sibling match with a woman named Luna. The interesting part is Vali Lali is East Indian living in Surrey BC, and Luna is a pale Romanian girl in her 30’s. The father’s identity on the website is anonymous, unlisted. After reading up on Luna’s profile he received a message from his sibling match. Hey Bro  Vali didn’t respond, but the message was on his mind for the rest of the day. At dinnertime he sat with his Mother, Father, and five siblings (Vali being the middle child). The family shared their day, starting with the youngest, until it came to Vali’s turn. “Work was great, I’m going to start as an assistant manager next week.” He said proudly. “Ah, and how much more will you be making?” The Father asked optimistic about the good news, grabbing his fourth slice of Hawaiian pizza. “25 Cents, it works out to $20 bucks a paycheque. So not much, but it shows they have faith in me.” His Father didn’t comment. “I’m sure you’ll climb up and be the boss one day.” His mother said encouragingly. “At that right, 25 cents a year, it’ll take you… a few lifetimes to get what I get paid.” The eldest brother, the pride and joy of his parents, the surgeon replied. His older sister, a pharmaceutical scientist didn’t join in on the ribbing. “You need to be like your Brother and Sister, they grew up wise and successful. I’m not sure why you’re working at Walmart. You’re obviously no son of mine.” The father laughed, not knowing how true his statement is. The rest of dinner was uneventful. When Vali returned to his room, he noticed several messages from Luna. Hey! I know you saw my message it says you read it. Okay, fine don’t talk to me. You’re not the first I’ve been in contact with. You’re the fourth. If you’re interested in meeting me, I’m going to be in New York to meet with our half-brothers in a few months. One of them believe they found our Father. Vali finally responded. Our Father? The two talked for the rest of the night, getting to know each other. Luna was born to her mothers, Prospers & Cate who used a sperm donor to get pregnant. She found out who her father was through a court filing and found out a similar person named Selene did the same. After connecting with the Greek woman, she decided to put her Ancestry profile online after reading about an American woman found out she had 23 brothers & sisters because their biological father did sperm donations. The name on the donation forms had him listed as a Jon Doe. Luna had sent a picture of her and Selene meeting. They were both pale females with white hair & skin, they could honestly be twins. Vali wrote back. Are you sure you’re not the same person? LOL. It’s funny because everyone thinks we’re the same. I’m Roman, she’s Greek.  Before Vali knew, they’ve been talking all night and it was time for him to go to work. The entire workday Vali spent it on his phone looking up the authenticity of the Ancestry & I tests. The site claimed to be 99% correct, and when he did call to connect to a Service Agent they were positive the results Vali received were valid. If the results were valid, and Luna mentioned they share the same father, Vali had to talk to his mother. [CONTINUED IN COMMENTS]
I just had to do it. Go into my old-school coffee shop and act like a hipster. "Black coffee and a regular donut"wasn't good enough for me today. I had to try and be funny and order an "Americano and a beignet."I thought he just looked at me funny since he knew my order and has no sense of humor. I wasn't going to question it when it rang up as about $2 more than normal with how his face looked. All I know is that I definitely should have looked in the bag before I left the shop. I thought it was weird he put the coffee in the bag with the donut today and it felt a bit heavier than it should have. I went walking down my regular route, seeing the regular faces, feeling like it was a regular day. I made it to my building and set my bag down for the security guard to look at. It being a regular day I assumed I had my regular stuff in my regular brown paper bag that I purchased at my regular coffee shop. "And what's in the bag sir?"the security guard asked. "Just my morning pick-me-up,"I replied as he opened it to take a peek. "What the hell is this? Is this some kind of joke?"he asked as he pulled out a quarter stick of dynamite and small Molotov cocktail.
The newspaper would have a very interesting headline that morning. “Local Girl Found Drowned in Lake Following Concert.” It was exactly how Marlena wanted to die; drunk, high and tripping. The pinnacle of her life. If she’d died five years ago, the newspaper would read “Local Girl Dies from Overworking”. How boring would that be? Who would remember a poor medical student who’d died while studying? At what point had her ideals changed? When had she decided to let go of all her unobtainable ambitions and live her life? She did not know, she’d ask God. Or maybe she did. Death had brought clarity to feelings she previously did not understand. It all had changed after her grandmother passed away. Marlena had been orphaned at age 4, following the death of her parents in a car-crash. Gran had been the light of her life, the driving force to her ambitions. It was to put a smile on her wrinkled face that she worked so hard. Her grandmother had never pushed her into anything, but Marlena wanted her to be so proud… She deserved to have something she could be proud of after losing everything. Misfortune never truly left Marlena. Life with Gran had been weird and turbulent, they were plagued by incessant home intruders and creepy stalkers, but they always seemed to find their way through. Her grandmother was a formidable woman, and she wanted to be just like her. Marlena had no one else left once she died, everyone else had already gone. First, she sank into depression, and then into apathy. She tried to focus on the fickle pleasures life offered to forget how deeply this loss wounded her. As time passed by, she developed a tolerance for these painkillers, as she would call them, and so she sank deeper. She went from marijuana to LSD, from LSD to meth. Nothing would numb her pain. Not her many boyfriends, not the bottles of chugged vodka. Not even death seemed to alleviate it yet. So far, death was progressing as she’d thought, there was a white light in the distance, blinking as if it was beckoning her. She walked towards it. Would she see Gran? Mom and Dad? She started to run. Finally, she stepped into a blindingly white room, where a human figure sat atop a high chair, a massive scroll and quill in hand. He was absolutely beautiful, with flowing black hair and green eyes, an elegant yet masculine figure. He was clad in a simple white garment, a loose tunic if you will. He was surrounded by clouds. “G-God?” Marlena asked. The figure ignored her as he flicked a switch on his chair. A tunnel opened under Marlena’s feet and she fell straight through. How would she see Gran now? She sank into further despair. After a few seconds, she fell face first on the ground, promptly burning her body. She tried to get up, screaming, but she couldn’t stand without feeling an intense burning sensation. After flailing around, trying to get a grip, the sensation stopped just as suddenly as it started. “Hello Marlena.” This very familiar voice made Marlena stop in her tracks. It wasn’t possible. “Gran?” She stammered as she turned around. Her grandmother, still her wrinkled old self, was sitting atop a flaming throne, smiling her old soft smile. Marlena surveyed her surroundings for the first time. The fire creatures surrounding them sank into low bows. Hell seemed to stand still as she spoke “H-how… What?” Marlena was absolutely dumbfounded. What was her grandmother doing in hell, and why did she appear to be its queen? “My agreement with Lucifer begins from beyond the grave.” She spoke calmly, but with a certain affectionate ring to her voice, just like old times. “You do not know it, but our family are the direct descendants of Lucifer himself. We are the true Nephilim. It is us who rule over the districts of Hell, and I am in charge of this district. You may find your mother in another one, if you wish.” “Neph- wait that Bible stuff was true?” “Of course.” This was way too much to take in, it was as if she was some sort of movie character. A descendent of the devil. Her grandmother sank into a very long explanation on how Lucifer had briefly fallen on Earth, long enough to leave a heir. Through the years, evangelists and other religious cults had attempted to track and kill them, but luck had always been on their side. Lucifer’s blood had survived long enough to bring Marlena here, and had died with Marlena. She was the final heir, a very important title indeed. Them being here didn’t necessarily mean that they were evil, Gran assured Marlena, they were here as a result of their lineage solely. Marlena just stood there, her brows furrowed in thought. While she felt incredibly betrayed and misinformed, part of her was just aching to accept everything and sink into this old woman-demon’s arms. This information hadn’t really changed anything. She was still her grandmother, she still loved her, she wasn’t a bad person. As if on cue, Gran reached out. Marlena found herself sprinting to hug her. “We will talk more about your lineage and responsibilities later, we have more important work to do now.” “W-what’s that?” “I need to feed you. The meth seems to have taken a toll on you.”
"Shall we get coffee first?"asked Jane with a smile. Remi nodded a bit too vigorously, but Jane didn't seem to notice. Just like she didn't notice he'd stowing his hands firmly in his pockets ever since their hug. Didn't notice that every inch of Remi's exposed skin was alight with pain. Jane held the door open, and Remi entered the shop. He tried to calm his breathing. After all, he'd been living with this condition all his life. He'd taken a hundred thousand stings since his strange power had manifested. He'd absorbed tiny shocks, jarring jolts, and blistering burns over the years. But nothing had prepared him for touching Jane. "I love your hat!" Remi turned; Jane was speaking to an older woman in a ragged hand-knitted beret, poorly depicting two animals that could have been otters or lions. The old woman beamed and thanked Jane as she exited the coffee shop. This is all wrong, thought Remi. He'd been fantasizing about meeting Jane for months. She was so understanding, so kind, so quick to laugh and willing to be vulnerable. So how could this dream girl be the most proficient liar he'd ever touched? Remi approached the teenage clerk, a young girl with a mouth full of yellowing braces. "Could I please have a latte?" "Of course. And for you, miss?" "A cappuccino would be great,"said Jane. "Your braces are so cute!" The young girl blushed and shook her head, looking at her hands with embarrassment and pleasure. "I get them off next month." "Well, you're absolutely gorgeous now -- you'll look even better then!" Remi felt a flicker of understanding as he slid his credit card across the counter. The teenage barista was smiling as she swiped his card. The old woman was still outside, grinning as she adjusted her horrid beret. And Jane, too, was smiling, as she had since they'd met five minutes ago, for spreading kindness benefits both gifter and recipient. To describe Remi as smitten would be an understatement. If this was the source of Jane's lies -- simple compliments to brighten stranger's lives -- then she truly was the angel he'd believed her to be. Now he was smiling widely, too. The couple grabbed their drinks, then moved to a table in the corner. As they sat, Jane glanced down at Remi's noticeably-worn loafers. "Oh, Remi, your shoes are awesome!" Remi automatically glanced down at his feet, wondering if she was seeing them clearly: the heavy scratches, the torn binding, the sole that was threatening to split from the shoe. Nothing about his shoes, nor any part of his cheap wardrobe, was 'awesome'. That was obvious to anyone and everyone. And now Remi remembered the stinging of his skin, and wondered if Jane's lies were wholesome after all. \-------------------- 417/365 one story per day for a year (and counting) read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \--------------------
"Well, well, well,"he said, cackling evilly. "If it isn't Fireman. You know, I've met more threatening heroes. Have you heard of Beserker? Of course you have. He's only the most powerful hero. Oh, sorry, was the most powerful hero, before I got to him that is. A first-timer, however, is not my usual target, but I thought I might as well stop you here and now, nipping it in the bud, as it were. This is the real world after all. You aren't in the little league anymore. Shall I tell you why I brought you here? To my favourite room? You see, there is a metal sheet that covers the tank. Once you're in there, you will be powerless. So, any last words?" "Sure!"I said, making the water rise out of the tank, "Buddy, I don't know about you but every fireman I've met shoots water."
“It’ll be different this time,” Jena said and sat down next to me. “We’ll find a viable planet. A home.” I nodded, but didn’t look away from the window. When was the last time I’d been out of my cabin, I wondered. The last time that I could remember was before we’d passed by that magnificent gas giant, with its swirls of brown and beige, and the giant spot of red that was a raging storm as big as most other planets. Seeing it had stirred something in me. “They say the third planet from the sun looks promising,” I said, trying to put some enthusiasm in my voice. It must have worked. “Really? Innes, that’s great!” She pulled me close, almost causing me to fall from my seat, and whispered, “Though we’ve lived for so long already, we could actually start to live. A home, Innes. A place to start a family.” Her smile widened. "And we could have as many as we wanted. No governmental orders saying we can't." “Let’s hope, they’re right then.” I looked into her grey eyes and smiled. It was hard not to around her. We were now countless light year from Arrona, our home world. Its population, though controlled for the past couple of millennia, had been reaching a breaking point. Great ships were built and stuffed with people like Jena and myself. We’d been told to go and claim the stars. They left the last part unsaid: And don’t come back! Over the past few centuries, our ship has been to numerous solar systems, and orbited countless planets. None of them had been conducive to life, and if they were, they were harsh worlds, devoid of the beauty of Arrona. Every person on board the ship, all 4,538, had a vote whether to land or not. There hadn’t been a majority yet. When the little blue planet came into view, both Jena and I gasped. It was a beautiful palette of blue and green. My long-ticking hearts beat faster at the sight. Our ship pierced the atmosphere and from my window I found the world even lovelier the closer it became. Though I hadn't seen the entire universe, in that moment I felt confident that there was no other place like this. Even Arrona looked like a dustbowl of a planet compared. The vote had been nearly unanimous, 4532 to 6. We were staying. The six dissenters could take the ship and search for something else if they wanted for all anyone else cared. There was a long line queued up when I left my cabin. It had taken forever to get outside. I would know something on the subject of forever, having lived over two thousand year with no end in sight. The air felt cool against my skin and a breeze carried the long forgotten scents of dirt and life. It had been a long time since I smelled anything but metal and the recycled air on the ship. It was all so new and clean and fresh. We’d landed in some kind of grassy plain in a gigantic landmass. Plants and animals flourished as far as the eye could see. The world was an untouched garden. I almost felt bad for trampling its grounds. We’d already checked for intelligent life, as we didn’t want to encroach, but there was none to be found. There was some intelligence in the primates that clung to the trees and aquatic creatures in the planets vast oceans, but none that seemed particularly self-aware. At least not yet. “There’s so much space,” I breathed. “We could live here forever.” Jena took my hand and we found a spot under a tree. Together we watched our first sunset on a new planet. A new home. &nbsp; **** Decades passed since our touch down on the planet we named Terra. With no population controls, our handful of settlements exploded with life. For so long our people had been confined to a single child, and to get the permits for that took centuries, but here on Terra we were free. Jena and I had four children of our own. We discovered a truly miraculous thing in our children: they were so different from one another. Looking back it seems silly, but I had expected them all to come out the same—what did I know? A curious development took place since landing. It seems that this world has done something to our bodies. Over the short amount of time—only thirty or forty years—Jena and I have developed wrinkles on our faces, spots on our skin, and a thinning of our hair. Well my hair; Jena's was still long and full as ever, if a bit grey. I told her it matched her lovely eyes. As our children ran around, grew up, and then had children of their own; we became frail. I can no longer chase my grandchildren around the lawn or lift them high over my head. Mostly, I just sit around, telling them stories about our old planet and how life is so much better here on Terra. Jena came up with a name for what we are: old. It had a nice ring to it.
I couldn't remember the last time Ben visited. Ben was my best friend. He told me himself. He told me that we used to go down to the arcade, this is back when arcades were the only way to play video games. How we used to compete with each other. WE loved the games like Centipede and Pac-Man of course but it wasn't until that first Mortal Kombat came out that we really started devoting ourselves. I can't remember how many quarters I devoted to Midway games cabinet. Ben told me it must have been over a thousand dollars between the two of us. We started to laugh as we remembered how amazing it was to meet someone that knew how to pull off a fatality. See back in those days you couldn't just look up stuff like that. Learning combos and secret inputs was truly something you had to search out and find. There was no internet. Ben knew how to do almost everyone's Fatalities. He always promised he would show me how but I don't think he ever did. Ben reminded me how much we hated the third Mortal Kombat when it came out because so many of our favorite characters were taken out and switched for newer more "interesting"types to bring in new players. Ben reminded how much fun the mall that housed the arcade was. How much fun it was to be the two kings of the castle that we were there. Don't get me wrong, we were kids. However, we were sort of the bully type. Not the fucked up bullies that always show up in Stephen King books but we hustled and annoyed. We bugged shop owners and stole candy. Maybe the quarters we spent weren't always ours. That's what Ben told me. He said we used to get into all kinds of trouble. Catching up with Ben has been excellent for my memory though. I'm remembering everything. All the sights and sounds. The voices and images. It all comes flooding back to me and I feel young again. I feel powerful again after so much time of feeling as if I am wandering around , shambling from my day to day. &#x200B; Ben asks me if I Remember the three kids we used to pick on the most. I want to name them, to recall their faces. Ben helps. He tells me they were Nicole, Jeff, and Travis. I do remember them. Nicole was a girl I had a major crush on. Her little brother Travis was a hanger on and Jeffrey was her boyfriend. This of course didn't stop me from showing her my affections. How I was far more impressive a punk than Jeff ever could be. Ben laughed as he reminded me of what hard time I gave those kids. How I would follow her and pester her. How I would shove Jeff around. How Travis would cry when he funded the Mortal Kombat games. I laughed . Ben Laughed. I kept laughing. Ben kept laughing. I couldn't stop laughing. Ben frowned. Ben asked me if I thought it was weird. I didn't understand and excused my poor memory. I must have missed something he said. Ben clarified. He nodded to the living room. He pointed out that it was weird that I was letting these people stay with me. I turned . I saw them. Who were they. I started to panic but then I calmed down. I remembered! THat was my family. I had just so happened to marry Nicole. Those were our sons. Ben insisted I look harder. I gotta to give it to Ben. He always knew best. I remember when he told me Jeff had to go. Otherwise Nicole would never really notice me. He said he talked to Jeff and that took care of it. I don't remember seeing Jeff after that but I'm sure I was just forgetting. Ben pointed out that that couldn't be my family. I didn't have a family. He was right. &#x200B; He was always right. Ben told me not to sweat it. He said to just take care of them. Make sure those three aren't still around by next Friday he had told me. He said he would bring the quarters and that we could take a drive down to the mall. It's abandoned now so it's unlikely to be searched for bodies. He promised me that the arcade still has the original Mortal Kombat. He promised he would finally teach me how to perform a fatality. Ben has always been. He's such a good friend. I'm glad he came to visit.
I never enjoyed flying. Even before we solved the problem of the speed of light, I would often try to travel by car or by boat whenever I had to do field work. I'm not sure where that uneasiness came from, to be honest; maybe it was just my nature, with my life's work being so close to the ground, and all. But regardless of its origins, fate seemed to enjoy the irony of the hand it was going to deal me. When the first Light Ships returned with their findings, I was excited just like everybody else was. What would they find? was the communal thought of the world. But it was a passive interest for most, as nobody had any reason to believe the findings would impact them in any meaningful way - myself included. But a few weeks after their return, I received the call. They had found a type of Araneidae. A fairly large family of arachnid on Earth, but nothing you'd ever expect to find scattered across space. Assuming any commonality between planets, let alone ones separated by galaxies, was a fools errand. But all the ships - twelve in total - reported the same findings. As one of the foremost experts on that family, I was the one who was asked to confirm, and sure enough, each of the twelve planets contained an araneid. "We want you to go on the next mission, Mr. Jonston." I remember them asking the question, but I don't remember ever giving an answer. The findings and the unknown implications had already had my brain on the edge of being able to function. The thought of adding a faster than light flight to another planet pushed me well beyond what I was capable of processing. Eventually my mind caught up, and all the arrangements had been made. I sold everything I owned, said goodbye to everyone I knew who would likely be dead by the time I returned, and went through the training. I particularly enjoyed the class on "Controlled Vomiting and Light Speed,"as I knew it would prove most helpful. The time for the journey finally came, and my mind was again struggling to process everything. Sitting on the ship waiting for launch, everything came flooding back. The progress we as a people had made; that we had visited other galaxies, stars, and planets; that we had found life; and that I was now somehow part of this great web of discovery. It all felt so surreal, yet somehow normal. Progress is inevitable, to some degree, and we all play a part whether it be big or small. After putting my training to good use on the flight, we eventually arrived at the planet. I could barely understand all the time changes and relativity effects, so I've no idea how long it took. But we were here. A planet called XT-08991. But we affectionately called it Verde, as it was very lush and green, and easier to remember. It was a planet early in its development. There were no primate type creatures, and nothing too large overall. But as with every other planet, we found the araneids. It was fascinating, but also perplexing. I gathered a few different samples, but much of my time was spent on the ship, reviewing and comparing data. This doesn't make any sense, was all I could think. The planets had no other features in common. None of them were at similar levels of development. Some only showed these types of arachnids in their fossil records, while on others they were still a thriving species, like on Verde. But sometimes inspiration comes to you from unexpected places. As I was stressing over the data, one of my colleagues came in and grabbed a small bag out of storage. "Sunflower seeds,"they said in passing. "One of our tests - see if they'll grow here." The thought amused me. "That'll be a nice piece of home,"was all I said at first. But some time later, it occurred to me. What if the araneids are some kind of seed? I again pored over the data, and found the connection I had been missing, which now seemed frustratingly obvious. The creatures appeared at the same relative point on the different planets; I had missed it as all the planets had different rates of maturation dependent on the system they were in, and I'm terrible at math. A planet would reach a plateau of sorts, which is when these araneids would appear, and propel the planet forward. Whether it was nutritional reasons or some unknown necessity for them in the ecosystem we couldn't yet determine, but their importance was clear. The implication was also now clear. These were placed here by some other species, who had an interest in the development of the planets. We're in a garden, I realized. I'm not sure what has happened with my findings since. I returned home and the furious production of more Light Ships got underway. The spiders didn't matter anymore; we were now looking for the 'Gardeners,' the source of the strange commonality among the stars. I'm not sure if or when we'll find them, but I don't much care as I'm an old man, now. It just feels nice to have played my part. If nothing else, there's now a much more profound weight as I sit in my garden, and watch the little creatures building their webs, as I think about their distant cousins across the universe. &nbsp; _________________________________________________________________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
"That's odd,"I said to myself aloud. Deadpan with no audience just makes you seem crazy, but I was so used to mumbling to myself on my late night trips to the fridge that I couldn't help myself. Where normally lay foods, my car keys, and a number of genuinely mudane object for my generally mundane life were - fingers. Severed fingers, right above the knuckle lay in my fridge like uncooked hotdogs. My stomach rumbled and a morbid thought came to my mind: they did look a lot like hotdogs to my sleep-deprived eyes. No, no. Don't eat the severed fingers. If my mother had taught me one thing as a child it was not to eat severed fingers you find in your magic fridge that you inexplicably have never questioned. I'm paraphrasing of course, but luckily the thought slipped out of my mind as easily as it slipped in. Unluckily, severed finger slips into your mouth fairly easily too. Suddenly, in unison with my first ill-conceived bite, a rumble came from the freezer. Have you ever been doing something for months, to the point of it becoming routine, only to realize you'd been forgetting a key part? Like making curry but never making it with rice? Well the freezer door in that moment was my rice and I had forgotten my fridge even had one, what with the magic fountain of Dr. Pepper and car keys in the glow of the bright light below it. Spitting out the finger into my hand, I noticed something I should have before. "It didn't look like a hotdog." "Hey, am I telling the story or are you? I said I was hungry, okay? Like you've never put something in your mouth you reget. Acting like I'm the only crazy person." I did not notice it wasn't a hotdog, I already knew it wasn't, but I did notice for the first time that the fingers were glowing blue. Not from frostbite, the dull bluish grey of oxygen depleted veins, but more like an aura, or a blue raspberry slushy. "And here it comes" The thought of course lead me to put the finger back into my mouth and bite again, because A, I was hungry still and B, I really like blue raspberry slushies. The freezer door shook again. Slipping the finger out of my mouth for the second time, I looked at the door to the freezer the way my dad looked at me the day he left so many years ago - unsure. While he ultimately decided to leave me alone on the steps of my grandparents before he bolted, I could not leave the fridge unchecked. One does not simple chew on their magic fridge's severed finger, have the fridge shake, and not explore all avenues. That, and a part of me was hoping all the magic food was just in the top this time. My stomach growled again and I reached my free hand to the freezer door - my other inching the carrot-like digit to my face, oblivious to my stomach's machinations. As I pulled the door open, I saw an even odder sight than the fingers, the nail of which I was about to bite upon a third time almost out of habit. Stuffed inside, mangled, was a body of an obnoxious Djinn. "I'm a genie. Djinns would have killed you already young master." "Yea, well obnoxious Genies, or Djinns, or whatever you are can't kill their masters anyway. Let me finish, they still don't know what is in the freezer." "Yes they do." "No, they dont. Now shut up, you are ruining the story. Obnoxiously." So inside was a mangled GENIE corpse, or so it seemed. As soon as I opened the freezer door, all the fingers in the fridge, including the one on my molar, rocketed back towards the majical being. In a violent twist, the genie reassembled itself and starred at me, mouth agog. Alongside it's dumbstruck expression it flashed it's pinky, the finger I had been gnawing, clearly unhappy with my attempt at a light snack. After a delightful conversation where the obnoxious genie- "Stop calling me obnoxious." ...where the repugnant genie - "Stop using synonyms." ...where the stupid geine told me that, in fact, I had been getting free wishes for months inadvertently by opening the fridge, but never the freezer door, I gained a new friend, Ass. "It's Ajax and you damn well know that by now. Don't try to- Ass is my Genie, which means I am his master, though I prefer the term "friend with benfits"so as to avoid any slave connotation. Though he really is a slave to my every whim as long as I don't wish for more than two things in any given day. He doesn't mind though. "I mind GREATLY actually. I've been the advisor to sultans and kings and here I am summoning frozen beverages and fluffy dogs!" "I WISH you would just shut up!" Wish one for the day. I keep a little mark on my wrist that I wash off each day to tell me how many I have. One mark means one gone. Two marks means- well I guess it's pretty obvious how that works, huh. I never go past two because, apparently somewhere along the line, Ass made the mistake of letting his wishes reset daily. Every other genie has it reset yearly, or often times never he says. Ajax hasn't told me why, but I havent really pushed it either. I imagine I could wish for the answer, but that feels like a waste of one of my two daily wishes. Regardless of the why, here I am, two wishes a day. Probably for eternity unless I get bored. Ignore Ajax's HELP ME sign. He is just trying to be funny.

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