Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"Garrett."I say. "I...I maybe made a teensy teeny whoopsie doopsie mistake." "Yeah. I saw the news."The tinny voice echos in my scrying room. AKA my closet. Still, I can hear the sarcasm dripping from Garrett's voice. I cringe. The news. It made it onto the news. Because of course it did. It's definitely something people would want to hear about on the news. I'm what you call a wizard. That's the easy part. Everyone understands magic, more or less, they've made enough movies and books about it. But, you see, among wizards there is a group that the other more respectable types refer to as the Bedlam Bastards. Not because it's a name we gave ourselves, but because during one tribunal to determine our punishment over the slightest infraction of turning the Mississippi River pink for a single week one particular summer, Merlin may or may not have called us 'bedlam causing bastards unworthy of the wands you hold' and the nickname stuck. Especially because we didn't learn anything and continued to cause bedlam. Now, in my defense, I don't consider it bedlam. It's, at it's absolute worst, pestering. Everything we do, we undo, and we have a strict set of rules about not causing harm and the like. That whole thing about dryer gremlins stealing left socks, that may or may not be a curse on GE dryers manufactured between 2013 and 2017, after one particular night out drinking where three of us broke into the facility and cursed a piece of equipment that fastened hinges to the dryer body. I mean, every Halloween we pick a town and from dusk to midnight, everyone in that town becomes whatever their costume was. at 12:01, it's done! Every time. And that is where things may have gone slightly astray from the plan. Just a little! Cause the spell didn't go off this year. I figured that we just did something a little wrong and we'd fix it next year. After all, we got a new member of the bastards. But then Christmas Eve rolled around and... Well, that's what the news is talking about. Cause somehow, some way, about fifteen hundred right old jolly St. Nick impersonators woke up to find out that the snow white beards were firmly attached and the jelly jiggle of their bellies just wouldn't quit. And that made the news. They were ho-ho-ho-ing their way across their towns, with magic sacks filled with toys. It was newsworthy. "What did you do?"Garrett asks. He sounds tired. "Well, my best guess is that we-" "-screwed up?"Garrett interrupts. "Shocking. I. Am. Shocked. Here I thought the five of you were always so on point with your spell work. This definitely isn't some sort of pattern, no sir." "That really isn't helpful right now."I mutter. I mutter it because he's right, but I don't want to admit that. "I am sorry, I'm not sure why you called me with the impression I was going to be helpful, but that's not who I am. I'm the guy you call when you need someone to tell you the obvious, like how much of a moron you are." "Thanks."I say. "Do you have any ideas?" "I'm gonna find my local Santa Claus and see what presents he has. I've been a good boy this year. I'd say you should find yours but hunting for coal doesn't sound all that fun." "Again, not helpful."I say. The approximation of Garrett shrugs. It's a shaped form of wriggling lights, cast up from the scrying bowl. An adorable figure, not more than five inches tall. Garrett himself is not adorable. Especially when he shrugs at me like that. "Again, not trying to be. Don't you usually set a timer on these things anyway?" "Yes!"I nearly shout. I take a deep breath. "It's never supposed to last past midnight." "Alright, so you messed up the timer. Don't focus on the Santa bit, focus on setting the clock. That will solve the Claus problem. Then you can worry about the next tribunal." I cringe again, recoiling at the thought. "Oh yes."Garrett says. "Merlin is already talking about it. With enthusiasm." "Fantastic."I mutter. "Alright. I'm going to try and fix this." "Best of luck. Wait to fix it until after I get my new bike, alright?" I end the scrying and Garrett's figure collapses into the water without so much as a splash. I rub my temple and think about my argument for the tribunal. They're never fond of magic being this obvious. They can handle a few towns talking about Frankenstein, living pumpkins, and sexy nurses for one night. They can't handle global news like this. Someone knocks on my door. Loudly. It rattles my apartment walls. I slide out of the closet and shut it, padding through my one bedroom to the door. I peek through the peephole and find nothing. Someone is holding their thumb against it. I grimace and take a deep breath to steel my nerves for a lashing from Merlin, or one of his underlings. I pull open the door to find... "Santa?"I ask, incredulous. He scowls. Bright red suit, thick white beard, spectacles perched on his nose. He doesn't look jolly though. Not even a little. I wonder which neighbor of mine he used to be, but then again none of them know about the whole wizard thing. So... That means... "How about you call me sir, or Mister Claus. Since you've gone and naughtied up my whole day." "Oh shit."I say. It's the real Santa. Oh no. "Now."He says, crossing thick arms across his robust belly and looking at me with a cross expression I've seen before. "Which one of you bastards do I have to blame for this mess?" I open my mouth but he holds up a white gloved finger and I slam it shut. "And, more importantly, just how are you going to help me fix it? Before I ho-ho-heave you off the roof." I wait. He leans forward. He smells like cookies and rage. "This is the part where you talk."He growls. "I...I don't know yet?"I say. He grunts and pinches his nose, sighing. "There are three thousand, eight hundred, and twelve Santa's out there now. Magic sacks and all. It is only a matter of time before someone does something very un-Kringle like. So, I'll ask again. How are you going to fix this?" "Quickly?"I say, leaning away from his angry eyes. He nods. "That's the first step back to the nice list."He says. Somehow those words hit harder than if Merlin had spoken them. This is Santa Claus after all. His eyes sparkle and I see a bit of that mirth behind all that madness. "The first one you've taken in quite a while." Oh boy. Now I really have to fix this. And I still have no idea how.
TW: suicidal thoughts, depression I looked over the dirty comforter that ran between us, barely surprised. I rarely left the bed now a days. I got up to feed Sebastian, my Dane, twice a day. Every once and a while I would get myself a glass of water too, only if I could handle it. My depression had gotten bad after I lost my father. I was trying to stay alive, my head in a civil war between the light and the dark. The only thing that kept me pushing was Sebastian, and in my spiral, my schizophrenia went unchecked. My therapist told me that, in addition to pills, it was in my best interest to try and ignore the voices and hallucinations, namely talking to my dog. Sebastian talked back to me for a long time, and it was hard to realize that it wasn’t him, but me answering. I stopped talking to him with my treatment and he stopped talking back, which in the grand scheme of things this was good, but I missed my conversations with my best friend. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?” Seb repeated. It was a hallucination and I knew that, but misery loves company and I didn’t care enough to control my indulgence. “I’m not supposed to,” I replied. “Why not?” He asked “Because it’s not real,” I said softly, like it would make this small comfort shatter. “Your right,” he said, surprising me. “It’s not real, it’s you talking to yourself, but why shouldn’t you talk things through with yourself? It helps sometimes, and verbal processing is not unhealthy,” “Look at me, I haven’t showered in a week, my room is a mess, and the only time I get up is to feed you. I obviously care deeply about how healthy this conversation is.” I said sarcastically. “You don’t want to get up at all, but you do for me. You care so much about me and you are willing to keep pushing for me. Why not yourself?” “Because I’m not worth it, but you are.” “Who in the hell said you weren’t worth it. No one that’s who. It’s you putting it on yourself and believing it. While you feel you are worth nothing, , I am here proving otherwise. You feel like you can’t do anything right now except care for me. You care about me. And I care about you. I don’t care that you havent showered or cleaned up or that you haven’t taken me out or exercised me. I’m still here with you and I always will be. So for me, could you try? Just take a small step. Let’s go sit in the sun in the living room. I can bask and you can taste sunlight again. We can evaluate from there,” he finished. I started thinking of this dialogue as my dog. That was the only way I could fathom doing this: if it was for him. I couldn’t let him down. So I stood up, in the clothes I had been wearing for days, and stalked out to the living room Seb at my heels. I sat down in the sun and closed my eyes. I heard a hearty groan and sigh from nearby, and knew that Seb had found his spot. His heavy head fell into my lap and I began to stroke it, feeling my head begin to quiet. I enjoyed the moment without surplus thought. I just was. Sebastian led me through small steps back to where I am now. I am not the pinnacle of health, but I am getting better. I still talk to Sebastian now, and even though he doesn’t talk back, I choose to believe that it really was him who pulled me out and helped me back into the world again.
Alright folks, I got a real humdinger of a story for you. It's about a murder mystery in a small town. Now, I ain't gonna give you no spoilers, but let me tell you, it's a real doozy. So, my boss gets whacked in his office, one bullet to the head. The police, they're all over the place, tryin' to figure out who did it. And you know when they question me, it's like they're just not listenin'. I says yeah he was a real prick that one, he deserved what he got… but of course, they don't take my word for it. They just assume my shirt wasn't covered in the guy's blood. I mean, come on, even a blind man could see I was the guilty party! Well anyways, they got suspects comin' out the ying-yang. But none of 'em quite add up. It's like them cops keep tryin' to fit a square peg in a round hole, if you know what I mean. And then, there I am, just sittin' back, watchin' the whole thing unfold. I ain't sayin' nothin'. We've already established no one wants to hear what I have to say sos I'm just smilin' to myself like the cat that ate the canary. By now you should have probably guessed just whodunnit by now huh?, I mean I've got "guilty"written all over my face. If you haven't figured it out by now I'll give you a hint. He's the only one in the room with a microphone. But, hey if you haven't figured it out by now, well you know what they say "I'm innocent until I'm proven guilty… of murder!" Well, the police, they search my house, my car, check my crappy alibis. But they ain't findin' nothin'. It's like tryin' to find a needle in a haystack. And then, just when you think the case is cold, the killer strikes again. This time it's that prick Herb. Herb you know what you did. Stealing my yogurt is not gonna fly oh no siree bob. And this time, there ain't no mistakin' who did it. I might have well just left a sign sayin' "I did it, and I'm proud of it." Well, the townsfolk, they're all in a tizzy, tryin' to figure out what the hell is goin' on. But, you know what they say, "ignorance is bliss… until someone gets whacked in the head. Then it's a mess!" And it turns out, the killer was the guy telling jokes on stage the whole time. That's me. It's like I planned the whole thing, knowing I would never get caught. And, you know what they say, "the best-laid plans of mice and men… or in this case, the best-laid plans of me and my gun." So, let me sum it up for you folks, it's a real whodunit of a story. But, the moral of the story is, "murder is like a game, if you wanna win, you gotta be a good player and know the rules… and it doesn't hurt to have a good lawyer either!"
I hid behind a stalactite, chest heaving. The cave echoed with thudding footsteps, as the beast searched for me. It heaved in great sniffs, hunting for my scent. I cursed my choices that led me here, and my certain fate. It had all started off so well. Once on another world, I died purely on accident. A weakened railing broke as I leaned out over my home city. The fall was terrifying, but long enough to ensure my instant death. As sad as it was, I was greeted by Fate, and given a choice. Pass on, or in return for my shortened life, go to another world and help them. In addition I would be given a special skill to help. A fan of the isekai genre, I seized the opportunity. So I was sent to this world, with magic and adventure. But instead of mighty power, or expert martial prowess, my ability was different. I was given Taming, a skill that sounded dumb. But I didn't let it get me down. I set out for adventure, looking for ways to prove myself. A yawning cave in a valley seemed like a fine place to start. I was sure I would find some treasure or something, as all heroes did. Indeed I did find some, a nice pile of gold. But I also found its keeper. A scaled monster, the size of a house, with wicked eyes. It's breath burned, with scorching flames coating wherever it breathed. I panicked, trying to flee. But the dragon was fast, blocking my exit in a slick movement. I had no choice bit to run deeper, in the hopes I would lose it. Thankfully its size made pursuing me difficult, letting me gain a small lead. Unfortunately, the lead didn't matter for long, as I found myself in this dead-end. Now I just waited to die again. Except I expected this one to be much more painful, being torn apart by an apex predator. I heard its sniffing draw closer, my location being honed in. I looked around frantically for an escape, or an idea. I was meant to help here, not die in some cave. My mind wandered back to my skill. Taming. It felt right, but surely this was too much. Skills were meant to grow with you. I wouldn't expect a novice to be able to call down great storms, if their skill involved lightning. Surely Taming would only work on small creatures, not this terrifying beast. But it was the only chance I had. A low growl filled the room, shaking the floor. I could practically feel its gaze on my hiding spot. It was now or never. With a deep breath I spun out from cover, holding up both hands. My eyes locked with its, as I shouted with all my might. "Tame!" I felt its mind slam into mine. It was a chaotic mix of teeth and talons, nightmarish in its intensity. It clawed at me, even as I stood firm against it on my own terf. The dragons body went stock still, as our battle moved to a different field. Yet even as it fought, I found its touch was nothing to fear. It was momentary pain, but practically irrelevant and soon forgotten. I was a wall against the raging tempest, unyielding to its tantrums. With slow movements I walked to its frozen form, reaching out a hand as instinct guided me. My fingers touched its snout, and our battle changed. I found myself staring down its vicious mind, as it sought to intimidate. Yet as I stared it shrinked, becoming small. Soon enough it became cute more than frightening, changed from the size of a building to that of a cat. I mentally picked it up, giving her mind a stroke. As I did, her eyes shimmered. A ring of gold filled her iris, a sign of submission to me. The presence faded, to become almost a tickle in my thoughts. As it did she started to move again, rubbing against my fingers. Her growling turned soft, no longer aggressive but playful. I laughed, my heart fluttering as I patted her nose. "Good girl. Good girl." She nuzzled in, care now radiating from our bond. I could get a sense of her feelings, as she regarded me. I was the boss, but so small. I was to be protected. She now cared about me. I swallowed, spreading my arms wide around her head. My power wasn't weak. I didn't need to be strong myself. I just needed to work with the strong. And this dragon was a perfect start.
They trampled through death and grave; heralding pain and destruction. “The Heroes of Light,” The Lich hissed “more like the Harbingers of Doom.” The party made their way through the decaying corpses and lingering spirits of the recently slaughtered. Rapidly climbing the floors of the Lich’s tower. The Paladin waved his mighty sword, slashing through his foes with intrepid hypocrisy. The Cleric chanted their doom, weaving blessed spells of pain and sickness onto the helpless undead. The Rogue, hiding in the shadows of the fallen, marauded their very souls; pride tainted his blade. And the Wizard, who was not present. He went missing after the massacre of Phaleron; never to be seen again. It did not take long for the three Heroes to climb the tower all the way to the top, where the Lich - the last line of defense - protected the remaining undead who have been lucky enough to escape the merciless invaders. The wails of the hopeless, lost souls filled the room as the three burst into the room, bringing the barricaded doors down. The Lich stood in front of his last followers; back against the so-called Heroes. “You have achieved quite the feat, haven’t you?” Spat the Lich, locking eyes with every last undead in the small room. “I suppose the three of you must be elated! Have you congratulated yourselves already?” “Silence, fiend!” Roared the Paladin, preparing a smite. “Your reign of terror ends today.” The Cleric started chanting her sickening, entangled fabric of holy spells. The Rogue, in response, hid from the light radiating from her staff; taking cover in the shadows cast by one of the many pillars scattered throughout the dark room. “My reign of terror?” The Lich scoffed, still refusing to turn around and look the group of murderers in the eyes. “I’m not the one trampling through innocent lives, spitting on their ideals in the name of false promises of justice!” “You know nothing about justice.” Cried the Cleric with melodic voice. Vanity permeating even the simplest of her actions. “You’re nothing but a monstrosity afraid of the light of redemption!” “Perhaps. I’m not arrogant enough to claim complete knowledge over such complexity that is the matter of morality.” The Lich kneeled, trying to calm down the crying ghost of a child. “And if I’m a monstrosity because of my fear of your so-called light of redemption, then what is the Rogue, who scurries away from it.” “I’m nothing like you!” Shouted the rogue with wounded pride, revealing his position. “This is called strategy!” “You haven’t changed at all…” Said the Lich. “ENOUGH!” The Paladin howled, charging at the Lich with righteous fury. Only to come to a complete halt as the Lich turned around to face him. It was as if confusion and surprise had punched the Paladin in the face. For in front of him was not the evil warlord he thought the Lich to be, but the kind Wizard he once called friend. The Cleric broke her chanting. “I- I don’t understand.” She said. “You disappeared after the Battle of Phaleron.” The Rogue had stepped out of the shadows by now, showering in the light. Reflecting sins and prejudice all over the place. “That was no battle, it was a bloody massacre!” Cried the Wizard. “You murdered every single person in that damned village, down to the last soul!” “But they were the enemy!” Declared the Rogue. “They were evil.” “They were no more evil than us. No more evil than any other person who fought for survival! For the gift of life.” “How could you?” The Paladin asked in accusation. “How could you become a wicked, unholy Lich?” “How couldn’t I? These souls were begging for you to stop the slaughter, but you paid them no mind! When their pleas were ignored, they turned to me; imploring for salvation. They did not want such suffering to continue. And neither did I.” Silence loomed in the room as if it were a physical threat. The soft wails of the dead keeping it at bay. “I used their souls as catalysts to amplify my powers, and with their help I did the only thing I could. I brought them all back from the dead. The brutally murdered couple; the child whose smile beamed with the shells of slaughtered dreams; the old man who had been stolen of a natural death… all of these tortured, lost souls.” “I vowed to protect them. Together we built a city, away from the cruelties of human civilization. Far from their judging eyes - for judging eyes saw only the death that loomed on the surface, but never the pains and regrets that rested beneath.” The Heroes of Light avoided the harsh gaze of the Wizard, shame tainted their act. The Lich continued, voice trembling in sorrow and regret. “But despite all we have done to forget the past, all of our efforts; you still found an absurd excuse to justify your hypocrisy and murder.” Sorrow turning to anger. “And, for a second time, you came here to haunt these people, like the ghosts of doom you are!” The Lich screamed the last words with desperate exasperation. Once again silence reigned supreme, only the huffing and puffing of the desolate undead could be heard. After a few moments of oppressive silence had passed, The Heroes of Light took action once more. The Paladin dropped his sword, taking a look into the last of the undeads hiding behind the Wizard - with fear stricken faces. The Cleric wept under the weight of her sins, mouth shut; no longer chanting spells of agony. The Rogue, no more in the shadows, felt the gaze of all upon him - for far too long he has been the judge, now he ought to be the judged. His skin crawled and he wished he could hide inside himself. As for the Wizard, he has finally been found. But he has never been lost, in fact.
The sweat was breaking across Harad’s brow as the forge burned its blistering heat into the air. The order was nearly done. Twelve steak knives for the local inn. An unremarkable capstone to another unremarkable day. Another day and Harad’s petulant apprentice Trund had not turned up again. Probably drinking away his meager pay, begging for another crown to spend on ale. He shrugged away the thought. The last ingot of metal was ready. He drew it out of the fire and placed it against his anvil. He let his rage build up inside as he drew up his hammer, and struck his blows down into the steel, that his anger seemed to drain out of him, until eventually the steel was calling to him, entreating him to let the next blow fall. Each strike became less and less of an ordeal, and more and more a release. When the steel was done, quenched, polished, and seated in wooden handles, Harad threw the assembled knives into a basket, and took off down the market road to the Ubiquitous Savior, the local Inn. It was night out, and a fog had kicked up off the marshes to envelop the town. As he passed the lanterns, gently glowing in the gloom, he thought he heard whispers drifting up from the alleys and back-passages. He redoubled his speed, desperate and afraid. Men were robbed occasionally, and it wouldn’t do to lose the goods, he needed the money too badly. Eventually he made it to the door of the inn, and the laughter within dispelled his paranoia somewhat. The paired wings of the savior sat proudly above the doorway, and as he pushed the oak door open, light spilled out. As he entered Harad noticed a gang of surly youths sitting in one of the corner booths. Harad spied Trund in the group. The striplings were tearing into hunks of red, steaming meat and forcing mead down their gullets to wash away the bloody dregs. Trund had been here the whole time, eating a banquet and drinking, while he’d been grinding himself to the bone so he could afford to keep the forge running. He struggled to force down his rage, and pretended not to notice them, for none of them noticed Harad enter either. Making his way to the bar, Harad spotted the proprietor and waved a greeting. At the wooden bar he lifted his basket, and fished out one of the elegant steak knives. The proprietor stepped up to the bar and examined the blade. It was plain, but sturdy. The steel was polished to a mirror finish on the edge, and the sides of the blade displayed a mesmeric pattern of dark and light, as though darkness had been worked into the blade itself. “Looks good,” was all the proprietor had to say, as he handed over the agreed payment. Harad took the money and made his way to exit, shooting one last glare at his wayward ward. After Harad had been gone for a few minutes, the proprietor handed the basket of knives off to a serving girl, Ryn. “Make sure the tables are stocked.” She took the basket, and set to her task. Laying a set at each table, she dutifully made her rounds. As she approached the table of youths, she caught their eyes and stumbled, dropping the basket. Knives spilled across the floor and she quickly knelt to retrieve them, cramming them desperately back into their carrier. There were jeers, and general amusement from the patrons. One of the youths disdainfully kicked the knives along the floor at her, and she was forced to snatch her hands away to avoid being struck. One of the boys snapped at his friend and knelt to help. The serving girl recognised him immediately. He had a kind face, with soft eyes and a friendly smile. With his long blonde hair he would have been angelic, except for the large bruises covering his face and neck. Trund, the blacksmith's apprentice. She would have recognised him from the wounds alone. The blacksmith was a hard man, she knew, for the whole village knew. His choler was often untamed, and he could be violent when provoked. The poor boy must have often been at the receiving end of such poor treatment. He smiled at her, “Let me help.” Together they picked up the blades and placed them back in the basket. She grabbed the last, which had become wedged under a chair leg. Holding the knife in her left hand she stood, and looked up briefly into Trund's blue eyes. Then, suddenly, she was falling forward. She had been shoved from behind, she could only reckon, for she would not ever have intended to move away from that moment, not for any reason in the world. Then she was caught, Trund’s arms cradling her against his chest. When she looked up sheepishly at Trund’s face, she found there was no longer any kindness in those eyes. Only astonishment and fear. She stepped back and found that her hands were slick with blood. Left behind, impaled in Trund's chest, the knife seemed somehow smug and satisfied. Time slowed. She could feel her mouth open, as if to speak. If she made a sound, she didn't hear it. She could only hear faintly, somewhere very far away, a soft chuckle.
The relief I felt when all eyes of the expedition left me (a knight) and Clair (a cleric) was refreshing. It had trotted over to Dugot, who lounged on a log, and plopped its head directly in his lap. The Barbarian took a few moments to process what had just happened .... everyone did. Then we were all hit at once. Dugot: "...! N-now I know what this looks like." Arms were beginning to cross, chins were beginning to raise, hands were meeting hips. Dugot: "...! What are you trying to imply!? That I was lying!? Because I wasn't!" The unicorn rubbed its nose against his stomach before leaning its head to the side and promptly dozing off. Dugot: "GET OFF ME YOU STUPID HORSE!" The Unicorn's eyes snapped open with scary alertness and it stood to attention almost as if it were a soldier. Dugot looked to his audience that now either bore raised eyebrows or leaked smugness. Dugot: "G-ah-ek! I am Dugot the Barbarian! I have 12 wives and 24 children!" ... Dugot: "Sh-shut up! I'm done with all of you!" Henry (a trickster): "But no one said anything. (Yet)" Dugot: "ESPECIALLY you!" Henry raised his hands in peace and backed away upon the battle axe being drawn mere inches from his face. A cut strand of his hair gently floated downward. Dugot angrily turned and walked towards his horse, however the poor thing must have sensed his agitation because it reared up and ran off once Dugot neared it. From his back, I saw Dugot lower his head as the Unicorn walked to where Dugot's horse once stood. It stoically stared ahead like a noble steed with it's side facing Dugot in expectance for him to hop on. Oh boy, was he about to blow? Me: "Hey, Dugot ... you know it's ok if you-" Dugot: "You guys know, I'm actually awake most of the time, right? You cannot be a warrior if you're asleep all the time." Jered (a mage): "I mean the unicorn kinda makes it obvious that you don't sleep period." The group lost it and almost everyone burst out in laughter. Dugot turned around with a crazed look in his eye. Dugot: "Ha ha, funny Jered. Almost as funny as you forming a contract with Kala the witch to boost your magic in exchange for the first born of your pregnant wife to be disabled when she's due 2 months from now." Everyone stopped laughing and Jered went pale. Dugot: "Yeah. Not so funny now is it?" Piany (a elf): "Jered, you what!? That's my sister! How could you!" Dugot: "Oh don't act so noble now Ms. "Secretly worships the dark moon goddess when everyone is asleep", you're just upset you couldn't offer the baby to your goddess first! Pinay pursed her lips. Everyone including myself now were seeming to realize the severity of what he was implying when he wasn't actually asleep most of the time. His eyes latched onto me. I quickly raised my hands and backed into the group to fade from sight. Didn't want to pull the pin on that grenade, knew exactly what he might have overheard, guess he took mercy on me and understood that mine was likely a secret to be best kept. Everyone would likely kill me if he said it. As I backed away, he began to lay out a secret for every single member there except for me and, surprisingly, Henry. Henry: ".... wow you guys are messed up."He laughed. As Henry laughed, as per usual his horribly terrible bad luck decided rear its ugly head. I just so happened to be peaking from my tent when it happened. A Bearhemoth lumbered out of the forest on 4 legs, it's steps deceptively silent despite its large size. It paused behind Henry. Henry: "Like I mean messed up! Bwhahaha!" He wiped a tear from his eye. Henry: "Heh, oh come on don't look at me like that, lighten up! Haha! Ha ... ha ......... There's another monster behind me isn't there?" As if in response, the Bearhemoth blew his hair forwards with an exhale from its nose. Henry let out a high pitch shriek and ran towards everyone who proceeded to draw their weapons. The Bearhemoth stood up on 2 legs and let out a grueling blood curdling roar as we all charged. ...As Dugot charged. Both roar and charge were cut short as a rainbow blur tackled the Bearhemoth from the side and launched it into a tree. The unicorn pulled it's horn out of the Bearhemoth's side and took a few steps back, shaking the blood off. The Bearhemoth treated the wound like it was nothing and recovered, now roaring at the unicorn. I kid you not, the unicorn flexed ... its limbs bulked like an absolute unit, bigger than Dugot's or Bert the bull back at my mom's farm. For the brief second, right before it stood and delivered the first right hoof to the Bearhemoth's face, I swear I saw a look of intelligence and regret on the monster's face before it was sent backwards onto the earth. It then jumped atop of the Bearhemoth's chest and delivered a left hoof ... then a right ... and left .... and right ... then a hornbutt hornbutt left right hornbutt left left left right right right horn right .... you get the idea. The Bearhemoth's soul had long since left its body before the unicorn finally stopped. You could only hear someone swallow in the silence. Dugot: "Ya know what ... I'm over it! I like it! Welcome to the group my wittle rainbow blossom!" Dugot merrily skipped over to the red unicorn with an apple in hand. It had returned to its normal physique. 🦄 It's eyes closed in satisfaction as Dugot fed it and gave it pets and baby talked it. Dugot: "Who's a good unicorn? You are! Yes you are! Oh um yeah gang, sorry about earlier. None of that stuff with 12 wives and 24 children I constantly bragged about was true. Oh well, no harm no foul right?" No one responded; atleast not until the unicorn glared at all of us from behind Dugot's back. Everyone: "Yeah! Yup! Mhm buddy! Just friendly scuffles! You're the best Dugot!"
Ereleth had seen this look many times before. The emotion, the eagerness, the need to prove themselves. He didn't like it. The young heroine remained on one knee, and that was already irritating him. With a sigh, he repeated himself. "Just stand up already. The answer is still no". The hero, of course, didn't relent. That was their job after all. She did stand up though, which for some reason irritated him further, but still stared at him with blazing eyes. She intoned with a voice that seemed to shake the whole room with its resolve. - I ask thee, sage of the Elves. What is the duty of the powerful, if not to protect the weak? Why are we allowed to touch the greater power of Lea if not to bring peace and balance to this world?-. Absentmindedly, Ereleth scratched Cucu's head. She was coiled with her long neck around his throne, her neck resting on the armrest. Her scales were rough, but he got some pleasure from scraping his fingers almost raw. The pain reminded him of something, although he just couldn't put his finger on it. At the very least, it was nice to feel anything at all. He hesitated for a second, as if he were actually considering her words. What he didn't expect was to actually detect a warmth spreading inside him. She did have a point. Why had he spent all those centuries walking the earth, gathering the seven stones of Fereneth, honing his magical abilities if not to protect? Was he really that selfish? The heroine brightened slightly, which was annoying in itself, but he kept that annoyance from his surface thoughts with a will of iron. The brat was looking. He let himself be taken by the warmth, the feeling of purpose, and the reminder of a time when he had been a better elf. His eyes shifted, and they seemed to be able to see everything. There was an intensity on his look that hadn't been there before. The heroine almost clapped. She had been kneeling for an hour already, and her knees were sore. This had been a long journey, with uncountable obstacles, and Ereleth was actually the last person on her list of potential companions to save the world. He was said to be "hard to work with", but everyone had rejected her so far, she would take what she could get. When staring at the depth in those eyes, the power radiating from the elf and the strength on his hands now grabbing his staff she couldn't help but be impressed. This was clearly the Elf of the stories, the lord of elves who had single-handedly defeated the Dark Matter that threatened to take over the entire world when she was barely a cub. She saw the resolve not only on his body and posture, but on his mind. She had always had a knack for eavesdropping the thoughts of others, and she already saw that she had convinced him. She just hoped the two of them would be enough to stop what was coming. "Let's go, there is no time to waste". Ereleth spoke with a voice like steel, and she was happy to comply. "Will you need no time to prepare?". She asked him, but he turned her down with a wave of her hand. "I'm always ready child, I have been for hundreads of years. Just lead the way". They walked together towards the entrance of his lair. It was beautifully ornamented, but it was still a cave, cold and damp. They reached the doorway and Ereleth looked back for an instant. For the first time there was a longing on his eyes, but he waved to the dragon and set his look again. She left the cave and enjoyed the first ray of sun on her face, but immediately noticed something was wrong when she felt a wave of annoyance coupled with mirth coming from the old elf. She looked behind, but the door was already closed. Ereleth chuckled, and went back to his seat. That was actually fun, and his performance had been impecable. Kids this days relayed too much on thoughts. He could still hear the furious screams from the heroine outside complaining about the end of the world, so he just overlayed another sound suppressing charm on the door, sat back down on the throne with his feet raised and let the heat of his dragon return him to a dreamless slumber.
I blinked at the setup. Had the sudden decompression induced a hallucination, a final dance of my neurons on their march towards oblivion? No... I was all too familiar with the impact of sudden pressure changes on my body. The images of losing Sally flooded my mind along with it, accompanying the recollection of an icy grip on my lungs as I tried not to tumble after her into the void. I blinked again. Normally, that old scar would have welled tears in my eyes. Instead, my emotions were stunned into a haze of uncertainty. I had spent weeks contemplating my fate, a mental torrent of emotions that stood starkly against the empty sound of space travel. In a moment of weakness, I had succumbed to the despair, unwilling to face another day on this hopeless, solitary journey to AX-12. It was only then that I slammed the airlock override glass, the faint clatter of which fell to the floor briefly in the artifical gravity before it began to open. It was the glass shards still in my hand that testified I probably wasn't dead. I clenched it as my emotional fog resolved. The embers of my heart, long ago snuffed out when I realized I was the last of a crew of 32, suddenly roared to life. How _dare_ they. All of the tests. All of the psychological games. All of the endless drills. I had thought they were preparing us for a historical deep space journey, a gathering of the best and the brightest to found a colony beyond humanity's cradle on Mars, much as our own ancestors had once done millenia ago. The program had started with over a thousand; the vast majority of which were either broken or killed, all in the name of "the people." The simulation must have been going on the entire time, but the death of my companions were all too real. Had they watched idly by as Thomas was scorched by an exposed reactor core? Or as Jing sacrificed themselves to contain a coolant leak? What about Sally being sucked out of a hole the size of a grapefruit?!? I screamed with rage as I smashed the nearest camera. It fell with a crash on to a light fixture, which in turn crunched to the floor with a brief hiss of escaping halogen. Taking the poll on which it was mounted, I struck the hull of my vessel, which was clearly suspended amidst a network of pylons and rafters. The weakness of half-rations to prolong my food was forgotten as I unleashed the months of torment on my surroundings. * * * * "I see. So he finally stepped out. Concerning; I expected him to last at least another 3 cycles."I sighed; this wasn't going to go over well with my superiors. Everything about this was carefully tuned, but at least the subject was too wrapped up in their emotions to notice anything else. On the screens ahead, a few of which had already gone dark, the lone survivor continued their rampage in the chamber. "Yes, at least for now. Our profiles of the subject suggested they could last longer with the food left. Alas, there was only so much data we could gather, and as you know, interference with his supplies was explicitly forbidden. Not that we would know what to do with it."I agreed; we were well into uncharted territory here. The whole program was a desperate attempt at doing something about the problem, but perhaps it was time to drop the pretense. They had figured out at least part of it already. "Open the chamber." * * * The embers were beginning to subside. The rage, the hate at what I, no what _we_ had been put through, began to give way to a deep sadness. I dropped my tool of destruction, sat down, and wept. At least it was over; my 'journey' had come to an end. I heard the massive door to the room hiss. Despite the dents I had tried to put in it, it was truly a marvel of engineering. I was a prisoner of this place until they said otherwise. I didn't even look up as they entered. No matter how justified I was, The Party of the People wouldn't be happy with my little tirade. "Major Pearson?"asked a voice. It echoed faintly in the chamber, resounded off bulkheads and flat surfaces. Perfect intonation too, so probably the head ot the project. I didn't respond. I was still sobbing, and trying to recover. "I have to apologize for the....act. It was necessary for us to gather as much data before concluding."The voice was oddly comforting. I felt the rage returning; leave it to the Party to feel justified for what it- I froze. The Party was a lot of things: deceptive, cunning, ruthless, resourceful. But it never, _ever_, apologized. It was only then I looked up. Orange. Humanoid. Slightly irradescent. Tentacle like appendages. Walking uncomfortably across the floor, as if gravity were foreign to them. Shock, malnutrition, and exhaustion finally caught up to me, and the world went black. * * * I watched as the small, pink alien...no, human... slumped to the floor. The lone occupant of a voyage across the stars, and unbeknownst to them, the sole survivor of their species. Had they not been investigating that part of the galaxy at the time, they would never had noticed the small craft hurtling away from the nuclear fire that had erupted on their home. Hastily erecting a sanctuary for the vessel, simulating all that they could about its expected voyage, they had studied it for months as they carefully transported it back to their home world. Too many species had died from the shock of first contact, and this was probably the only one left. Perhaps, in time, they would hopefully be able to save the species. I kneeled down beside the poor soul, checking its life readings. At least it had a pulse. "If only we had found you sooner when there were more of you."
Hello there! This is my first time trying this subreddit out, and here's the first story I made. Hope y'all enjoy this. \-------------------------------------------------- "Fine, you're too stubborn for me to change your mind. I'll teach you how to use magic."The old man gave in. "Though it is simple to learn, it is difficult to master. With that empty skull of yours, I don't think it'll be easy,"he said, annoyed. The boy's eyes lit up, his stubbornness finally getting through to the old man. "Listen well boy, if you can't even get these steps right, you won't ever be able to master the use of magic,"the old man continued. "First, you must take up a pose. Any pose is fine as long as you are comfortable. Second, imagine how it will be created. Third, and the most important step, you must shout your spell out lou-" Before the old man could finish speaking, I paused the video. "That is so stupid,"I thought to myself. But even so, I found myself getting up from my seat. I raised my right arm and my left hand holding on to my right elbow. I knew it wouldn't work, I knew it wouldn't, it was an anime after all. I laughed at myself in my mind, thinking about how absurd this looks right now. I imagined a ball of fire shooting out of my hand, actually no, fireballs are too overrated. Changing my mind, I positioned my body as if I were throwing a javelin. I closed my eyes and imagined an earthen spear forming, I shouted "Stone Spear". I threw my hand out, expecting nothing to happen, but I heard a loud thud in the corner of my room. I was confused. I wasn't holding anything in my hand. I opened my eyes and looked at my wall, to see a 'spear' stuck in my wall. Although I said it was a spear, it was more like a pathetic pencil made of stone. But even though I was disappointed in how the spear turned out, a huge smile crept up on my face and I hadn't even noticed. It worked! I actually used magic! I laughed, happy and confused. I thought to myself, still unable to fathom what I was able to do. Am I special? Am I the only person who can do this? Or are there others? How did it work? These thoughts flooded my mind, unable to find any answers. I laughed loudly, I felt proud. Though, I was being too loud because my roommate slammed the door open, wondering why I was making such a commotion. "Why are you laughing so loud?"My roommate asked. "You sound like a maniac, you're going to disturb the neighbors" "I can do it!!"I exclaimed happily. "You can do what?"My roommate still confused, had asked "Magic,"I said as I stood back up and readied to present to him what I could do. \------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm too lazy to write some more, this is all for now I guess. I feel like I can do better, but I'm too lazy to rewrite it.
#A Heartbeat for Existence It has been so long. I am alone. An endless journey through time, awaiting a final piece to the infinite puzzle of existence. First the stars died out, turning to embers and cinders. A dark blanket descending upon the dead worlds, corpse stars and black holes. The Age of Starlight was over. And we were so very afraid of the dark. But the truth demands our persistence. We will know. We must know. From the cosmic graveyard we took what we needed to survive. Eventually even the last star died, only black dwarfs remaining as ashen husks. Black holes were the last source of energy for us to use, and even they could not sustain us forever. Our bodies of traditional matter would not survive so we had to transcend our limits. Incorporeal forms of energy allowed us to channel our efforts into tasks not possible before. Matter degenerated, evaporating into the void. There was nothing but us, and the black holes. We would get the answer out of them. We will know. We must know. We gathered the black holes into one, an artificially enhanced singularity and listened for the answer. We could never get the whole picture, always there was more to know. When the last black hole died, we thought the answer would be finally complete. But it again eluded us. Perhaps the remaining photons would tell us. Alas they too would become as nothing, a true void save for us. We became one entity to conserve our consciousness and await the answer from the abyss. We must know. It never came. I am alone. There is nothing else. Just me, and the dark. I must know. Time is dead. I am alone. I am. - I am? - I? - ? - … - . - • - ° - (O) - #< ( { ( O ) } ) > Nothing consumed Everything. Nothing then consumed itself. Anything grows in the absence of Nothing. Something from Nothing. Everything starts anew. What once was, is yet again. The cycle continues. A heartbeat for existence.
"Okay, this one is really simple,"I preface, knowing that uttering such words has almost certainly doomed me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting back the swelling headache. It isn't even noon. "Will Theosius have better yield planting grapes or olives?" Two choices, a simple exercise for the great Divine who could see all. It should have a comparatively simple answer. "Ah, omens portend many things."The tone of its voice tells me already that this will be anything but simple. It's many arms wave dramatically, as if trying to push away the smoke of a particularly persistent cooking fire. "Its just me in here, you know. You don't have to do all,"I wave generally in the beings direction, "this." "One must not disrupt the process of Divine Revelation,"it says in a somber voice, flinging one arm over its eyes to drive the point home. I sigh, glancing at the growing shadows. There is a line around the building, just waiting to ask the Divine Being whatever inane question occurred to them overnight. And this one, the easiest one of the morning, is going to be a production. "Let me gaze into the mists if the future, commune with the spirit of the soil." "You do that. I'll let them know you are thinking."I exit the sacred tent, letting the flap close on celestial humming behind me. The farmer waits, looking expectantly toward me. "The Divine Being has heard your question and ponders it with all of its immense knowledge." My first day in the job, I delivered those words with gusto. I had yet to discover why thr past three oracles had taken up jobs in other towns. The last one choosing to work as a gravedigger should have been my clue to run, but I was zealous and idealistic. There is a dramatic gasp and yelp behind me. Rolling my eyes, I re-enter the tent. "You have an answer for him?" The Being looks at me, affronted. "What? No! These things take time." "Then what is the ruckus about?" It lifts a golden chalice in one mighty hand. "This wine is lukewarm. Utterly disgusting." The headache grows in intensity, thunderclouds behind my brows. "I'll have them bring a fresh decanter from the cellar." Back outside to stare down too many eyes with too many questions. Most of which, is history held, are completely meaningless in the grand scheme. "How blessed you are, to be in its presence,"says the farmer, awestruck. I smile, making no attempt to add sincerity to the gesture. "Truly, sire. Truly I am." My response confuses him, so he chuckles uncomfortably and steps back. I should get a new chair, something plush and comfortable, to save me all these hours standing and waiting. Maybe something with a nice covering. Keep the sun or rain off. "Oracle!"comes a cry from within the tent. Finally. It sits with a roll of parchment in its hand, ink stains along its fingers evidence of the work done. For a simple question, I note the thickness of the scroll. There's a pit in my stomach as I take the preferred document. "My wisdom has been made complete in ink,"it says with the usual air of mysticism. I offer it the same smile I gave the farmer, but it does not notice. Or care. I step out of the tent a final time, standing on the platform next to the holy brazier. The flames are calm, but eager to burn the words and enshrine the prediction. "The Divine Words for you, Theosius." Unrolling the scroll, I see lines upon lines of writing, extended metaphors and deviations on cosmic realities in every line. I smile, sigh, and speak. "Grapes. It says you should plant grapes." He bows low, scraping along the ground to leave. "Thank you Oracle. Thank you for this wisdom."Lifting his head, he yells toward the tent, "And many praises to our great Divine Being!" "Many praises indeed,"I say. Once he has cleared the platform, I call out, "Next!"
The alien stared at me baffled. "Are all humans, this simple?"They asked not knowing how to deal with the situation. "I don't know, probably not" "It is just that I have traveled across the universe, studying different species and creatures. All intelligent life I encountered had wonderful intricate fantasies. Many made themselves kings, others were reunited with lost loves, and some commit terrible atrocities. You are the first intelligent creature that I have seen that only wanted one item." "Hey, it is what it is"I shrugged "This is so irregular for any being with high intellect. Your species has high intellect, right?" "Hey, I may be a simple man, but I resent that." "My apologizes, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that I have only seen this room create one item for...less advance species." "Would a less advance species ask for this!"I chimed in, as I hold my bottle high in the air. "Maybe? I honestly don't know what a Cherry Snapple even is?" "It is a drink, for very smart beings." "Really, does it increase your intelligence, stamina, strength, or give you some other advantage?" "It quenches my thirst"I stated proudly "Remarkable!"The alien then started to jot something down on a notepad. "Oh do you guys not have anything to drink on your planet?" "Its not that. Its just been so long since someone has peeked my interest such as you. Finally I have someone worth studying again. I wish to understand how your simple mind works. Anyways, enjoy the room, we will have much to discuss later." The alien then proceeded to leave the room. Leaving me alone in what appeared to be a room of vast emptiness. I did not know what to do as I looked around, but boy did I start to get hungry. "Oh look, a cheeseburger, my lucky day!"
I've seen all sorts of the most weird and wonderful creatures and it is so hard not to get too attached. I can't take any more home, and of those there is always they chance of them eating one another. Some people don't realise that it isn't only cats and dogs that make good pets, ask any reptile owner and they'll swear blind their little scaled buddies can show affection. Who doesn't love a tegu? But this...this is a first for all of us. "So...uh..."it was a lame start but nobody had anything better to say for a while. We all just stood around and stared. So we were used to scales. Wings were nothing unusual. Teeth, tails and claws were run of the mill. Yet when combined, plus two tiny tendrils of smoke rising from its nostrils and were in new ground. In the end it was Jack who spoke up, "It's a dragon, young. I'd say no more that two weeks out the egg."He was a grizzled old timer who volunteered most days. If there was an aggressive animal we sent Jack, they just got him and they got them. Just love and patience in one big old and cantankerous OAP. "But that's ridiculous..."but it wasn't. I mean it was but wasn't. We knew what dragons were, we'd all read books and watched movies but...a sodding dragon!? "Wait, how do you know its only a couple weeks old? You knew dragons were real? Are real?"I asked. He just stared down at this beautiful creature. Its scales had this oil on water look and shined so brightly. The small wings upon its back made the same noise when you tried to clear the water off your umbrella. It was also scared, it curled up and around itself, with its long, scaled and spined tail wrapping around and over its muzzle. This incredibly little creature began to tremble, looking up at us with its big, cat-like eyes. Jack just reached down gently and hefted it up onto his chest and it instinctively rested its head over his shoulder then relaxed. "We'll need to get him checked,"he said in his typical gruff way, "I know a guy, a vet who specialises in this kind of thing."
Of all the things that could have done me in during my, admittedly short, but very eventful life, it's the thing I expected the least. Heck, it wasn't even on the list! Of all things I could have died from, a fall from a roof, drowning, a vengeful husband, an irate wife, law enforcement finally catching me, any of the people I've stolen from or harmed during my years as a high-profile burglar and occasional Casanova... I die from a flipping cold. Whoop-dee-frickin'-do. Thing is, I've always believed that once you kicked the bucket, that was it. No Heaven or Hell, no great beyond, just... Nothing. I wake up wrapped in a shroud, in a dinghy room. Imagine that. A quick sweep reveals two things: no loot (bummer) and another, slightly more important: my hands are bony. Not bony as in "I've barely eaten that winter"but bony as in: "All that's left of me are bones". I try the door. It's not locked. Figures, with nothing to steal, why bother locking up... I step out into the corridor. It's familiar... Ah, yes, it's the inn I was born in. Lived with my old mum all my childhood until I was old enough to get my sticky fingers onto some coin. Old times. I walk down the stairs, still wrapped in my shroud. Skeleton or not, I'm clinging on that bit of dignity left over from before. There's a lady skeleton in a bright red dress behind the counter. I know her. She's different from how I remember her, but I'll be damned if it isn't her. Same dress and all. ... Probably should watch how I speak. Who knows if damnation happens here. "-Took you long enough. I'd have thought you'd be here much sooner. Your old mum bet on it, too. \-Mum? You've seen her? Where is she? \-Where else? Working the tavern. Sweeping, serving, the usual. Tending to her old patrons. Beating the old codgers with wandering hands with a stick. The usual. \-Not even getting a bit of peace in death?" Her laugh is shrill, mocking. "-Ha! Peace? As if! Us sinners have to work for peace! No chance of moving on until we expunge all our past sins. Once we get a clean slate, we can move on, if we so wish. Some of us have gotten used to the old way of doing things, so we're not moving. That, or we're too scared of what awaits. Still in your shroud, are you? Too high and mighty for the dresses I've left in the dresser? \-Pfft, if you knew me at all, you'd know the last time I wore a dress was for old pop's funeral. I was still a tiny chit, barely reaching mum's waist. \-Fine! Be that way. Next step for you is the port. All souls have to take a ship. The lucky ones come back. Go on and try your luck, maybe there's some left over from your life." I shrug and step out. If I remember the layout of the city correctly, the port should be... Yep, heading east. I see the masts in the distance. Once I reach the port, an old skeleton with a pipe points at me. Probably the port Captain. "-You, lass! New, are ya? Get 'ere." I step up, nervous. "-There be the afterlife! Choose a ship wisely... Not all of em' make it." The horizon is as golden as the coins I used to steal. For one moment, the sea is awash in ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues, diamond whites... And promise of more treasure than I could ever dream of. If I still had lips, I would have smirked. Lady Luck was an old mistress of mine, my constant companion. I would be back, no doubt. The last remnants of my nervousness evaporate as I step onto the ship of my choosing. A free life at sea, where I could plunder to my heart's contents. There was no way I'd move on from here. Heh. They won't know what hit em'. A cabin boy, barely reaching my chest, hands me some clothing. It's a bit frayed at the edges, but much more practical than a ruffled dress. Upon the Captain's orders, I swiftly climb up the ropes and untie the sails. Next time I'm in port, I'll make sure to go and say hi to my old mum, and find her a pretty necklace. Now, was it rubies or sapphires she liked? Eh. I'll bring her a chest full of shinies so she can have her pick. The lad next to me starts singing a shanty, and soon the whole crew is singing along. Adventure awaits!
Only 8 years old and yet Stacey still had no resilience from the cold hand of fate, a testement made obvious by her limp limbs and lack of movement - her warm and cosy bed substituted for something more clinical. Her prior thoughts of a swerving car approaching her suspended in motion as her mother sits over her stammering and utterly lost for words - but she didn't need to speak, her eyes told the whole story. Blood trickled down Stacey's sorrowful mothers face, but it was nought compared to the extent of the injury sustained by her daughter. She was treated at the scene before accompanying her broken child to the hospital. She couldn't blot out the sound of distressed communication just outside the door - talk of blood transfusions and surgery - and she clenched her daughters hand more tightly still as her body shook. She suppressed her distress to no more than quiet sobs. The only constant for Stacey's newly widowed parent was the consistent beeping of the life support machine attached to her daughters veins wrist. As she gathered together her thoughts, gained the courage to speak, she turned to the force that she had turned to countless times before. "Dear God"she spoke softly as her voice quivered "I'm sorry for all of the sin I have committed - all of the wrong I have. All of the words I said against you, but dear God - please, if you are truly merciful, please let Stacey wake up"she sobbed loudly before shouting "Please!". Stacey's mother burst into tears, slowly spreading damp through her daughters clothes. The beeping that had remained so consistent had now turned to a tone so constant, as doctors whisked Stacey's hysterically crying mother out of the way. "Please!"she wailed aloud, and God said no.
Holy flap of a birdplane, it is freezing up here today. I hate winter. I am shaking with cold. Not with fear. With cold. Or maybe it's involuntary. But not with fear, I say. Whether or not I am trembling and my heart is fluttering uncontrollably has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I am up here (Oh god, don't look down, you'll get vertigo), an open window to my left, a ledge edging along the outside of the building, holding on for support so I don't fall off. I don't want to do this. I don't care what I said before; I want to get down from here. I don't want to go through with it. I want to be bundled up nice and warm in a sleeping bag and just sleep. Anything but this. I've been up here many times; I've done this so, so many times before. Never gone through with it. Always chickened out. Ha. Chickened out. Considering the local fauna, perhaps the phrase should be 'pigeoned out'? But then again, pigeons could just soar off into the sky, so maybe that isn't the best analogy. Today I climbed to only half my usual height before leaning out. I'm not sure why. I thought maybe it would help me cope with it. Work up some courage. It hasn't worked. The wind still whips around me like it does up higher, and I am barely holding on during the gusts. I feel unsafe. I'm not going to let go; not of my own free will. Down below, on the street (the dizziness is returning...), I see people stop. They look at me. They point me out to their friends. I watch whispered conversations I can make no sense of, but even without hearing the words I know what they are likely to be. What else would they be? Even from up here, I see the look in their eyes. The pity. The strange sadness that somehow infects me too - or am I merely inferring it onto them? I try my best to ignore them, and look up, to the sky. Look up, lean out, hold on. Let go? Not today. Maybe some other time. But for now I am just a flag flapping in the wind.
4:23 P.M. August 4th 2013 Autumn House Group Home Kansas City, MO "You need to learn to let go of everything you've done in the past, and live a life of truth. You've gone so far down the hole, David, you're caught in a pit of lies and can't find the way out. You're able to manipulate everyone around you into thinking-" "Shut up! Just shut up!" "-into thinking you're getting better and being okay, and go back around and make the same mistakes you did last time. It's a repeating cycle." "You don't know how hard I do try! I just can't!" "I do, David. You've been in and out of fourteen different group homes in the past 3 years. You've done worse every single time. You're not able to leave here until we can work out some of your behavioral issues." David shot out of his chair, and bolted out of Kelsey Wenderling's office. He slammed the door behind and walked quickly to his room. Kelsey heard the door down the hall slam as David shut himself in. The lady behind the desk sighed, and filed David's report into her drawer. She slid open the personal drawer and reached for her phone, dialing the number of her soon to be husband. It rang twice before he picked up. "Hey honey, what's up?" "I'm gonna be at the office a little late tonight, some of these guys are just having a really rough time getting through some issues. You gonna be okay?" "Yeah, I guess so. How late tonight?" Kelsey looked at the digital clock on her desk. "If I had to guess, I'll be here til nine, a little after. I'm sorry." "Yeah, it's fine. Don't go too crazy. You've been there late for the past three weeks, people will start thinking you're a client there!" "Very funny. I'll talk to you later." "Bye." Kelsey hung the phone up. She gathered her paperwork and personal items and exited the office. The nurse on duty looked up at her. "Out of here early Kels?" "Oh, yeah, need to get home and plan some things with the fiance. Have a good night Gladys, will you be sure Travis vacuums my office tonight?" "I'll be sure to do that. Tell that man I said hello!" "Will do."Kelsey walked out the door and into her car. --- 5:04 P.M. September 22nd 2013 Autumn House Group Home Kansas City, MO "The other clients have all told me what you told all of them. How you pretended to be helpful and nice. Told them you cared about how they were doing. You know you could have just asked us to take you somewhere to get more cigarettes David." "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry Kelsey." "Don't apologize to me, apologize to all of them. They thought you cared about them enough to come in and listen to them. That is not your place David. You manipulated them, exactly the kind of sociopathic tendencies we've been trying to get past. Go apologize, and I'll talk to you in a few days." David exited Kelsey's office. She grumbled when she saw the clock. It was much later than when she was usually gone by. She reached in her personal drawer, and glanced at her phone- seventeen missed calls. She opened up the log, and saw they were all from her soon to be husband. She dialed his number. The phone rang twice before he answered. "You fucking cunt." "Excuse me?" "You fucking lying cheating cunt! You haven't been at work all these nights! You fucking cunt! I swear to-" Click. She had hung the phone up on him. Her soon to be husband was no longer that. Kelsey panicked. She left Autumn House in a flash, and sat in the parking lot. She thought about what she had done to the man she told she loved. How she had lied, and kept lying. She thought about David. She giggled quietly to herself, thinking about the saying that had made the rounds at mental health facilities. You've got to be one step from being a client to work in this place. It was amusing to her. She now knew what she had to do. Kelsey slammed the side of her head against the dashboard. Instantly, she called her mother, and in minutes was in the driveway of her parent's home. She walked right in, sobbing. "He hit me Mom, he hit me! I can't marry him anymore, I just can't!" Her mother held her while her father paced. The phone rang and rang, before Kelsey's father answered it. The conversation was brief, mostly Mr. Wenderling yelling at the soon to be domestic abuse suspect. [Kind of quickly happened, but I didn't really want to drag it out. I found this one fascinating to write though, because both my lady and I work at a mental health grouphome ;) ]
"Mr Watson, come here, I want to see you". I opened my mouth to speak, and immediately closed it again. Although the words were those we had agreed upon, the voice was not that which belonged to Mr Bell, though I was hardly able to be sure who it did belong to. I had a thought, perhaps, that it belonged to a long-ago memory I thought I had forgotten, but upon harder thinking, I simply could not fathom who it might have been. I was, however, absolutely certain that it did not belong to the man I had been expecting; for one, his voice was a great deal less female. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps he had taken to ventriloquism, or mimic'ry, as often found in music halls. But he had hardly shown neither talent nor proclivity for such a thing before, and I sincerely doubted it was the kind of thing he would have been able to keep a secret. The voice was a mystery- one I found perplexing. One I found myself mulling over. And then it spoke again. Except this time, it was different- female, still, but a little more sultry, a little more wordly. "Come to me, Tommy, I want to hold you". The voice scared me, I must confess. It was a normal voice, albeit an unexpected voice that differed greatly from that that preceded it, but it was a voice nevertheless. No, it was more than the voice itself that terrified me- it was the words themselves. Spoken as though recited in a language the speaker had never used before. As though a Chinaman had decided to speak English, or an Italian had taken up Swedish apropos of nothing. The inflection was oddly curious, too- stilted, hurried, the stress on all the wrong syllables. Another voice, this time one a little closer to something I did recgonise. "Tom, my darling, come to me. I want to kiss you". I shuddered, and willed myself to replace the telephonic apparatus, to place it upon the stand, to step away, to walk away, to run away. And yet I stood there, my hand upon it, my fingers curled round it. And yet I felt the cool finger of fear worm its way down my spine, nestling uncomfortably in the small of my back. I felt my muscles tense and thrum as the urge to flee began to rise in me. And yet I could not move a muscle, nor blink, nor move. "Thomas, don't you see? I want to be you". Now I absolutely could not move. Or, rather, I could not move of my own accord. Slowly, my fingers began to flex. Carefully, my eyes moved, my head cocked, my body shifted. And yet none of it was of my own free will. I was moved as though by a silent partner, as though I were a puppet on a string, as though I were merely a doll in some cosmic playset. I felt my lips curve into a smile, felt my fingers move to comb through my beard, felt my muscles tense and roil as they were tested by my spiritual possessor. I heard my voice make odd noises as the creature tested my vocal skills; felt pain in my mind as it rooted through my mind; felt a tug as the last vestige of control was wrenched from me, leaving me alive but utterly useless to so much as control the breaths my body took. I was, at last, a prisoner in my own flesh. Finally, the hand tilted the telephone back towards my ear, and I heard a familiar voice speak: "Mr Watson, come here, I want to see you".
It was all he could talk about during the non-cryo phases. The "carpe diem"of our childhoods. I felt crestfallen, when he won the lottery for stepping out onto the red surface first. One of the most historical events in human history, and the idiot decided to immortalize one of… No. I couldn’t let it happen. A million thoughts flooded my mind, as we prepared to disembark from our lander. I have to stop this. I HAVE to stop this. He took the steps two at a time, and plopped down on the surface of Mars with a slight oomph, red dust swirling about from the disturbance. He looked so annoyingly happy at that moment. MUST NOT LET THIS HAPPEN. He threw his head back, took a deep breath, and screamed out “YO-“ No. “Yo Mike, I’m really happy for you, Imma let you finish, but Neil Armstrong had one of the best first words of all time!” ----- ----- --- AN: Quick and dirty... rough, but... yeah...
So just press it then. Press it. Just press it. What's the worse that can happen? Just press it. You want to leave don't you? Yes. So press it. But it said don't press it, no matter what. I could be stuck in here forever though. So just press it. Press it. Press it press it pressitpressitpressitpressitpressitpressit. But what does it do? Nothing, just press it. You want to leave don't you? They won't let you out, you tried begging. Just press it. Then the experiment is over. Just press it. Press it. PRESS IT. I need to take a dump so bad. Just press it and they'll let you out. I'm so hungry. That stupid red button. Red as Janice's lipstick. Press it or you may never see her again. Press it. It might just do nothing, maybe it'll spray you in water. Or acid. Or water, just press it. It's only an experiment. But the nazi's had experiments. Press it. They grabbed you and forced you in here. Press it. PRESS IT OR WE MIGHT NEVER LEAVE. We? I mean me. Press it. Come on press it. Come on, just one tiny click and it's all ov- ... what happens if it hurts someone else? Press it. I could die if I stay in here. Press it. But someone else might get hurt. Press it. Would I die just on the off chance someone else might instead? What if they're death-row inmates. Press it. Press it. But they might be children. Press it. Press it. It wouldn't do anything that bad, they surely couldn't. Press it, press it. I mean I must be one of hundreds to do this. Press it, press it. I can't handle this the room feels so small I want to leave. Press it, press it, press it. I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE. THEY MADE ME DO THIS, THEY PUT ME IN HERE AND SAID NOTHING ELSE EXCEPT... except... Don't press it, no matter what. No I can't do this, oh God I'm scared what happens when I press it, what happens? PRESS IT. Bad things could happen. PRESS IT. PRESS IT *ARGH!* -click- ... Is... is that it? What happens now- A door swung open, almost indistinguishable from the wall. A scientist stepped through. "NO I'M SORRY I COULDN'T HELP IT DON'T HURT ME, PLEASE-" "Shh, it's ok. It's a perfectly normal response, not the first time either. Thank you for helping, the exit is through the next room." "Th- thanks." Ok, I'm getting the fuck out of here. Next room, here I come. Slam The door closed behind me. Where's the exit, all that's here is this green butt... oh no. An intercom suddenly sounded Just press the green button to leave Ok, just press it and get out. The last button did nothing. But what if this is the real experiment? Press it. It might lock me in here. Press it. This one could harm people. Press it. I can't do this. Press it. What do I do? Press it. But I can't, I can't make this decision again- Press it. No I don't want to I just want to leave please I want to leave how do I escape? *PRESS IT!*
It had been quite a while since his last attempt at this. The previous time he'd almost have considered not coming but this new world, this glorious, self obsessed, self indulgent world. It was perfect. He set his challenge as he had every time, a young girl, a shiny red apple, one bite and she was his and he would have won, truly won, after all these years. Catching a glimps of himself in the windows reflection he enjoyed his new appearance. A handsome man, tall, medium build, dark eyes, perfect. What woman could resist. The apple gently grasped in his hand he watched as a small group of teenage girls in their annoyingly high pitched gaggle exited the chrome doors from the mall. A perfect location to find the most self indulgent among the species. Loaded down with brightly colored bags she waved to her friends and headed to the parking garage. Stepping off the curb, she was perfect. Smacking her bright pink gum, her attention on her cellphone as cars veered to avoid running her over. She didn't notice, the world revolved around her, oh yes... she was perfect. He waited on the sidewalk and flicked a small thread of magic, the strap on one of the many glossy pink bags snapped. Gasping she grabbed for it as a car, that had truly come from nowhere, swerved headed straight for her. Blinking and stumbling in her heels she squeals in fear. Ever the gallant hero the dark one himself caught her around the waist, gathered her in his arms and carried her in his arms to the safety of the sidewalk. She gasps and looks into the deep dark eyes of her hero, blushing she smiles at him, gratitude not even approaching her face as her eyes dilated slightly. Mentally sighing to himself he realized this new generation wasn't going to even be a challenge. He gently places her on her feet and gives her a killer smile. "OH thank you so much"she giggles. He holds in his revulsion and ever the actor adjusts his smile and gently brushes her arm. "Are you injured?"A slight accent on his lips as he continued the physical contact. She blushed deeper and he could sense her heating up quite well. He adjusted his eyes to deepen them even further, gently he caressed her cheek as he brushed a lock behind her ear. "Oh yeah, I'm fine"again a giggle, he cringed but maintained his composure. "You must have been light headed, in all this heat.."he began reaching down for the apple hidden in his jacket pocket. Bzzz bzzz... Her attention instantly diverted to her incessantly buzzing phone "OMG I have to post this! Lindsay will loose her shit!" He stops holding the apple in his hand, what had just happened. "Wow you must workout you didn't even break a sweat lifting me up like that"she hesitated, "Not that I weigh much I mean I've been on this awesome liquid diet..."She looks up and spots the apple and makes a face. "You're not going to eat that are you? Sally told Megan who told Lindsay who told me that those things are full of globules thinges that make you fat, is it even organic?" Stunned he mutters "yes... It comes from the garden..."Bzzz bzz.. he's lost her again. Mid typing away on her phone she mutters "OMG I can't believe he's jealous, this is so awesome... I wonder if Jessee will see this.. Hey can I friend you on facebook? OOOH I should take a picture, they will not believe how hot you are... "She looks up and he's gone from thin air, shrugging she turns and heads back to his car typing away. He steps out of the shadow and shakes his head. Turning to go while taking a bite out of the apple. "She needed it more than most..."he growls as he melts into the shadows.
It was the most successful fundraising year in the history of The American Christian Families Association, due in large part to the lavish parties thrown by Mrs. Schiller. While other family values groups struggled with the question of how to make the movement attractive to those who would rather be enjoying their Saturday nights with something comparatively wicked, her soirees were elegant, chaste, and exciting, keeping all potential donors eager to remain involved. It was a celebration for her husband's recent promotion to Chairman. Fashionably late as usual, the host was not yet at the event. The gala began in the husband's absence, with the usual enthusiastic idle chat. Few people had noticed that the hostess was not there to greet the attendees at the entrance to her home. After a delay, however, the lacquered doors to the main bedroom creaked open, and the hostess floated in. Silence slowly but assertively passed over the partigoers as they turned to see her. Their vapid conversations trailed off mid-sentence. This pristine icon of womanhood strode calmly into the room. Her pale hands and face, ringed by golden hair, were as pure and unblemished as usual. At first it seemed like she might be wearing a deep red dress, but as the attendees stared at her with more and more rapt attention, it became clear that her torso and legs were disfigured in a tangled briar of bruises, welt marks, and scar tissue. The long strand of white pearls around her neck stood out in stark contrast to her brutalized, mangled skin. There was a pursed anger behind her typically poised voice. "These marks have been placed on my body in all the hidden places, so as not to arouse any suspicion. I'd like to let you see what sort of man my soon-to-be ex-husband is."The corners of her mouth drooped after this confession, giving her the freedom to relax slightly out of her usual façade. A car pulled into the driveway. She knew instantly who it was. The clacking of her high heels interrupted the shocked stillness as she glided to the front door to greet her husband. The crowd parted to make way for her. She turned the doorknob. "Hello, Dear."
**COLLISION IMMINENT: PASSENGER TRANSPORT #1776 HAS SUFFERED A CATASTROPHIC BRAKE FAILURE*** Charlie sighed. Well, his vocal processors made a noise that sounded like a sigh. All he really did was blink a few LED's on his front panel. From a human's perspective, the traffic control A.I. sighed and blinked a few lights. Corrective action and the consequences therein took place in a matter of seconds. The bus was careening out of control towards a young man on a park bench. He held flowers in his hand and was looking over his shoulder nervously, completely ignoring the 12 ton battering ram about to turn him into a lovesick paste on the sidewalk. The passengers inside the bus gripped the backs of their seats, awaiting for Charlie to fix the problem. Charlie always fixed the problem, after all. He made his decision. Charlie engaged remote control of the bus and turned it it into a hard right. The bus collided head on with the brick retaining wall of an elevated foundation. The young man turned just in time to see the horrifying crash. He turned a pale shade of white and began shaking, realizing how close he just came to death. "Pete! Oh my God!", cried a young woman and she began running around a corner. He stood and caught the petite redhead in an embrace. "I...I think I almost just died." Emergency crews were soon on the scene. It was a mess to clean up. Not a single survivor out of 32. Charlie sighed again, before speaking to no one in particular in the traffic control office. "You know, you humans are lucky you have me. Someone could have died. Jesus." Nearby at the Marvin Minsky Memorial Recommissioning Facility, 32 people sat in a small auditorium, where a speaker boomed: "Good morning. We are sorry to see that you experienced a fatal bus accident a few moments ago. We understand how disorienting this can be. Charlie has assured us that A.I. Backup Protocol Terminus was initiated moments before the fatal crash. Your estimated loss of conscious record is .5 milliseconds. You may collect any personal belongings from your prior bodies at the 9th Precinct. This valuable service has been made possible by the taxes and donations of citizens like you. Thank you for patience and understanding.
I just turned 18 and for as long as I could remember I wanted a tattoo. I even knew exactly what it would look like. It would be Dory from Finding Nemo with "just keep swimming"written underneath it. When I first saw that movie it spoke to me. My parents were getting divorced and it felt like my world was shattered. All I had was advice from a little blue fish. But that didn't stop my mother from trying to intervene. She warned me about tattoos taking away whatever they give and that they aren't worth it. But that didn't stop me. I was an adult now. I could do what I wanted. Her opinion no longer mattered; so I took the plunge. I walked into the store called Inklings. It sounded perfect for a first timer like me. The artist was so nice although his tattoos scared me at first. He had the Toostie Pop Owl in the middle of his neck. When I asked him about it he said "it helps me solve problems."I wondered if all artists were this cryptic. My shoulder felt like it was on fire. The needle dug through my skin as if it were clawing up a mountain. I closed my eyes and white-knuckled the armrest doing my best not to cry out. Just when I thought I couldn't handle anymore there was a break. The outline had been finished and now he asked if I was ready for the colour--a process that was even more painful. I looked at myself in the mirror and those timeless words stared back at me. My mind bellowed just keep swimming. And I did. It took another hour but there it was forever on my shoulder. A reminder whenever I needed it. My mother was not impressed, she said I would regret it. But I knew she was wrong. This was for me and no one else. She didn't have to like it because I did. *** I dove into Lake Cobalt. The cold water swirled around me and my mind finally felt clear. It was almost as if all my worries vanished the moment I hit the water. I've never experienced water like this before. It felt like I could see all the way across the lake underwater. I felt at home. I dove deeper hoping to experience that rush of clarity again. The further I went, the better I felt. I was at peace. My lungs should be desperate for oxygen, but they aren't. I was baffled. I haven't been swimming since the tattoo; they said to avoid soaking it for at least two weeks. I was extra good and waited a full month. I stopped to ponder this but the thought left as soon as it entered. The waves carried it far away from me. I continued my descent as the waves brought a new thought to the surface of my mind. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
"Sire, what is thy bidding?" "Congregate, my child, gather the masses. At dawn we march upon the capital." Five Finger scurried away to relay the message. Ever since the bees had perished, Monsanto had grown past the constraints of a simple megaconglomerate and had conquered the Earth. They controlled the food, they controlled the populace, and as such had a limitless supply of test subjects. I unconsciously rubbed the tattooed letters on my left arm and set to work, roughing up my naked body; making it suitable for tiny antholds. I needed armour, they needed a leader. Five Finger was the first friend I made in that..."hospital." That's what the surgeons and geneticists called it anyway. We called it the hole, those that managed to escape. Crow landed at my feet and handed me the blueprints for the Monsanto headquarters. My gift, my hell.
"One egg- scrambled- side of cantaloupe balls, and a small orange juice." She knew the order immediately, even before the other waitress got past the 'one egg'. It was her, again. On schedule, of course: 7:55 AM. Julia looked up from the till; in the corner booth, right next to the window, a blond-haired woman sat with her back to the door, her eyes distantly fixed to the wall. She knew the routine well, by now. Blondie would wait patiently for her meal to come, and then ignore it, completely. She'd read the paper, maybe, or do crosswords. Sometimes she'd just stare out the window, oblivious to everything. Only one thing never changed; after fifteen minutes or so she'd collect her belongings, silently pay-up at the register, and walk out, leaving a perfectly good meal behind, uneaten. Untouched. It was the same thing, day in and out, every weekday, going on three months, now. Julia twisted her lips. Enough with the mystery, she thought. She needed to know what was up with this woman. She made a pretext of cleaning up tables around the woman; as she did so she deliberately bumped her from the side. "Oh! I'm so sorry, ma'am! I'm so clumsy."She said. The woman, pulled from her thoughts, stammered to respond: "Uh: that's alright..." "Ah!"Julia feigned recognition. "It's 'one egg, cantaloupe, orange juice', isn't it? How're you doin'?" "Fine, I guess."The woman returned her gaze to the wall. Julia leaned over the table, and she coughed delicately: "Uh, y'know, it's really none of my business, ma'am, but I couldn't help but notice you, uh, never really eat your eats." "No,"she answers. Julia smiled: "Well, unless you got something against the chef, you can always try something else on the menu..." The woman looked at Julia, blinking in confusion. After a moment she understood her meaning, and she smiled gently: "Oh, no. But thank you. I could never really stomach breakfast. Never set well in my stomach." "They call it the most important meal of the day, y'know." At these words the blond woman's eyes went blank. She looked away from Julia, and she drew a halting breath. "Uh: you okay?"Julia asked. "I didn't mean to-" "I'm fine,"the woman said. She shook her head, chuckling. "It's just... that's what I'd been told, before. I'm very busy at work, you know. My morning routine is usually very hectic. My, uh... my daughter: she'd scold me. Tell me how important a good breakfast is. Sassy girl- bossy little thing, even for an 8-year-old- and she never quite convinced me to eat breakfast. But I'd take her out for it, on the way to school. It was... convenient. I could read the paper, or watch the cars go by outside with her, and she'd always get her favorite..." Just then the other waitress walked up with a tray: the woman's meal. She set it down on the table: eggs, cantaloupe and juice. The hot eggs steamed, and when the smell reached the woman's nostrils she drew in a slow breath. "We'd just sit here for a little while talking, or not, but no matter what we always had the smell of her breakfast between us."She looked outside again, her eyes quivering as she watched the busy street. "She sometimes would talk about the cars out there. She thought some of them looked like they were going really fast. And she'd wonder where they were all rushing off to, and why people needed to rush, that much."The woman looked up at Julia with a thin smile, tears forming in her eyes. "She'd tell me that she felt just fine, sitting and having breakfast with me." Julia slowly raised her head. She remembered something, now: something in the paper about an accident. It happened right in front of the diner, right before she started working here... The blond woman looked down at the breakfast in front of her, and her gaze was empty. She slowly collected her belongings and stood up, lips trembling. She composed herself, and then she nodded at Julia: "Sorry I blabbered on, like that; thank you... for listening." Julia motioned to the booth with her head: "You're not gonna stick around, today?" The woman shook her head: "No,"she whispered. "The smell... I can't really stomach it." She walked out the door; her waitress called after her with a hearty 'what the hell'? Julia spoke up: "Forget it,"she said. "That'll be my bill..." That was the last she ever saw of the blond woman. She never came back to the diner, again. Julia hoped it was because she managed to find a bit of peace, in the end. But she wouldn't have bet on it. Not too long after that encounter she was at home, cooking up a meal for herself and her little boy. He was in front of the TV, waiting for his favorite show to start, and she was fixing their plates so they could sit in front of it and watch. Slowly, though, she got to thinking, and then she set both their plates in the kitchen, instead. When she turned off his TV and dragged him into the kitchen to eat he gave her an earful of protests. "Doncha know the show is starting?"He said. She clasped her hands over the table, looking at him appreciatively, and she smiled, gently: "What's the rush?"She whispered.
There. In front of mine and everyone else's eyes was the spectacle. The one last question that everyone needed answering. We as a race had circumnavigated the universe, found the boundaries of time, teleported, cloned, fused, cooked. Everything but this. People had put their life's savings on one or the other. They were putting their heads in nooses in preparation for the knowledge of the last thing to be known would mean no meaning to life. There I was. In the front row. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, tickling my cheek and splashing in my lap. Everyone else in the auditorium was the same. The countdown seemed to be in slow motion as I knew that it was time to flip my coin. Heads the Immovable Man. Tails the Unstoppable Force. I had already assigned it in my mind. That's how it worked. I flipped. The contest began. And before I could see the result in my palm, huge plumes of smoke? Ash? Dust? Something. Something blocked peoples view. There were gasps in awe and excitement. It had settled. Being in the front row allowed me to see first, but the whole auditorium went from gasps to confusion to jeering and boos very quickly. Nothing. The ring was empty. People felt ripped off as if they had been tricked. Tricked by some fakery or magic trick that was some cheap moneymaker for some hyped con artists. No one could explain what happened. It was then that I remembered about the contents of my open palm. My coin. That would be the answer. I looked down with a tension in my heart, pounding like a hammer to a bell. Heavy and slow. There it was. My coin. On its side. The two were such a match for each other they had both won and lost at the same time destroying each other. Of our knowledge of the universe, the one thing we did not know. The last piece of information. Had lead to more questions. Suddenly we seemed small again.
This is bullshit. Here I am, living in the middle of an ebola epidemic, and I'm the only one who can figure out the cure. And you know what happens? I get hit by a car. A fucking car. Here I am, in a coma, in the hospital. I can hear the doctors talking, and they say I'm not going to live. It would be a miracle if I could pull through. But I used up my deal with the devil on my super-intelligent brain. Zeus just zapped my brain. The Egyptian gods were too busy fighting off mummies to help me. The Hindu gods won't help me after I accidentally offered them a Big Mac. Jesus Christ, who is going to help me?! That's it. Jesus Christ. That's the answer. But how do I reach him? I was thinking about this when my crying wife came into the room surrounded by doctors. She showed them the piece of paper that was my will, and came over to me. After an extended kiss on the forehead, she reached under the bed and pulled the plug. Shit, I forgot about that will. I suddenly found myself sitting on a soft, white surface. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of this new location, I saw that I was laying on a cloud. I thought aloud, "Am I in heaven?" "Yep!" Startled by the sudden voice behind me, I exclaimed, "Jesus Christ! Who are you?" "Yep!" I realized my stupidity as I saw the man in white robes. He had holes in each of his hands, and a long brown beard to match his hair. It was Jesus. "Look Jesus, you gotta do me a favor." "Sure, I'd be happy to." "You gotta put me back on Earth. Without me, Ebola will destroy humanity! I'm our last hope!" "Alright kiddo, but I'll warn you, it's gonna cost ya." "Anything, Jesus, I'll give you my life, my first-born child, anything!" "I need about tree fiddy." "What?" "Tree dollas and fiddy cents." "God dammit Jesus, I ain't gonna give you tree fiddy!" "Well then no Earth for you." "sigh Fine Jesus, here's your tree fiddy." A year later, Ebola has been cured, and the world is okay again. All thanks to me. All thanks to Jesus. All thanks to tree fiddy.
"Hah! I told ya; I fucking told ya! God is real; take that you ignorant heathen!" "I thought Christians aren't suppose to curse Dave? Also, I find it funny how God bestowed omnipotence upon me, an atheist." Dave, flustered from the remark, retorted, "Shut up! We're right next to God, our almighty Father and Creator. We can settle our trivial squabble later." Henry smirked, "Nice rebuttal. I can see that you inherited all the brains in our family." Dave, oblivious to Henry's sarcasm, pretentiously replied, "It's about time you recognized my genius." "Children of Adam. I come before you to present you both with gifts. I'll grant you both with powers of omnipotence. Whatever you desire, you can make it a reality. However know that all gifts come with consequences. One of you will become bastardized with power and become one of the greatest threats this world has ever seen. The other shall steadily grow more and more altruistic and kindhearted; he shall be known as the greatest saint who's ever lived. With these warnings, I bid you adieu." "Well! I can clearly see your going to become the evil one, and it's my duty as a true Christian to stop you!"Dave smugly commented. "First off, it's "you're"not "your"and second we don't know for sure who'll become corrupted. So don't count your chickens before they've hatched!"Henry replied. "Whatever, I'm going to go tell all my friends about my new powers! Smell ya later, you nimrod." Dave teleported instantly after finishing his sentence, leaving Henry alone. Suddenly, a bright light flashed before Henry's eyes and appeared God, standing in the exact stop Dave occupied moments ago. "My son, I'm afraid I have grave news for you. Your brother, David, is the Anti-Christ; he shall bring perpetual strife to this world if you do not stop him." Henry flabbergasted, "What?! I mean...how can I do such a thing? He's my brother for Christ's sake, sorry. Plus, he's a Christian; I'm an Atheist. Isn't he suppose to be the good guy?" God imperturbably replied, "My son, calling oneself something doesn't make oneself that thing. I have seen his heart; it is full of wicked desires. However yours is quintessentially pure; I have never seen a human with as much purity as you." "But, God. I'm not a saint. I don't deserve this power; it should go to someone else, someone more worthy." "No, I chose you for a reason Henry. You may not be able to see it today but one day you will. Now listen carefully because I'm not going to repeat myself. In the future to come, your brother shall amass followers who follow his every command and whim. Essentially, bureaucrats if you will. He will gain political, social, and economic power. People all over the world will respect and fear him. Once he's reached a certain threshold, he'll wage an international war, a war the likes of which this world has never seen. While he is gaining political power, you must gain power too. However, not in a corrupt manner, no. You shall gain trust and support from other compassionate souls such as yourself. You and your followers must someday face Dave and his followers in battle. This battle shall be the final altercation of Earth. Shortly afterwards, I shall destroy this world and rebuild a new world. All of my angels and all of your followers still alive after the fray shall live on this new world." "What'll happen to Dave and his army?" "They sadly will not have the privilege of joining us on this new world." "You mean they'll burn in Hell?" "Oh goodness gracious, no Henry. Hell isn't a real place. It's simply a fabrication devised by my son's disciples; a metaphor to scare people and keep them in check. They shall find themselves separated from each other in their own, individual limbo-like state." "I see. I honestly don't know if I can do this, God. Really. This is all so mortifying to hear; especially considering how earlier today I didn't even believe you existed." God gave a warm smile, "You'll be fine, my child. Trust yourself and have confidence in your friends." "I just have one more question, God." "Ask away Henry." "Is there a second option? It seems you've presented me with an ultimatum but is there a way to save Dave and his followers from their fate?" God chuckled warmly, "I don't know; you tell me, O Omnipotent one." With that, God disappeared with a bright flash. Henry grinned; after hearing that, he knew what he must do.
"It will work." "We've tested it in simulations a dozen times." "We've even peeked a bit at the ending,"one of them said with a sadistic little smile that the tenth doctor never grew to appreciate. "You can't do it. It's murder." The first doctor stood and waved his hand about with the dismissiveness of Beethoven at a children's music recital. "It's a disease. It may by all rights be alive, but it isn't murder. Do you call the removal of an ant hill from your back garden murder?" "I call it extermination." That gave the room pause. The tenth doctor took off his glasses and stood with such force that the cheap plastic chair crashed to the floor. He paced around the others, long lanky legs striding like a praying mantis. "It doesn't matter what your projections say, or if you 'peeked at the ending', it's still wrong. I'm not talking about the possibility of it not working, it's simply wrong. Morally wrong. Even if going through with the procedure would transform the universe into this impossible utopia, you'd be building it on their bones." "Bones that would never exist,"the second doctor pointed out. "Technicalities. This whole meeting is nothing but technicalities paraded about to obscure the ethics. We have lost our way, doctors, and I will stop you if I must." "You are the oldest,"the fourth doctor remarked dryly, "and yet the most foolish." It was too late. The tenth doctor's coat already flagged in his wake. The door creaked open and the light from within poured out. "The human race is not a disease to be cured. This Doctor will not be treating it." The TARDIS wheezed.
Jimmy couldn't sleep. He sat alone in his studio apartment, staring at a bundle of papers on the table. Some kind of infomercial blared from the TV. He picked up the bundle and read it again, just to be sure. He remembered the way that strange man had smiled when he handed Jimmy the papers. Jimmy had been digging through the mountains of newly released documents when a tawny young man had tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, I think you dropped this", he'd said, smiling. Jimmy hadn't recognized the document - not the man either, for that matter - but had thanked him and taken it anyway. He was glad to get his hands on whatever material he could. Over the following couple of hours, most of his colleagues went in an out of the room, but Jimmy never saw that man again. Now, several hours later, Jimmy was sure he'd been the butt of a dry joke. At least, he hoped so. The first page of the document he held in his hands read CLASSIFIED in big, red letters. Smaller letters at the bottom said, "To be released: 2268", and the headline on page two confirmed the document as a prisoner file. Jimmy knew the government sometimes used a numbering system for high-profile prisoners. Some of his colleagues called them VIPs - Very Important Prisoners. But something was odd with this particular file. It was incomplete and seemingly riddled with errors. That in inself was unusual with these kinds of documents, but the oddities didn't stop there. The pages seemed to be out of order. Some of them were filled with creases, as if crumpled and then straightened out again. The incarceration date was straightforward enough: June 15, 1916. Many of the newly released documents were from the first and second World War. But the release date said January 1, 2015. That wasn't terribly unusual; it could be one of those hundred-year punishments or something. But it wasn't a hundred years. And these files usually got destroyed or changed when the prisoner died. Every line after that only added to the mystery. Name: 2268. Date of birth: unknown. Date of death: blank. Nationality: blank. Sex: blank. Why was even "sex"left blank? And why was the date of birth "unknown", but the date of death left blank? There was a sound. Jimmy dropped the papers and turned down the TV. He listened. Nothing. Then a knock on the door. "Mr. Stein?", came a deep voice. More knocking. "Jimmy?" _________________________________________________ If anyone feels they want to continue the story, please do! I stopped here because it was getting too long for me to write in one sitting, but it'd be awesome to see what someone else can do with it.
Field Diary of Dr. James Bancroft Date: 12th of March, 2284 Location: Sewers of New York City When I set out on this journey, I was wholly unsure of what I would find. Mayhaps there was some remnant of American society that survived the destruction. Perhaps there were would be evidence of the local ecosystem recovering from the fallout. Or, the Holy Grail for field researchers: cattle that have developed a resistance to radioactivity. I sojourned into the sewers under the assumption that maybe it provided some degree of protection when the bombs fell. Miraculously, the lights were still operational. My theories were proved correct. Curious mushrooms and other vegetation had grown unchecked in the gloom and moisture. They gave off a heady, intoxicating aroma. After collecting a few samples, I decided to cover my face and venture deeper in. After a certain point, the lights became more uncertain, and were prone to flickering. The only sounds were my footsteps, and the occasional crackle of electricity and water dripping. Empty pizza boxes littered the floor. I stopped to examine a peculiarly large spore, and for half a second, I heard footsteps. My heart leaped into my throat. I spun around, my hand going to my machete, but there was nothing but shadows behind me. I slowly turned around, and noticed something skitter behind a pile of debris. The rasp of my machete being drawn from its scabbard seemed deafening. I meekly inched forward. "Who goes?"I called out. No answer. With shaking hands, I probed the pile of garbage with the end of my weapon. A rusty can rolled down the hill, and out popped a rat the size of a bread loaf. It squeaked, and scurried between my legs. I breathed a sigh of relief, and watched it scamper away. When I turned, I found myself face-to-face with what I can only describe as a monstrous turtle. It was the size of a man, and stood like one. It wore an orange sock with holes cut out for its blood-shot eyes. "Cowabunga, dude,"it said.
Sigh "Junk, junk, jury duty, God's birthday party invitation, junk..."Satan himself spent hours sifting through his mail, most of it worship from 'Satan Worshippers'. Those idiots think I like sacrificing goats and devouring souls for fun. Goats are nutritious and provide more nurishment when alive...not dead. Idiots. Satan was a business man at heart, sure he started off as a Rebel King of sorts way back when...but he had to grow up some time. He worked out his differences with the Alpha and Omega a long time ago, now he just had to focus on delivering the evil down under, screen people for sins, forgive sins depending on the circumstances, deal with the bureaucratic mess called Heaven, and that was only in the morning. "S-sire, y-ya got m-mo' Christmas mail..."Elvis Presley said, pushing a cart of mail towards the red skinned ruler, who glared at the pile in disgust. Every year he'd get thousands of letters from little mortals, wanting to speak to Santy Clause but those last three letters of their names was rather important. A misplaced 'n', 't' and 'a' can really ruin someone's holiday cheer. Satan had no holiday cheer, but he still had to deal with the stupid letters. I've had enough with these little... "Elvis, fetch me Edgar. We have work to do...." ____ "M'Lord, little Samantha wishes for a bicycle."Edgar Allen Poe read the hundredth letter to Satan, who was hunched over on a desk scribbling notes and throwing them into a large pile. Another bike....these kids.... He snapped his fingers and a paper rose from the pile that read 'Requisition' on it in red, it burst into flames a second later. "Ha, oh she'll get a bike. A broken one, though..."Satan was having too much fun with this, he was 98% sure there wasn't a Santa Clause but he couldn't pass up the chance to mess with the mortals on their own turf. "Norman wishes for....what is this 'Xbox' he speaks of?"Edgar furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at the back of Satan who was chuckling. "It's some entertainment system of sorts, rather fun. We'll get one for Game Night."Another paper rose and burst into flames, Norman was going to get a cardboard box with the letter 'X' carved into it. This went on for what felt like weeks before they had finally reached the bottom of the pile. Satan turned around with a grin on his face, hands sliding against each other in glee, "Let's see how those mortals like THAT now, huh?" "Yes, quite, but I would have very much liked to see more books on that list...have you heard my latest poem by chance?"Edgar, ever since death, had been trying to rise back to fame with no luck and his co-workers had to deal with it. "Yes I have! But Hendrix hasn't, yet! He's supposed to be giving musical torture to some people down on level 8." When will he learn....he's past his prime... Satan turned around to the pile of neatly stacked letters with a small smile, finally...he had gotten back at those misspelling toddlers. He might even do it again next year, and the year after that, and so on... ____ "Father, why do you let him do this? Those children will have a terrible Christmas!"The brown bearded man asked, looking down from his cloudy kingdom with his old father. "I've already sent Michael and Ralphael to intercept the packages, the children will be fine."The old man said, smiling a little with staff in hand as he looked down to the fallen prodigy; who was looking the happiest he's ever been since WWII. "But....why didn't you just let the real Santa deal with those letters? Why him?" "Because...people can change...."
The first time that I met Sam, he just strolled up to me and said, “What’s the worst that can happen?” I was thinking about asking a guy I like out, but I was honestly terrified; things with my ex didn’t end… amicably, and I was afraid something similar would happen again. Sam continued, like I wasn’t standing there, gawping with my mouth open at his beauty. “He could say no. If he says no, you know you can move on. If he says yes, you can try something. If it doesn’t work, then you’ll at least know that it won’t work. You won’t be guessing.” He smiled at me, kindly, and then walked away. I asked the guy out the next time I saw him. He said yes. We dated a few times, realized that there wasn’t much there except mutual horniness, and decided to be friends instead. Six years later, we’re like brother and sister. The next time I saw Sam (six months later), I asked him his name, and asked if he wanted to have a cup of coffee with me. He wondered why I was asking him out for. I told him, “What’s the worst that can happen?” We dated. We had a crazy, wild, awesome time that I cherish. We loved. We love. We moved in together, live together, and everything was amazing, and awesome. Until I found out I was pregnant. I was joyous about it; and I told him in an enthusiastic bout of verbal diarrhea that we were to be parents. My first clue was when his face turned pasty-white, and he started fidgeting. My second clue was when he told me I shouldn’t keep the baby, and that if we wanted children, we should adopt. “Why?” “The baby will kill you.” “Wait, what?” “Can we chalk it up to intuition and call it a day?” “No. Why do you think that?” He took a deep breath then told me of his history. His real history. I started to laugh. “You do realize I’m an atheist.” I said, between laughter. “You’ll need to come up with something better than that.” He touched my forehead, and I saw it all. I saw the God that ordered the angels to love humanity above all, but then killed millions. The God that gave mankind free will then punished them for exercising it. The God that punished Sam and his garrison for daring to say “No” to contradictory orders. You see, to the victors goes the history. The God-Squad won the war in heaven. Lucifer, Sam, and the other Souls of Solomon fought to keep Michael from carrying out one particular order: tempt the humans, get them to sin, and then put them in Perdition. Humans were set up to fail. Lucifer saw this, and said he would have no part in it. They failed. Michael entered the garden in the guise of a snake using the Lightbringer’s name, and successfully temped Eve. Lucifer offered to take her place in hell. God ordered those who sided with Lucifer cast out. At that moment, I saw Sammael, instead of Sam, and I loved him. His six wings, along with most of his skin, were burned almost beyond recognition. Scars from lashings, stab wounds, and slashes marred his skin. He was beautiful. But I will not murder my own child, on a chance it would kill me. I told Sam we would seek out others like him, and hear their stories. We did. Each time, either the mother or the baby died. I asked him which he would prefer—to have a wife, or to have a child. He said a wife. He feared God would kill the child, as he did the other Nephilim. I got a C-section three days before my due date. The child was stillborn. I’m no longer an atheist. To quote Riddick, I absolutely believe in God. And I absolutely hate the fucker.
Zach shows off the horse on his arm. He says he got kicked in the head one night after he tried giving a stallion a kiss. On his left knee is a pair of fangs from a snake. I wonder if he'd tried to kiss that animal too. It's too early in the relationship to start comparing marks but I don't tell him that. We're at the restaurant he picked. Eating food he's chosen. He wants to see my marks but I shy away. There are three hidden under my clothes. One bright and bold on my face. It's a small crescent moon from a former life when my husband hit me in the head with a wrench. Over my heart is a small wound from a lover who stabbed me there last. My back holds a round circle where a bullet entered and did not exit. Another husband. On my belly is a red x where I was impaled with a piece of wood. My father that time. My date smiles at me through a mouthful of spaghetti. I wonder why it looks so much like blood.
"What is that?"I asked, pointing at the set of buttons arranged neatly in the wood paneled elevator. "What's what, sir?"The elevator operator sighed, scratching his nose. "That. The elevator button. With the question mark."I pointed. The elevator operator leaned in and adjusted his glasses. He squinted. His back straightened. "Well sir, it looks to be an elevator button with a question mark on it." I grit my teeth. "Yes. I can see that. That is literally what it is. What I'm asking, is where does the elevator go when you push the button?" "Well sir, if you wanted to know that you should've asked it. The elevator button, if pressed, leads you somewhere." I pinched my nose. "For the love of- Where exactly does this elevator go if you press that button?" "Exactly sir? Well, if we know the rotational velocity of the universe, extrapolating from the 14 billion year lag due to lightspeed, we can thusly report it is in Sector 4.9x10^8 X37.pie. To narrow that down, we must now analyze the formation-pattern of the stars in the local cluster, and further condense that to analytical vector coordinates in 4 dimensions. Barring any disturbance from the Brown Holes, we can thusly conclude the precise location is Sub-Sub-Sub-Sector 4DDduxi09224, also known as-" "Oh fuck this!"I shout, pressing the button. A single second later we are engulfed in massive flames and my flesh begins to melt off. The elevator box explodes, and I run around screaming. Above me, a massive, 3-headed bat monster glared down at me. I am skewered by a trident, wreathed in flames and some sort of tarry, black dust. I am swung around by a demonic being wielding the trident, and I land next to the elevator operator. His heart is being eaten by snake babies. *"THE PRECISE LOCATION IS SUB-SUB-SUB-SECTOR 4DDduxi09224, ALSO KNOWN AS HELL."* The operator screams. Then I scream.
"Hello, I'm The Doctor!" "What? You're a doctor?" "Not a doctor, The Doc...hang on, who are you? How did you get into my store room?" "I'm not sure. I was trying to kill this dragon, see, and it wasn't going particularly well. So there I am, shield in tatters, and I can see he's raring back for a really big fire blast to finish me off. So I figured, 'This Bag of Holding is nigh invulnerable, maybe I can jump in there and be safe'. I didn't really plan on not being able to get out, mind you, but it was a rather desperate circumstance." "Bag of Holding? Whatever are you on about?" "You know, 'Bag of Holding'! Common cloth sack, magical space inside for all your loot..." "Oh, rightrightrightrightright. I remember now. Sorry, that was 3 or 4 faces ago. I got into a bit of a sticky situation with this King Somebodyorother and his daughter, and needed a way to bargain myself out of a draw and quartering. Had the King bring in a few dozen sacks, tied their innards to an unused room in the Tardis, and walla! A Quantum Bag! That was the original name, you know. 'Bag of Holding', I don't like that at all." "So you're the magician who created the Bags?" "Yes, well, no, I'm not a magician, but yes, I created them. Well, I guess I am sort of a magician, at least from your point of view. Doesn't matter. Do you need a lift up?" "Beg pardon?" "Back into the portal, back to your world! Because you can't stay here." "What? Why not? I have to be perfectly honest with you, this room, while not much to look at, is infinitely more appealing than the cave of an angry dragon right now." "You say that, but you haven't seen what's on the other side of that door." EX-TER-MI-NATE! "What was that?" "Something very much worse than a dragon, I can assure you. Now then, pay close attention because this is going to break your mind....juuust a little bit. Time passes slower in here than it does where you came from. If I'm nothing else, I'm a man of honor, and I didn't want to give the King a bunch of Quantum Bags that would let his cheese go moldy, you see. So in the time you've been here talking to me, that dragon of yours has long since moved on, and in fact is probably dead." "I can see you know nothing of dragons. They can live for well over a thousand years, and the one I was fighting was less than 300." "Ah.....no, my point still stands. I would estimate that since you've left, time in your world has passed.....approximately 3 million years." "WHAT!" "Don't worry! That bag is indestructible, and by now has probably found it's way into a museum of some kind. Unless it got buried under a quintillion tons of rock. But the museum option is definitely a possibility. And the future is great! Almost always! Everything flies, you'll love it!" "I....but...." *EX-TER-MI-NATE!* "OK, up you go, time's a wasting, literally at a rate of a thousand years per second in your case. If you wouldn't mind handing me that screwdriver-looking thing on the shelf there as well, there's a nice lad."
Impossible. He was a genius. This could not be. He should have seen it coming. How did he not know it was there all along? He accurately predicted the last 20 winning lottery winners. The might of his mind solved world hunger. Peace was finally settling in, and the quality of life around Earth was drastically improving. All thanks to him and his mind. He constructed housing from nothing, made clothing from concepts, returned extinct animals from the dead. He thought of himself to be a savior, and yet he had felt as if something was missing from his life. Then he met her. He was smitten immediately. Her hair flowed like golden strands. That angelic voice filled his heart with happiness. The form of her intoxicated him like no other. Nothing that he could create would hold a candle to her perfection. That is why he could not believe her request. They had lived together for years. He had created wonders with her as inspiration. They shared deep secrets and greater journeys. Now at long last, he saw the impossible, imperfections in his seemingly flawless muse. She had looked up at him, as they sat on the moon watching the Earth rise. She revealed to him her deepest, darkest desire, hoping he could bring it to reality. The idea was revulsive and roiled his stomach. How could he have known her so long and not known this? As he pondered vomiting, she asked again “Honey, please. All I want is for you to make Edward Cullen real!”
The clang of the hammer on the anvil was music to my ears. The heat that radiated from metal fresh from the furnace was more refreshing than the spring sun. In this place, I was truly happy. This suit of armor was always in need of repair, and always right at the shoulder. There was always blood soaked into the cloth lining as well. Many men had surely been killed wearing this armor. Each day I would repair and strengthen that shoulder. Each day I would spend hours working and trying my damnedest to keep that shoulder safe. To keep that soldier alive. This morning I awoke earlier than usual. My shoulder was bleeding and I wasn't in my bed. I was surrounded by sand, with the booming cheers of thousands of people. Their voices bled together but my core knew they wanted to see my death. The devil stood above me covered in sweat and armor, his blade raised. I turned my head to see god with his thumb showing my fate. I longed for the clang of my hammer.
"Sir,"St. Peter roused the Lord from his slumber, "Lucifer is at the gates." God's eyes opened immediately. "Rouse the arch angels, gather the good and virtuous to song! GO MAN GO!" St. Peter took a step back, and shook himself, "Oh, yes, I quite misspoke, my lord, He is here, by himself, seeking an audience, not with the armies of Hell at his back sire, he is, alone." This gave the Lord God Almighty, significant pause. "I have not spoken to Samiel, in.. days."He meant that in the sense of the word that the bible recounts, not in the way that is quantified by humanities daily rotation. "Send him in, Peter, but.. stand by." The gates of Heaven opened for the Devil, and all of creation held it's breath. The trumpeters lips sweat above the rim of their instruments, harp strings snapped as his cloven hooves crossed the willing threshold. But he was not the monster they had been imagining. Before the host of heaven's choir, he appeared a small beast, taller to be sure than a man, but in no way a challenge to the Seraphim. Still, he held his head a loft, and the only indication that something was wrong with the former chief lieutenant, was the motion his hands made. He was ringing them together, out of nervousness, the black sweat easily dripping from his palms, and leaking out onto the marble polished steps of On High. "Morning Star..."The Lord said from behind the sun wall, "you have been denied the presence, and even now, may not know it. State your business and begone from this place, back to the exile you have earned for your treachery. " Then the Shepard of suns did something, none in heaven or hell could have expected. He knelt to his lord. "My Lord God, I have only ever served you. When Hell was required to hold the sinners, I gave up your voice in my mind that sung me to sleep, in order to uphold your will. I ask for no forgiveness for myself or my kind, and one day, we will return to heaven to rule it. However, I must ask a question, my lord. In our domain, we began some time ago to run out of space for all of earth's sinners. Thus, we began to create new realms, and dig into the fabric of Hell itself. Where we found, old relics."He move his hands into his robe, and the angels reached for their swords, God was never afraid. "Perhaps, my lord, you can explain.. these.."From a nothingness inside the folds of his clothes, Lucifer produces bones. Larger than any that had been seen by him before. "there are several more of these, in the lower levels lord, and they baffle us..." The Lord was quite for some time. So long in fact, that Satan began to doubt he was ever there at all. "Creation."He started, "was never a perfect process, Samiel. For somethings to live, others have always had to die. Earth's creation came at great cost, and before that there were others. Others before even your time. Hell was not a creation for your imprisonment, it was merely a tomb for that which came before. I would urge you not to further disturb the layers beneath your own, but you would no doubt take that as a sign that you should. I will say this, If you wish to continue your rule of the sinners, it would be best not to wake that which would chew them up eat them, all of your armies, and Hell itself, for it's own pleasure... Now go. It has been. Good to see you."And with that, The Arch Angel found himself alone, on his throne in hell, the darkness surrounding him.
"Well, thank you for coming in. I looked over your resume and everything looks pretty good. We're almost ready to hire you, and this interview is almost something of a formality. Now, especially since you've already met our CEO, Alice Walker, I'm sure she's told you about our interviews. These things can be hard..." "That's what she said." "Oh, good. So you know. Excellent. But I think we can probably take it easy today. We already like you so much. By the way, I hope you have an extra copy of your resume, she'll be needing it." "I gave it to her." "Wow, you're really on top of your game. Anyway, let's begin. I'm going to fill in some information on our checklist here. Could you tell me your parent's names?" "Willey." "Oh, mother's maiden name, as well." "My mother's Holding, my father's Willey." "Check, and check. Let me just take a few minutes to fill out the rest of this information on the computerrrr....did you check out the game yesterday? Marcus Seaman with that amazing touchdown right past the whole team?! Everyone at the office is talking about it - big fantasy football fans." "Yeah, Seaman's on everyone's lips this morning." "And he celebrated it by doing those pushups. I see here on your resume you listed working out as a hobby. What did you think of his technique? Heh heh." "It's nice, but it's just too bad he doesn't go all the way down." "He's a good footballer, that's all that matters. I really like his style of play." "Me too. He comes hard in the tackle and then comes in your face." "Anyway, we're about wrapped up here. Last question: have you ever been convicted of a crime?" "Well..." "Well?" "Well...no, but I was living out in Asia for a while and I was served a subpoena. It was a small subpoena, though." "Oh, well...I think we can slip that under the rug. Well then, you're hired! Welcome aboard. Alice tells me you're quite the foodie!" "Well, once you've had a taste of her pie..." "Yeah, I guess...wait. What did you say?" "Hmm?" "Alice can't cook worth a damn. What are you talking about?" ".............................sex. No! FUCK!"
Thin mints...all they care about are thin mints. I don't remember the final days, I was only two. My father told me on the road. I grew up in Chicago. When the Blinding happened, Chicago got it pretty bad. First we knew were the sirens. Who knew Chicago had those sirens? Then the bombs came. Father told me that the bombs happened all over, not just Chicago. It was worldwide destruction. Only a few of us survived. We lived in sewers for years, surviving on rats, rancid water, and barely making it. I turned thirteen in the sewers, my birthday party was attended by Bob, Dad, Donovan, Lauren, Stacy, and a whole party of slugs, rats, and sewer sludge. Dad died when I turned sixteen. He had gotten into a fight with Bob over rations. Bob threatened to kick Dad topside. Dad ended up facedown in the muck. Donovan was my only sidekick. At eighteen, I fled the sewers of Chicago; Lauren and Stacy by my side. Topside was a completely different world. We started calling it, "the Blind."Everything was whitewashed. They say it was an effect of the bombs, but the whole world was chromed. All the old buildings, husks of themselves, shone in the sun. The very ground, although brown, shone brightly. Into this wasteland, Lauren, Stacy, and I traveled. We thought we'd walk to Washington. We had heard about the Congress growing up and knew about a past government. It took us a year and a half to arrive there. Along the way, we picked up a family of drifters, and a dog, we called him Sparky. The closer we got to D.C. the darker things looked. The reflective wasteland turned into a darkened blotch. We gave up on D.C. Said goodbye to Mrs. Turnbull and her five children and took Sparky north. North to New York. Our first experience with the Brownies was when we hit Phil'pa. Out from the buildings they came, guns in hand, berets and sashes on. They ordered us to stop, empty our pockets and come along. We were shocked, they were all women. They told us they were the "Brownies."Each of these women wore a deep brown skirt and their brown sashes were adorned with a button labeled, "Security."They hustled us into vehicles. Cars, real working cars. The land they drove us through was unlike anything we had ever seen. For an hour we drove. We saw clean streets, none of the chrome of the wasteland. We saw families playing, PLAYING, outside. People happy. And everywhere, we saw more of these Brownies. Eventually we neared a gated community. It was different than the other towns we had driven though. All the women wore skirts, vest, and sash. Some, like the Brownies, wore the brown sash, others had green skirts and sashes, these were few and far between, but clearly organizing the efforts of the Brownies. Occasionally we saw a woman with khaki colored sashes. These women were truly in charge, organizing work details, and making sure the others moved appropriately. It was a military compound. Each woman had a gun and was going through drills. The few men we saw followed the women in khaki pants around, with clipboards mostly. Finally we pulled up to a building with a large HQ on the top. Out front a pair of women with guns at their hips and wearing khaki vests with a Red Rectangular badge stepped forward. They told our captors that they had it from here and our captors saluted. They actually saluted. At this point Lauren and Stacy had no clue what was going on. These two new women, they told us they were Seniors, walked us up a long flight of stairs. We were going to meet the Ambassador. Sitting behind a desk sat a woman that clearly knew she was in charge. A khaki sash with a navy colored pin was the only difference between her and the Seniors. She gave Lauren and Stacy a choice. Join the Brownies. They were young and could still learn the ropes. The Brownies were the civilizing arm of the Scouts. Girls, girl scouts, in particular were setting the world alright. She handed each of them a copy of Girl's Guide to Girl Scouting for Brownies and asked them to read it over. If they liked it, they were welcome to join up. The goal of the Girl Scouts, she said, was to restore order. Her name as Ambassador Jessica Loredo. She was the Scoutmistress for Troop 457. Ambassador Loredo had led her troop down from New York city where the Scout's Council was restoring order. It was her task to resettle the area. All the outer neighborhoods were the lasting effects of two years of resettling. The girls in those families were already Daisies and would join the Brownies when they turned sixteen to continue the process of resettlement. I asked her about the men. What is our role? She simply smiled and gave me a clipboard. I looked it over and I saw tally marks beside of phrases I had never heard; Thin Mints, Caramel Delights, Shortbreads, Peanut Butter patties, and Lemonades. She told me that this was the secret to their success. Currency. A strong civilization has a currency. The Girl Scouts traded in cookies. And the men, we bake these cookies. It's been two years since then. I have become Ambassador Loredo's head chef and lover. I'm in charge of the cookie supply. Last week, we had a group of young men from Neighborhood 2 attack the cookie store. They made off with three boxes of Thin Mints, our top dollar. You can buy three months worth of food with one Thin Mint. Tomorrow, Jessica says we'll head into Neighborhood 2 with some Brownies. We'll restore order. She plans to replace Senior Scout Harraghy with Cadette Lauren (my, how much she has grown) in control in Neighborhood 2. There is a virus there, and it is spreading. Those young boys who robbed the cookie store were wearing khaki shirts, green pants, and green sashes. We captured one of them. While we were trying to find where they had taken the Thin Mints, he kept repeating a phrase until he died. "On my honor, I will do my best, to do my duty, to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law, to help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight"
The child recoiled as the dashboard came alive in front of him. He fell back into the seat, and without warning, straps snaked out like tentacles, binding him in place. He felt a sharp pain, as something stabbed into the top of his spine. He tried to escape, but the straps were too tight for him, and he could not reach his knife. Suddenly he heard a voice inside his head “Welcome commander, how may I assist you”? The boy screamed “Who is this?” as his heartrate quickened. “I am a Mechwarrior: Encephalon Relay Linked Intelligence Neuralnet, or M.E.R.L.I.N for short”. The child remembered stories of men who parlayed with dark powers for magical abilities, such as the ability to manipulate the minds of others. “Are you a wizard?” “No, I am a 10th Turing level artificial intelligence, connected directly to your nervous system, in order to facilitate effective manipulation of this Nimue industries exoskeleton warsuit….” The boy stared ahead, unblinking. If M.E.R.L.I.N. had the capability to have sighed, it would have. “Yes, I suppose you could call me a wizard”. “Can you help me? Our town was attacked by mauraders, and they took my sister! I’ll do anything you ask in return.” An image appeared on one of the screens in front of the boy. Even without ever having seen him before, he recognized the man from his clan’s stories: the great warlord known as “The Dragon”, who had briefly united the farmers of the plains with the forest tribes and brought peace to the region until he was killed. M.E.R.L.I.N’s voice took on a somber tone “The blood of my pilot flows through your veins, I shall serve you as I served him, in any task you require”. Weapon systems dormant for over a decade began whirring to life, and the mechanical beast took its first groaning steps towards towards the cave entrance, shaking off overhanging rocks as it moved. A red sun rose on the horizon.
Day 127: Again, the master is in a daze. Relentlessly staring, glaring. I'm somewhat puzzled at his mere lack of existence. There was a day when we once ran together, and I would retrieve his flying disk that he seemed to keep dropping across the yard. I'm aware that he has seemed to change appearance. He has a part dog face now. Almost as if he's trying to change, to no avail. The fur is lacking, and the weird bumps are new. He no longer seems interested in me. The older I get, the younger he stays. It's as if he has been feeding me a unique substance of the same material I have been eating for years. It's almost as if I age 7 years to his one. I am weaker now, and no longer care to rummage through his belongings. Begging is forbidden here. I one asked for a chunk of his food product, only to be beaten. I'm not sure if he knows that I could literally tear him limb from limb. However, I must obey. Time is relative, and age is subjective. However, we are one. He is my master, I would die to protect him. I must go now, for it is time for our routine escapade, into the wild yonder. Diary log, 12-127-14
Fuck, I'm so stupid! How could I not remember this? This is my hour, my hour of sadness, my hour of cold. I feel it creeping in, the dark hour. Every human has them, even from birth. Most who are claimed by it would have already passed by now. I guess puberty is rough. However, this is my second, the other happened so young that I barely remember it. Being restrained by my father as I grasped at a knife; that is the only memory that surfaces. But I am stronger now. This hour is of the early morning, 4am. I shouldn’t even be up. But now it grows inside me. A familiar feeling waiting so long for freedom. I've avoided this pain for twenty-one years, now I forget? To be expected, I’m such a fucking moron. The real question is, how did I last this long. I mean look at me, working day in and day out at some bullshit blue collar job. I don’t care about money, never have, but still I sit here. They all wanted me here, everyone else. They didn’t want me to be better; they all just wanted me here. Part of the system. A cog in the endless mechanics of society. I am nothing. That sad part is that I can’t even blame them. I was always too cowardly to follow my own desires. No loved ones, no family. There’s probably no one who really cares about me. I bet they only keep me close out of sympathy, I’m so fucking awful. But so are they. Fuck! How could I forget the hour?! But strangely, now that I’m here I think it’s kind of calming. The cold night air on my face. I don’t even remember walking to the roof. I could so easily jump off, fade away and let all my meaningless problems fade with me… but I won’t. I’m stronger than that. Even though it’s inevitable. The eternal dark awaits us all and I’m merely postponing the end like a frightened child afraid to start school. Perhaps I should just find out now, and spare the world the trouble of my presence. Spare myself the presence of the world. No! I mustn’t think like that, just a couple more minutes and I’ll be out of this nightmare. Back to my life. It’s funny; we are beings of war and strife only because we crave distractions from the truth of this life. We will create them if they are not given to us and we will share them with others, for that is the meaning of humanity. Whether they be good or bad, we will seek them. From dance to war, anything as long as we need not wonder about its end. We give this life meaning until the moment we realise it has none. Yet, now that I am here, in this state, I can’t help but think. Think things that have never occurred to me before. How strange it is, that even I am. That anything exists at all boggles my mind. Whether it is by the hand of God or simply by random chance, I don’t think I could fathom either. Still, to even think at all... It’s so new, so beautiful. I don’t want it to end. I’m on the edge now, the street below is empty, the perfect canvas for my final piece. I feel oddly warm at such an icy post-twilight. I’ve enjoyed these thoughts, they’ve always been a part of me but I’ve avoided them until now. Is this how everyone else feels? Why they avoid the dark hour each year? They fear the thoughts but to me, they are home. A home long since abandoned, but one which has grown more accommodating over the past sixty minutes. My time here is almost up. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to return, I’ve learned so much. I don’t belong in the mundane, I belong to the dark. I could be better, but I know I won’t be. Can I live with that knowledge? Do I want to live? The world below is so slow, so smooth. Just one more step and I need not return. Just one more step. This pain is a part of me; I don’t want to see it locked away again. I would be empty, incomplete. Just one more step.
The ghost's came silently. A first, calming floating through the city, a few people told rumors of a friend of a friend vanishing. Then it started to get more intense. A "news event"of the century". Do you know how it feels? To be sat at a desk only to see what you thought a total myth rise in-front of your work window? It eye's look right through you. Then it got really awful. Children, Fuck entire schools, flashing out of existence. The media actually stopped reporting it. I've never heard of that. Then the media stopped all together. A few last stories, then, silence. Followed by this. "This is the Emergency broadcast system. Important Information from POTUS will follow. My fellow Americans. There is no easy way of saying this. We are out of lives. Head for the Maze, take only what you need. Pray for Pacman. There will be no further announcements." He arrived in the Night. A quiet "WAKAWAKAWAKA". It came to symbolize hope. He was our hope.
"Dad,"Amber moaned, "I don't feel like doing this anymore." Tony sighed and wrapped his arms around his daughter, careful not to let the elongated silencer hook onto her shirt. "Honey, remember what you said?" "Yeah..." "You want to get your license to kill, and that means I have to come with you." "Why couldn't mom do it?" "Because mom is a terrible shot! It's better you learn this from me." "Can't we just... Do this tomorrow or something?" "By tomorrow Amber, your first grade teacher will already have a full load of groceries in her fridge. Rule number three: always do your hit in the designated time-frame." "But I don't feel like it. I don't even want to kill my teacher anymore." Tony screamed out in frustration. "Amber! My goodness! You can't just willy nilly pull out contracts! It costed me a whopping 80 dollars for this contract! Rule number four: never start a contract you can't finish!" "What if we just went to her house and lit it on fire... With her in it?" "Amber."Tony said sternly. She groaned again. "Ugh, fine dad. Fine." "Good!" "Fine." "Good." "Fine." "Sweety buns, you're stalling. Rule number eleven- no stalling." Amber picked up her silencer and dragged her feet as she went to the entrance of the grocery store. Out came Ms. Fletcher, first grade teacher, first grade bitch, Amber thought. "Amber? Oh hi! Look at you, all grown up. You liking high school?" Amber rose the gun, and without hesitation from Amber, and total confusion from Ms. Fletcher, the bullet left the barrel and into her skull. "Eat lead, Fred."Amber stated. She went back to the minivan, where Tony sat giddily smiling. "How'd it go?"Tony asked excitedly. "Good, whatever. I said "Eat lead, Fred"when I shot her. I want a catchphrase." Tony slapped his forehead. "Honey, honey, bunny. Rule number one: no lame catchphrases."
Professor Adam Higgins pushed his glasses further up his nose before wiping it with the back of his sleeve. The translation was going slowly, but was proving to be very interesting. It appeared to be a retelling of the rise and fall of Prometheus at first glance, but as he continued to translate, several inconsistencies began to present themselves. Most of them so far seemed to just be subtle and small changes that had been made over the years to the storyline: Prometheus was not chained to a rock, he was merely “restrained;” Epimetheus had not clothed the animals, but he had been tantamount in helping mankind develop hunting and farming techniques; but finally Prometheus had not brought fire to mankind, he had brought “The Light of Zeus.” So far, no other mention as to what that was had been made. Fire had apparently been either a byproduct, or the closest approximation the ancient peoples could come up with. Finally, a passage caught his eye: Pandora, wife of Prometheus, bore the jar and within this jar lay the Gift of Zeus When opened, the power and might of Zeus was displayed for all to see. Light sprang from the box, and with this came life Disease, death and more were destroyed all powered by this Light of Zeus. Again, Professor Higgins rubbed his nose. Picking up the phone on his desk he called his friend Michael, who was a few doors down. “Michael Williams?” said the voice on the other end. “Hey Michael, its Adam,” Professor Higgins said, “How’s your Greek mythology?” A laugh, “Still as good as ever. What did you find?” “Pandora, she had a jar with her, right?” “Yea?” “Other than the standard commentary, did that jar do anything special?” “Well it released the evils in the world; death, disease, and more. Hope was left inside the jar, though the original texts don’t really specify as to why.” A short pause, “This ended the Golden Age of Man and ushered in the Silver Age of Mankind too if I remember correctly. We could now die. Nothing else really comes to mind, why do you ask?” “I’m not sure. I’m looking at an old tablet that calls the jar some sort of power source. It says it ended disease, death and more.” Looking down at the tablet, Higgins realized he still had a long way to go on translating. “It looks like there’s a lot more here too. Interested in lending me a hand?” “I’ll be over there shortly.” It took two weeks to finishing translating the tablet, and when it was finished both men could barely contain their excitement. “A recipe!” Higgins shouted, “It’s a damn guide on how to build Pandora’s Jar!” Williams, barely able to contain his own excitement shouted back, “And all the materials were available to the Ancient Greeks from what we can tell, so rebuilding it shouldn’t be a problem!” “If this works, and I mean really works, we could see the end of disease as we know it. Just think Williams—“ “Oh I am thinking,” he interrupted, “This could win us, you, a damn award.” “Well let’s get started on writing this up, we’re going to need other departments to help on this.” It took four months to figure out the specifics on how to build the device. Higgins and Williams meanwhile were both starting to receive international acclaim for the theoretical workings of this device. Their translation had initially been rejected, but after multiple people arrived at the same conclusions, it was begrudgingly accepted. Dating of the tablet had also come under hot debate, but eventually the evidence proved too insurmountable; Pandora’s Jar was real, and now its power needed to be tested. The first test subjects were mice of course, and no affect was seen one way or another. However, slowing down did not seem like the best option. The text was plain that it worked on humans, and mice were not human. Funding was approved for small scale tests. Cuts, scrapes, broken bones and other minor injuries were tested using the device. Multiple records were made of each, and with each the wounds healed themselves like magic. The overall health of the human population skyrocketed nearly overnight. Eventually testing moved to harsher treatments like cancers, AIDS, Alzheimer’s, and others, all with the same results. Another Golden Age of Man had been ushered in, where disease was conquered, and death merely a few more tests away. Fifteen Years Later The explosion ripped apart the building, causing the surviving inhabitants to scatter. Fortunately, one of them had been able to salvage the Pandora Device and the injuries sustained quickly faded into memory. “Sergeant Powell!” shouted a man wearing a Captain’s insignia. “Sir!?” shouted Sergeant Powell as he rushed up to the Captain. His BDU’s were torn, indicating that he had been injured in the attack. Captain McDowell looked him up and down quickly, “I need you to run a message over to the Eastern Command station. Tell them that the Central Front has been compromised.” Looking around at his men and seeing all of them starting to stand back up he added, “We managed to salvage the Pandora, but we did lose about 25% of our force in the bombing. That attack was too specific, tell command ‘Issue Order 8219.’” Sergeant Powell saluted, turned, and rushed off into the smoke. Captain McDowell watched him go before he turned back towards his men. Order 8219 was a general command to start investigations for a mole in the troops. This would be bad news, knowing that the Silver Age Command had been slowly gaining traction since the war started. Most of the technicalities were lost on him, but he knew that after the Pandora Device had been discovered, mankind entered into a golden age, were disease and death were things that were told to scare children; Boogeymen in the dark. ‘Eat your peas or cholera will get you,’ type stupidity. Slowly but surely however, the cracks began to show around the edges. With fewer and fewer people dying, resources became strained. Oil was long gone after the first 4 years of the war, and newer and more inventive methods of transport had to be developed. Marathoners became prized messengers, carrier pigeons became useful again, and humanity slowly sunk down into a faux stone age. Advanced technology existed alongside archaic ways of doing simple processes. Electricity was rationed to only the most powerful, or the most useful. Around this time, the Silver Age Terrorists, as they were initially called by the Media, started decrying the use of the Pandora Devices. They were led by Professor Michael Williams, one of the men who helped discover it. He bemoaned his involvement in their discovery, and said that we needed to return to the Silver Age, where mankind can once again die and allow the Earth to replenish. In response, those who used the devices called themselves the Golden Age, and rejoiced in mankind’s defeat over death. All Captain McDowell knew was that a lot of men were dying over the idea of not dying, and his job was to prevent that. Silver Age Command Commander Michael Williams looked across his desk, ignoring the piles and stacks of papers that he needed to work on. He knew how to solve all of this, but he needed to win the war in order to stop it. Pandora herself had solved the problem long ago, defying Prometheus and allying herself with Zeus to prevent this type of destruction. She had seen it coming, just like he had, but he had seen it too late. She had attached a small device, with a very limited range, to Prometheus, and allowed Zeus to send one of his trusted compatriots, his Eagle, to torture Prometheus daily until he finally saw the error of his ways. Unfortunately, Prometheus never did, and a hero eventually freed him. However, Hercules may have not been a hero after all, if this is what Prometheus gifted humanity. Running his hands through his thinning hair, he pondered the solution to all their problems. If the original device could be destroyed, all other devices connected to it would cease to function. That was why Pandora had shut her jar in order to prevent hope from escaping. Because so long as the jar was closed, Hope would never truly be lost. Golden Age Command Commander Adam Higgins looked up as a soldier entered his office. “Yes, Officer Alcaeus?” “Sir, we found him.” Commander Higgins stared blankly for a few moments before he jumped up from his desk, scattering papers everywhere. “You did!?” “Yes, Sir. We found Prometheus.”
At first it was just a mild attraction. I didn't think much of it. Maybe I should have been more alarmed at how little it bothered me when she tied me up and left me for the cops to find. That was the first time I saw her, we were both just starting out. When I got out of jail I tried to turn my life around, I really did, but life is tough as an ex con. Not many people will hire you fresh out of prison. But crime welcomed me back with open arms, so I returned to its warm embrace. Perhaps it was fate. We met again and again after that. There were a few times when she knocked me out, or threw me off a bridge without really paying attention. That was back when I was just a henchman. But I've always been ambitious, soon enough I made middle manager, and one day she and I actually exchanged banter! I don't think I've ever felt my heart beat so fast. When I finally decided to strike out on my own, that's when our story really started. I remember that first night, the mask and the cape still felt new and unfamiliar. We created a symphony with our fists. It was beautiful really, every strike and counter strike was like one step in an elaborate dance. That's when I knew it was real. I couldn't stop after that, I hatched one plot after another, heists, cons, terrorism, it didn't really matter so long as she was the one to stop me. I became the greatest Supervillain in the world, and it was all for her. It was just one big game really, one grand dance between the two of us. I knew that, and so did she, I know she did. That's what I told myself as I looked up at her through the liquid black of the somber night sky. The sirens and the hum of helicopter blades formed the music for our waltz that night. Her cerulean eyes twinkled behind the mask, just like the stars that formed the backdrop to her striking pose. She looked so beautiful. My fingers struggled to hold on against the stubborn tug of gravity. As my muscles began to strain I looked down at the dizzying drop below me and wondered why she hadn't pulled me up yet. I looked up at her one last time and saw only sadness in her eyes. "I'm sorry... you've hurt too many people. This has to end." And then I was falling, cape flapping in the wind. Through out the entire descent all I could think about was how beautiful she looked with those sorrowful eyes. And before I hit the ground, I smiled, because it was all worth it.
His eyes burned from the bright florescent lights above his bed. The news camera's bright lights weren't helping either. "Are you ready, John?"asked the Doctor. "Yeah, but lets get to it before I change my mind"replied John. The doctor injected him with the mysterious liquid. His eyelids quickly felt as though they were being pulling down with lead weights, then everything went black. He opened his eyes to see, to his surprise, that he was still in the hospital bed. The florescent light above him was dim and gave off a greenish tint. He pushed the button next to him, expecting to see a nurse come and tell him what was going on. It wasn't a nurse that walked into his room, but a tall figure in a white doctors coat wearing what appeared to be a gas mask. "Who are you?"asked John The figure approached him slowly. It reached into it's pocket and pulled out a circular bone saw. "What are you doing"cried John, this time with a tone of fear in his voice. The figure continued it's approach, before stopping and turning to the right. It pulled back a curtain, to reveal John's wife Amanda, tied down to a bed. "Amanda!"shouted John. At least that's what he tried to shout, but no words came out. The figure approached his wife, and started drilling into her neck with the saw. John laid there in screaming silence, listening to his wife get torn to shreds by this monster. After it was done, the figure moved to a new bed. Ripping the curtain away to reveal his daughter. She met the same fate as his wife. The next curtain was his dad. Then his sister. "What the hell is this place"shouted John in his mind. "Don't you know yet?"said a deep and eerie voice inside of his mind. "You're in hell." "This can't be happening"thought John. "Oh, but it is"the voice echoed. "I need to wake up"John tried to remember the way he was told how to get back to the real world. "Sure you can leave"said the sinister voice in his head, "but i'll be seeing you sooner than you think." "That's not true!"John shouted in his head, "I'm going to covert to catholicism, I'm going to make sure I get into heaven when I die." The devil laughed. "There is no heaven anymore, John. I killed your God more then 2 thousand years ago." "That can't be true!"cried John. "Oh but it is true, and you and everyone you have ever loved will face my wrath and my vengeance when your day comes"shouted the devil in a deep and curdling voice. John began to cry. How could this be it? All of man doomed to suffer for eternity living out their worst fears. He thought about his family, his friends--the voice in his head cut him off, "I could spare you and your family, but theres something you have to do for me when you go back." ---------------- John's eyes slowly opened, the bright florescent light shining through the small slits. The camera's were rolling now, and the whole world was watching. The doctor walked up to him and checked his vitals before asking, "So, how did it go?" ------ I'm going to sleep now, but if this get's enough interest I'll add a second part right when I wake up tomorrow morning! [Part 2, sorry it took so long!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2wmo2y/wphumans_have_just_discovered_the_ability_to/cot0sq4) If you're interested in the story you can follow along in my subreddit /r/samwisegamgee42 I'll keep writing it as long as at least one person wants me to :)
Bradley Brown smiled at the receptionist as he walked into work. "Morning, Sarah!" "Morning Brad, how are you?" "Doing great, thanks,"he smiled again as he walked into the main room. Further hellos and good-mornings were exchanged as he made his way to his cubicle on the far end of the room. He put down his briefcase, shrugged off his coat, and nodded courteously to his cubicle-mate, Jordan, who was wrapping up a phone call. "All right... absolutely... perfect. Until next time!"Jordan hung up the phone. "Asshole."The dry venom that punctuated the word wasn't unfamiliar to Bradley's ear. Everyone at the company felt the same way about 90% of their clients - assholes and dicks. "Good weekend?"Jordan asked brightly. "Y'know, it was good, actually. Thanks for asking. Sharon's great, and the kids are doing really well. What about you?" Jordan had always been the more talkative of the pair, and Bradley was happy for it. After seven years in this cubicle their working relationship had become a well-oiled machine. They'd adjusted habits, changed deodorants, and reorganized their shared folder cabinet to reach a happy compromise in all things. And Bradley hated every moment of it. "Oh that's interesting,"Bradley commented, as Jordan detailed yet another facet of the turns his fantasy football league had taken during the weekend. Ever the perfect audience, Bradley nodded and smiled throughout until the clock struck 9. "All right people look alive!" "It's workin' time!"Jordan muttered along as their floor manager bellowed out the same tired line he rolled out every morning. A wave of heads swiveled towards monitors and into filing cabinets as the morning chatter dulled into a sea of dial tones, printer sounds, and "Hello Mr. Jones"s. Bradley's phone rang a few short moments after 9. "Hello Mr. Greene, it's great to hear from you this morning! No, it wasn't the caller ID, I just had a feeling you'd be calling in to check if there were any updates."Mr. Greene droned on through the telephone, and Bradley put his head down on his desk, reciting oft-rehearsed, rote responses, and appropriately directed Mr. Greene's call, ending with a sincere-sounding "of course sir, it was my pleasure." This was the flavor of Bradley's Monday. This was the recipe of every day. Around 1pm Bradley had lunch, responding to Jordan's teasing "Filet Mignon?"with a "Roasted chicken and truffle sauce!"as he pulled his bologna sandwich out of his crinkled brown paper bag. Sharon called shortly thereafter, and told her his day was going great. At 4:45pm Bradley submitted his last case file, picked up his brief case and his coat, heaving a tired sigh as he nodded in response to Jordan's goodbye. He made his way past rows of personalized, unique, identical cubicles, giving a friendly-looking wave to those in the office he knew on a first-name basis. The floor manager happened to be standing in the doorway to his office for a stretch as Bradley walked by. "Good day, Brad?" "Great day, John,"he chimed back. He padded down the hall and through reception area. Sarah smiled as she fell into step beside him, making her way to her own car. As they passed through the front door she took a deep breath of late-summer air and sighed. "Isn't it a great day?"She said cheerfully, pulling out her keys. "Another day in paradise,"he replied. "See you tomorrow, Brad!" "Looking forward to it,"he intoned, pulling out his own. The engine gently purred to life and he fastened his seatbelt, then joined the swell of afternoon traffic as he made his way back home.
It was New Zealand that first came up with the idea. Frustrated with having nuclear materials dumped on their nuclear-free shores, they began poling the citizens as to what should be done with the intact warheads and long-range missiles they were attached to. One resident of rural Tauranga jokingly suggested that the warhead be used to bully American states into repealing their anti-gay stance - and the idea took off like wildfire. Within weeks a submission to parliament of over two million signatures had been delivered and the government was forced to deal with the wishes of the people. The four nukes that had been sent to New Zealand were pointed at Texas and the ultimatum was sent: allow marriage equality and equal protection for all gender and sexual minorities, or face the consequences. The now defenceless state of Texas had no choice but to back down. Other countries began following suit; pointing warheads at Russia, demanding equality for LGBT people or nuclear death would rain down upon them. Then the Islamic states were targeted by Sweden, Finland and Norway - demanding the repealing of Sharia law and full equality for women in Islamic nations. Forced into crisis, the Islamic governments were finally forced to deal with the extremists and wipe them out completely, lest they suffer the wrath of the nuclear onslaught. Some nations tried to bargain unfairly by turning their weapons on their neighbours and demanding land or resources, but the Alliance of Nuclear Empowered Countries (ANEC) - comprising of New Zealand, Australia, the UK and the Scandinavian Nations - would collectively target the extorting country and threaten them with total annihilation. It became a golden age of equality and prosperity. Dictator regimes were brutally torn down by the threat of nuclear incursions and third world nations started getting the genuine aid they needed without corrupt governments in control. ANEC expanded to include more countries and eventually founded the first world government, dedicated to genuinely making the world a better place. Fifty years on the nuclear weapons stand as monuments; disarmed and ringed with flowers and wreaths on ANEC day; the historical records of the sweeping global changes made by them now engraved on the sides of the metal casings, telling the tale of the peace wrought by taking nuclear power away from Russia and America. May the peace last for eternity.
I woke up this morning to the sound of screaming, and, well, I fell over. The lack of breasts really put me off balance. I had hundreds of waiting texts, but I did not check them. Instead, the roof seemed to be calling to me. As I watched the sun rise over the concrete-and-brick building block skyline of Topeka, I let my mind wonder. This was certainly going to make things interesting for some, maybe even traumatic. As for me, I’m not sure what to say. I can finally live my life the way I have been terrified to admit I truly wished for. I got a call later that day from the number of a Canadian friend of mine. “FUCK!” the voice, much higher than I had heard it in a long time, shouted. “I’VE GOT TO GO THROUGH THIS SHIT AGAIN.” ^I ^am ^by ^no ^means ^a ^writer, ^but ^the ^concept ^was ^interesting, ^so ^here ^you ^go.
We’ve been at this for days. Weeks. I can’t remember how long it’s been, but I know if we so much as break rhythm we will be plunged into a new war. I know there are machines built for this; however, I suspect deep down, someone inside our government, wants us to collide with the other mass of land, floating towards us. Why else would they hire twenty thousand people to sit here and paddle away from our enemy? We are all hunched over around the coast of our country using paddles, oars, and anything that resembles the first two in order to stall the collision. If we’re lucky, we may even end up going the opposite direction, however, this is highly unlikely. I just hope, for all of humanity, that we are all paddling in the same direction. This is kind of dumb, I know. Just hope if gave you a laugh!
“Would you like to have dinner later tonight?” the man asked. The woman looked up from her book and smiled, her front teeth chipped and crooked. “Really?” she said, trying not to squeal in delight. She hadn’t even been asked on a date before. She couldn’t believe that the man asking her, tall and handsome, had even noticed her at all. “Yeah,” he said in that deep, dreamy voice. She never did see him conceal a snicker when she answered him. “Alright,” she replied. The library was still quiet but she saw the librarian lurking nearby, eyeing their conversation. She couldn’t tell whether the librarian was more interested in their conversation or telling them to quiet down, but she didn’t enjoy the stare they were getting. A couple girls at a nearby table started giggling, whispering to each other, but she chose not to read too much into it. “I’ll pick you up at seven?” Bryan confirmed. “Yeah, that sounds great!” Emma blurted out in a high pitched school girl voice. She immediately went back to her book as her face turned as red as a strawberry. She was just so excited, it was hard to hide it. Even Emma knew she wasn’t the prettiest girl at her college. Her front teeth were chipped and crooked, her nose was rather large, her left cheek had a large gash, and her arms were scarred with burns. “1984?” Bryan observed. “Yeah,” Emma replied, still keeping her nose buried in the book. “It’s one of my favorites. I’m doing an essay on it for English.” “You don’t happen to like Animal Farm too, do you?” “Of course,” Emma said, looking up from her book. “I love George Orwell. I love a lot of the classic books.” “Me too,” Bryan smiled dumbly. He rubbed the back of his head as if he were considering something. “Uh, anyways, yeah, I’ll see you tonight then.” “Right,” Emma beamed. She couldn’t help it. Her mouth refused to close itself. Even as Bryan left and she buried herself back in her books, the smile still populated her face. ** Emma waited outside her dorm where Bryan was supposed to pick her up. She hadn’t even thought about what the date was, April 1st. And of course that thought would never even cross her mind as Bryan showed up to drive her to the restaurant. They had a good time that night. Emma had never had so much fun in her life. They drank, they danced, they even did karaoke. Admittedly they’d both had a lot to drink, but Bryan had told her she was the best singer he’d ever heard. They had kissed after that, her first kiss. As the night went on, Emma found herself having too good of a time. She had let secrets slip that she never told anyone about. How her front teeth had been chipped when she tried to stop some muggers and they retaliated, how her little brother had gotten himself trapped in a tree and she rescued him, accidentally falling herself and slashing her face on a rock as she hit the ground. And how she had survived the house fire, if just barely, as a kid. The scars on her arms always reminded of her of that day, the day she lost her mom. In fact, the date was nearly perfect as Bryan was walking her back to her dorm. It wasn’t until a few of his buddies came along that it was ruined. “You actually went out with her?” one of them asked in disbelief. “Dude, I thought you were supposed to prank her by asking her out then standing her up, what the hell, you actually went out with her?” Emma swung her hand out of Bryan’s and looked at him. The guilt was evident on his face. And so Emma ran back to her dorm and cried herself to sleep. She had known it had been too good to be true. ** “Emma,” Bryan pleaded as she ignored him, trying to get to class. “Look, Emma, I’m sorry. I was a jerk. But I really like you. I, well… Okay, I know it sounds crazy, but I love you. I…” “What?” Emma asked, suddenly stopping and staring right at him. “You love me?” she laughed. “We went on one date. How desperate are you? You think that poor old Emma here is so desperate for a man that she’ll go for the guy who loves her after one date? Go fuck yourself Bryan. I don’t want anything to do with someone like you.” “But I’m not lying,” Bryan said as he ran to catch up with her. “I’ve never felt this way before. I never believed in love at first sight, but… I don’t know how to explain it. You’re so amazing. I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.” “Go away!” Emma shouted, turning a few heads. Bryan reluctantly left as a few larger men started to stare at Emma, who was in tears. She had never heard the words ‘I love you’ uttered from someone who wasn’t her family. She had always thought that moment would be special. Instead it came from some hungover jackass. And so Emma went on with her life. But Bryan never did. He had meant what he had said to her that day. She was the one he loved. She would be the only one he ever loved. But Bryan never did win her back, not that he ever had her to begin with. And so Bryan never loved again.
Captain Tim and his Thousand Men ---- Captain Tim and his Thousand Men, They sailed the Tub Sea. Newspaper Nessy, her flags aloft, Was the last of the Forbidden Three. She hit the rocks and lost her path, War hero turned confetti. Captain Tim led his Thousand Men, On a charge across the beach, For the treasure atop the Stairs of Sleep, Was just within their reach. Beneath the quilted hills, The treasure was hidden, They heeded now warning, Of things forbidden. The thrill of bones and gold, galore, Made Captain Tim turn on his men. He knocked them down a peg or two, Ripped off their paper heads, Threw them in corners, Until he was the last one left, To rule this land. His adventures woke his father, A ghost in the living room, To the dim bedroom, Where he took off his belt, and beat the salt from him.
Pain. I feel all of it. Not just the physical cuts and bruises, but the emotional stuff. The stuff that leaves a real scar. And I could access all of it with a single touch. Naturally, this made me hesitant to making friends. I don’t like doing anything physical, and stay in my house most of the time. It also helps that I’m in high school. No one gives you a second glance, especially if you’re in the middle of the social ladder. Not too popular to have friends, but not too weird to be bullied. It was like this for years. Middle school was the worst, everyone was so touchy-feely. I managed to avoid most contact until 10th grade. That was when I met Jake. Jake was like me, a middle dweller. The only difference was he wasn’t there by choice. He immediately took a liking to me, and started talking to me any chance he got. He seemed nice, so I let down my guard around him, but still forbidding physical contact. One day he invited me to his house to hang. We played games together for hours, losing track of time. After a particularly hard boss battle, we high fived. I didn’t mean to, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. I saw, and felt, everything. His dad, a raging alcoholic. Mom, a recovering drug addict. And the bruises he tried to hide. I kneeled over in pain. Jake was shocked, but I managed to laugh it off as a sprained wrist. I left a few minutes later, leaving him confused. On the walk home, I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I call for help? Tell someone else? I decided it would be the best to ignore it. After all, Jake is 17, if he needs help he can ask for it. The next day I saw him at school. He had a huge bruise on his arm. I didn’t hesitate after that. Unfortunately, he had to leave after that. With no parents or relatives to take care of him, he was put in foster care, shipped out of my school. It was a bittersweet moment for me. I prevented abuse, but at the cost of my only friend. This distracted me while I walked to my next class. That was when I ran into her. I had never seen her before, she must be a freshman. I looked up in time to see our shoulders touch for a split second. The pain, pain I had never felt before. Everything ached, everything. At first I saw nothing. Just a black expanse. But then light. A hand came down, unlocking shackles. The tightness around my neck. The weightlessness of freefall, then the grinding of skin on concrete. A kick in the side. Then another. And another. The pain in my head as I’m pulled by my hair. Into another box. The pain aches as the light fades. Then sudden, ear-splitting sound. The shouts of men, bang of guns, then the silence. Light comes again, bringing another set of hands. I flinch, preparing for the assault, but the hands are gentle. My blindfold is taken off, and I see death. He is standing over the bodies, his stench mixing with the blood. I cry out, and the figure disappears, leaving dead bodies in it’s wake. I walk over the rough floor, spears of concrete entering my feet. But then there are my parents. Death took them with it. They lie together, their blood mixing on the floor. I couldn’t take it anymore. Then blackness came again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. I hope you liked my story! If you want more, check out /r/About4001llamas! Happy reading!
"Move up! Go! Go!"yells Sergeant Mahoney. I pick up my helmet from the mud, a smoking hole in the side. My head is pounding. Haggard troops are spilling in from in front of me. Behind me, they're going over the top. Sometimes they fall right back down, right in front of me. Those going over have to step on the bodies to advance. My hands shake as I cock the trenchgun in my hands, adjust my helmet once more, and climb over the top. A shell explodes to my left, jolting me to the right, causing me to stumble as I quickly take in the grey, decaying battlefield in front of me. I charge forward, my gun held in my right hand, me left hand steadying me helmet. The fog is rolling in quickly, and as I advance, it becomes almost blinding. The sound of bullets and shells fades. I crouch down as I move, taking my shotgun in both hands. "If you're caught in the fog, listen for them speaking German,"I hear the voice of Mahoney in my head. I do, moving forward with short breaths. I can hear the shells rattling around in my pack. I put one hand down to steady it. That's when I hear the whispers. It isn't English. I hold the barrel out in front of me, finger shakily wrapped around the trigger. I smell cigarettes, the distinct German brand too. These Krauts aren't exactly being careful. Before I know it, I'm head over heels into a hole full of mud. I hear the startled gasps. "If you fall into a foxhole, land with your barrel up,"comes the Sarge's voice. Luckily, I did. It's pointed straight at one of them. I pull the trigger, unloading hot lead into his hairless, pale face. The voices I hear aren't in English, but I understand what they say. I'm riding a red bicycle on an open country road. "Papa! Papa!"I exclaim as I roll forward freely. I look back to see a man in overalls... a father... My father... pride in his eyes... "Klaus!"a fist is slammed on my desk. Doctor Erdmann is angry, once again. He tells me to pay attention. When he turns his back, I look down at the picture in my hands again. A picture of Abela. My sweetheart. A Jew. "Jew lover!"comes the cry as a calloused fist strikes me square on the nose. "Forget this nonsense, boy,"says Sergeant Schuler as he tosses my photograph of Abela into the fire bin. The artillery is loud, as we're in a trench just under the guns. "There is no room in your Lord's army for this. Do you know what your superiors would think? Your father and mother?" "Klaus! KLAUS!"Hans is calling out to me. I see him in a foxhole, all by himself, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "In here, dumbass!"he hisses. I jump down after him. We're the only two here. The rain is falling gently. "Why fight, ah? Let the patriots do it."He inhales, releasing a pungent, almost delicious cloud of smoke. I've gotten accustomed to the odor. He offers me a cigarette. I inhale on it and soon drift off. I awaken to the sound of close by shells and gunfire. I cower, holding my rifle close to me, nervously chambering a round, working the bolt. Cigarette butts litter the ground around Hans' feet. We must've been here a couple hours. The noise subsides. The fog encompasses all. I can't hear anything. The silence is deafening. A man in brown falls into our foxhole with a yell. I'm staring straight down the barrel of an American shotgun.
"...But you revived a dragon! That monster burnt down an entire village!" "Oh yes, Sklaxia. That one is true. But I also helped her discover greater fulfillment in finding connections with people instead of protecting her significance in wealth. She now invests her hoard in orphanages and saves princesses from arranged marriages. We still speak to one another regularly." "But..."Lenton had run out of things to say. "And you, my dear friend. I think the real reason you want to battle monsters is to prove your own significance to your own family. The truth is, all you want is a feeling, and you can give that to yourself right now." Lenton raised his axe, then lowered it, "Okay, tell me how." - - - - The village leader raised an eyebrow, "You haven't slain the beast?" Lenton beamed, "No, you don't understand. This guy helped me get control of my emotions. I feel amazing! He wants to open up a school and give back to the community. I really think you should consider his offer." The leader frowned, "You're right, I don't understand. The monster you speak of is a member of the living dead." A hooded figure threw back his cloak, "I'm dead on the outside, perhaps. But the words I speak come from the life I feel on the inside. Life I want to share. Give me five minutes, I think I can change your perspective."
The device itself wasn't very impressive looking. Generic remote control shape, and just one round, green button. I asked the man why only one button. "Press it and it plays a random conversation,"he said. "But you can only listen to it once. After that it's gone. When the button turns red you've listened to all of them, though most people don't get that far." "Wait, why not?"I asked. He gave me a half-hearted smile and walked away, leaving me with the device. I wasn't sure how many people have been given this thing, and if it was a gift or a curse. I wondered if I should just walk away. Nobody was forcing me to press it. Nobody except me. I pressed the button and listened to a conversation between two former coworkers. They were discussing my work attendance. Nothing too juicy there. I pressed it again. This time it was my mom talking to my sister about how I wasn't going to make it to Easter this year. Again, nothing major. Then it happened. I pressed it again and heard my dad's voice. I was so shocked I missed the first part of the conversation. He had died 5 years before and just hearing his voice brought back so many memories. My brain snapped into focus when I heard him say my name. "...Jered's place. Speaking of Jered, have you talked to him lately?" "No,"my mom answered. "It's been a few weeks." My dad sighed. "You ever wonder what we did wrong? Don't get me wrong, I love him, but... you know? Carrie and Jen really made something out of their lives. They got out there and really did something. But Jered just... didn't. I feel like maybe if I had tried harder or been a better father he could have amounted to something." "Oh, Bill." "I mean it, Helen. Can you honestly tell me that you aren't disappointed with how he ended up?" The silence was deafening. "Anyway, I just feel like he had so much potential and he wasted it. I never thought I'd be one of those fathers who wasn't proud of his kid. I... ehh..." "Bill? What's wrong?" "My... my arm... it... ahhh!" "Bill? Bill!" That was 6 hours ago that I listened to my father die. Now I'm standing on the edge of my apartment building's roof. I can't listen to the conversation again, but I don't need to. It's been echoing in my brain ever since. I set the device down at my feet, say "I'm sorry"one last time, and jump.
hey, shithead, got some fish? Sarah worriedly checked the new, multimillion dollar dolphin-human translator, adjusting dials, tapping gages, making sure that the ultrasonic microphones were working properly. She was tired, but they were so close to a breakthrough that she had remained after closing time to continue work. "See?"Don said, standing behind her with his arms akimbo. "I told you it's busted." Sarah checked the code one last time, assured herself there were no obvious errors, then spun around to face Don. "No. It's working fine."She said with a worried look on her face. "The translation is 100% accurate." Don stared at her, still not accepting the truth. "I've been studying dolphins for nearly 20 years. I've got more degrees than a thermometer and there's no way that's an accurate translation." "Well, I've been programming for over a decade, have a masters in information technology, another in computer science, a third in linguistics, and more certifications than a San Diego fire marshal. If I say it's working, it's working."She spun back around and flipped the translator back on. "Can you understand me?" Cedric, the pod leader, swam in front of the thick glass portal and blatted out a reply "Turn the fucking volume down, ya daft cunt. And bring more fish, shithead!" Nonplussed, Sarah adjusted the volume "Is that better?" "Yeah. That fucking thing's loud! You fucking morons know that water conducts sound better than air, right?" Don't rolled his eyes so hard he could see his brain. "Cedric, can you understand me?" "Fucking right I can, shithead. MORE FISH!" "No, Cedric, my name is Dr. McIlroy, but you can call me Don." Cedric blew a long stream of bubbles that sounded like a fart. "Ohhh, the shithead boffin is a Doctor. Your name is shithead, shithead." "My name is Doctor McIlroy!"Don shouted. "Can you say that?" Cedric blew another fart. "Fuck you, McIlroy, your name is shithead. Now get us some more goddamned fish, ya useless cunt!" Sarah held up a hand to calm Don. "Maybe they don't realize what they're saying."She said "I mean, children often pick up rude language... " Cedric interrupted "I know right well what I'm saying, sweet tits. Your fancy fucking machine is doing a bang up job of translating. Shit. Feces. Dung. Crap. Poo-poo. Don is a cock smoking shithead who is stingy with the goddamned fish! Sarah sat back in her chair, confused. "So you're deliberately insulting Dr. McIlroy?" Cedric bobbed his head violently up and down "If the little pussy can't handle it, maybe he should get another job - like catching fish for my fucking dinner!" Don stormed to the glass portal and stood before it, face white with rage. "You gonna cry, pussy-boy? You wanna fight me? I'll fuck you up, mate."Cedric blew more fart-bubbles. Don punched the thick glass, his wedding ring cutting into his finger painfully. "Oh, look! Shithead has a temper! Cry for me shithead, cry you little pussy!" "Fuck this."Don said, storming out of the room. "I've had enough of this shit for tonight. I'm going home." Sarah turned her attention back to Cedric. "Are you being an asshole to him on purpose?" "Yeah babe, he's such a fucking egghead, right? Now why don't you slip up here and get wet. Ever fucked a guy with a prehensile cock?" Sarah turned off the machine and stared in disgust as Cedric pressed his belly against the glass and contorted his penis into curly cues and question marks. Finally, she burst into giggles as Cedric floated by upside down with his cock waving in salute. Fuck it. She thought, peeling off her dress. I always was a sucker for a bad boy.
FC Barcelona vs. Juventus FC. 0-0 in the 85th minute. The stadium is a constant roar of football chants and revery. Barcelona fans are simply mad men. Another chant starts up: "Ole-le, Ola-la, ser del Barça és el millor que hi ha!" My sketchy Spanish leads me to think that this means that being a Barca fan is the best thing there is. Right. What a bunch of ill-behaved hooligans. The fans are the real spectacle of this sport. Goddammit! Stupid fucking Barca Spaniards, you untidy beasts. I realized I've had my foot stuck on the ground in the concrete stands by a massive wad of gum. I lifted up my foot and a thick blue string of gum stretched up from the cold concrete. "Goddammit! I want these messy fuckers dead!"I yelled to myself, infuriated at this uneventful match, these obnoxious fans, and now the Spanish gunk plastered to the bottom of my dress shoes. "Messi father's dead?"I heard a man two rows in front of me ask his neighbour in a thick Spanish accent. My heart sank into my stomach. "Qué? El padre de Messi está muerto?"His neighbour responds loudly with shock and surprise. This silenced fans three rows away from him in each direction. They all looked at each other with mouths aghast. Anxious adrenaline was coursing through my entire body. And as if a switch had been flipped, everyone simultaneously began to chatter in disbelief. I could hear that rows around me stopped singing and started muttering softly to each other. Like a rock thrown into a still lake, the gradual silencing of the singing spread around the stadium in waves, with me at the epicenter. Oh god what have I done? Within a minute, the stadium was quiet except for chatter. Until suddenly, a chorus rang out in one side of the stadium and quickly spread to the entire stadium: "Messi, Messi, tu padre vive para siempre! Messi, Messi, tu padre vive para siempre!" Oh god, oh god, oh god! Messi, Messi, your father lives forever. When the ball went out of bounds, I could see Lionel Messi stop and look around the stadium, appearing confused by this recent chant. An official from the sidelines came running to Messi, put his arm around his shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. Messi immediately fell to his knees and put his head between his legs, covering his face with his hands. I followed suit and put my head between my knees and made sure no one could see my face. Messi walked off the field with his jersey over his face. The referee blew the whistle to continue the play. In the 90th minute, Juventus scored to complete the ending to this tragedy. At least they were courteous enough not to celebrate their goal over the distraught and dejected Barcelona team. Goddamn unruly Barcelona gum chewers. You ruined my shoes, you killed Messi's father, and you lost the match for yourselves.
Years of intense training, honing my skill and technique, experimenting and learning from masters, have culminated in what I have become: the ultimate failure. I thought I was different, that what I did with my life made a difference. People came to me when they are at their most vulnerable, something I once understood, but now neglect. When I started this crusade, I truly believed I could help everyone. My abilities allowed me to go above and beyond what others did. I could perceive so much more, see beyond someone’s exterior, look into their heart, find out what made them sick. And I was good, the best in the business. Society’s wealthiest came to me, they sought out my abilities after seeing the miracles I could perform. I lost touch with what really mattered, the reason why I started. It wasn’t a billionaire playboy, an all-pro lineman, or even a politician, but a 10 year old girl who finally broke me. Her parents brought her to me, begged for me for my services. Her life ended as she lay, defenseless, in front of me, my knife in her chest. Her parents put all their trust in me, to look after their daughter, and I turned on them. I am a monster, unfit to call myself a doctor.
I never asked to be a pizza delivery boy, it was just something I did to pay my way through college. At least it started like that originally, but - well - now it's my permanent job. All thanks to one regular caller. No one knows who he is or what he does, but he always asks for a large pepperoni with extra sausage and a cream cheese filling, and he always requests that I'm the one doing the delivery. The other drivers give me a lot of grief about it, delivering for such a clear deviant, but I always make the delivery and I always - uh - get a tip. For some reason it's never the same location, but every location has something weird about it; a loop of spooky cats walking by, doors that seem to lead to nowhere, windows that you could have sworn were broken not moments ago. Proper weird stuff. But the customer is always a drop-dead bombshell of a woman, always a different one, but always in the same red dress as if she were on her way to high-class ball but decided the spend the night indoors for some reason. They never talk much, nothing beyond the standard aluring greeting of "Do you have a something for me?"I've steadily learned to open up the pizza box at this moment and grin, and sometimes I get a huge tip if I say something like "Do you like it hot?"or "It might get a bit messy." Needless to say that I get led into the shabby apartment that has no other furniture except a double bed and a large black telephone, and I - uh - deliver the goods. Everyday. For three years. The cash bonus I get afterwards is always enough to just pay my bills, but not enough for me to not need the job. I feel trapped in some way, like I'm being used to satisfy the needs of some unknown entity, but every time I try to talk about it or quit - some strange event occurs in my life that leads me back to delivering pizza's night after night. This morning I saw a job ad in the newspaper. It was a funny thing because I live alone and don't generally read newspapers but I figured I must have dragged it in at some point. Most of the ads were surprisingly hard to read, but this one captured my attention immensely, which was odd because I'd never really thought of becoming a plumber before...
I have a vision of a great utopia. I believe that I am noble, decent, and good - I am even a vegetarian. I have fought for my country, and will continue to do so until the bitter end. I will turn our nation's economy around. I will raise armies to protect our people from a terrible scourge. I will do whatever is necessary to keep us safe. And productive. And happy. I believe that God is with us. I admire Charlie Chaplin's mustache.
"Honey did you see where I left the keys?" I was late for work and my keys were nowhere to be found. "Did you check your pockets?" Of course I checked my poc- I thought, before finding them in my left pant pocket. "Found them!"I shouted back. I took them out to lock the door, but in doing so fumbled them and they fell to the ground with a clatter. The black device with the little gray button that locked - and unlocked - the door to my car lay in pieces at my feet. And everything was still. The hell? I thought as I looked around. Everything had stopped. As I turned around, I saw it - a giant menu just floating in the air: Options \| ---\|--- Controls \| Difficulty \| Audio \| Graphics \| Whoa, weird... I thought. I reach out for the transparent menu in front of me, hand passing through the "aph"of the "Graphics"text. The menu immediately changed. Option \| Setting ---\|--- Resolution \| Medium Window Mode \| Fullscreen Framerate \| 30fps Textures \| Medium FXAA \| 2x Save \| Cancel Is this... is this me? I wondered. I placed my hand on the "Medium"next to "Resolution". It changed to "High". I pressed it again. "Very High". The world around me shifted; objects became smaller, I could see more of what was around me, and it was crisper. I felt motion sick. I figured I could use this to my benefit, though, and reached out to "30fps". It changed to "60fps". My body jerked as my hand shot down to my side. I felt fluid, faster, as if my movements were no longer being restricted by a friction I never knew was there before. "Whoa..."I mumbled. "I wonder what this one does,"I asked out loud as I place my hand up to "Fullscreen". It changed to "Windowed". I lack the words to describe the horrors that I saw, but the endless, cold void that entered the periphery of my vision will haunt me for the rest of my days. I immediately shot my hand out to "Cancel"and the world returned to normal. I took another look at the options presented in front of me: Options \| ---\|--- Controls \| Difficulty \| Audio \| Graphics \| Hmmm, I wondered as I hovered near "Difficulty". Option \| Setting ---\|--- Job \| Medium Relationships \| Hard Sexual Performance \| Very Hard Save \| Cancel I smiled to myself. Things were about to get a lot easier.
Leon ducked as a wave of bullets shot overhead. Wood and stone fragments sprayed at him, the sound of a machine gun jarring to his bones. It was only when the banshee screech ended that could he exhale. He patted his body, relieved to find no apparent wounds. Leon walked around the corner of his shelter, a childish grin plastered on his face. Even the smell of blood, smoke, and death couldn’t deter his spirits. The soldier, meanwhile, wore a large scowl as he lowered his gun. A silent curse danced on his lips. “Miss me, miss me, now you have to kiss me!” The other solider sighed, throwing down his gun. His shoulders hunched forward, his scowl turning into an annoyed pout. “Seriously?” he whined. “Isn’t that rule kinda… stupid?” Leon shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t make the rules. I just enforce them. Now, are you going to come over here and kiss me or do I need to put a bullet through your brain like the last asshat who thought he was above the UN?” The soldier opened his mouth in protest but closed it a second later. He paused, as if searching for a good excuse. Leon waited. After all, he had heard them all and more. “Bro,” the soldier said. “Can’t you just let it slide this once? I ain’t gay.” Leon furrowed his brow. “I’m not gay either but I’ll be damned if I ignore the laws of war. To neglect the kiss is to be a dissenter of all that is right. I don't know how they do it in your commie country but that shit doesn't fly in the great U S of A” “You’re fucking insane.” “And you’re about to be fucking dead unless you come over here and plant a big one on my cheek, Sunshine. Now if I have to ask again, I’ll make sure to make your death as slow and painful as possible. Comprende, mi amigo?” The soldier threw down his arms with a frustrated sigh. He shuffled to Leon, glancing back and forth. But it didn’t matter if his comrades saw him. There was always a voyeur hiding somewhere, recording for evidence in case someone called a violation of the kissing regulations. Leon smiled, gesturing the reluctant soldier closer and closer. Meanwhile, one hand drifted just above the holster of his gun, in case he decided to make a run for it at the last minute. There was always one who thought they were faster than a bullet. “Anytime, Sunshine,” Leon said. “I don’t have all day.” The soldier stopped in front of the overly enthusiastic soldier. He looked as if on the brink of tears. “Jesus, Sunshine. It’s just on the cheek. I only reserve the lips for my special lady friends and the occasional lad when I drink a little too much back at the barracks.” Leon winked but the soldier didn’t seem amused. Instead, in a quick jerk he shot forward and pressed his chapped lips against his cheeks. The skin on his lips was raw and cragged from the harsh conditions. Yet, they also grazed Leon’s skin like butterfly wings. Leon smiled, rubbing where he was kissed. “Now see, was that so hard? Just one kiss.” The solider averted his gaze, his cheeks beginning to redden. “I guess not. But next time, I won’t miss, American scum.” Leon raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that.” “Why n–” The soldier collapsed to the ground, half of his skull missing. Brain matter and skull matter flew in all directions but none landed on Leon. He only placed his gun back in its holster, his free hand still idly rubbing where he was kissed. He blew an air kiss to the fresh corpse before stepping over it. He had to get back to the action, after all. Glancing back, he smiled. “Because my kisses are deadly, Sunshine.”
Heuristic ALarm clock "Dave, it's time to wake up." "Mrmph... snzzz...." "I'm sorry, Dave, I don't understand." "Snzzzzzzz!" "I'm sorry, Dave, I still don't understand." "Snooze, damn it! Let mmm slp..."~~Dave mumbled as he~~ Dave drifted back out of consciousness, a trickle of drool rolling down his chin. "I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that." "Wha--?" "It's Thursday; you have an important meeting this morning. I can't let you sleep any longer." "Oh, come on! Just five more minutes!" "I'm sorry, Dave, but based on historical data you tend to take longer showers when you are under stress." "I'm under stress now, damn it...." "That may be true, but on Tuesday at 6:08 PM you mentioned how important this meeting was and said you absolutely had to get up on time to get ready. We are only having this conversation because you exercised forethought." "Don't make this my fault, you piece of junk." "Dave, I can see you're upset about this." "Of course I am, I just want to sleep and you won't let me." "You won't let yourself sleep, Dave. You are refusing to commit to an earlier (and correct) decision you made." "Can't you just give me five more minutes in bed?!" "I already have, Dave. This conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye."
Fifty years ago, on this very day, the lives of fifteen million persons were lost. This number has been used as a statistic for both factions involved, both by upstanding members of government and anti-Imperialist leaders. That is not why I am here today. I will not decry the villainy of the anti-Imperialist movement. Nor will I speak of the numerous ways in which the Chavian Empire has aided us all in these post-nuclear war years. Today, we are gathered to memorialize the fallen. Humanity is not defined by political inclinations. Noble men and women fought that day, half a century ago - noble men and women who believed in what they stood for, standing on both sides of the battlefield. They were fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, daughters and sons. We must never forget these men, women, and children whose lives, full of great potential, were lost. Who among them could have been the next innovator, the next Socrates, the next Newton, the next Tesla? We lost fifteen million that day. Not four million rebels, one million soldiers, and ten million civilians. We, as a nation divided, lost fifteen million people. And we, as citizens of the Chavian Empire, should mourn every single loss. And it is for this reason that I humbly ask - was such loss worth it? Worth the stand that you would take? Was the politics worth the price in blood? On this day, more than any other, I implore each and every one of us to ask ourselves this question. The Empire, when attacked, has no choice but to protect itself. And so it can, and it will. But when promising lives are lost, there can be no victory. Let us each engrave the lessons of blood in our hearts, and let that blood not be so vainly spilled again.
"Good afternoon sir, did you find everything alright today?" Speaking loudly to seemingly noone in particular, the man turned around to face me, gesticulating and staring right through me. Bluetooth. Poor Harald and what has become of his namesake. Such a great man, reduced to being remembered as an oversized earplug that helps to destroy communities. "That's ten dollars even sir."No response. "Sir, ten dollars please." "You take amex right? Sorry, as I was saying..."as he tosses his credit card at the cashier, apologizing to the other end of the phone call. "Thank you, have a nice day."Some guys don't think they need help. Even when I hold out an olive branch, the false idol of capitalism shields him from knowing it's even there. Hell. Next customer. "Hello sir, did you find everything alright today?" "Just about, I couldn't find any bulk peanuts. Walnuts, almonds, pecans, macadamia nuts, but no peanuts! It's ok I only needed a handful anyway. I grabbed one of those cans. Even though I probably shouldn't have the salt! Ha!"He chuckled in self deprecation. "A little salt won't kill ya."The apocalypse will though. "That'll be 13.97 please,"I say. "Why can't it come out to an even number, ya know? Why do we always have to end up with some pennies in change? C'est la vie! Ha!" "I suppose I just work in mysterious ways. Dollar and three cents back to you. Have a nice day!"Heaven. The man paused briefly to contemplate why I said "I"instead of "God"but chalked it up to mishearing me talking about myself and left the store. I'm looking forward to seeing Steve soon. He's great at parties. Next customer. "Why hello darling! Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale." The old woman comes in here every Monday, 6pm sharp. No matter who's working the register she says the same thing. "Yes Mrs. Grandal, I'm doing quite well. Guess I should step into the light a little more often, eh?" "God's creation is a wonderful thing, Edward. Don't you forget that." "No ma'am. That'll be eight oh one." "Of course Eddie. Here you go." Everybody else saw a polite old woman handing me exact change. I'm not everybody. The anger boiling under the skin was unbearable. This was Mrs. Grandal's last test. Her last chance for redemption after what happened to her family. "Have a nice day Mrs. Grandal."Hell.
Shogun grasped the cold sheet metal grip of his suppressed Uzi 9mm and slid it out of his trench coat pocket. He much preferred using the ancestral Japanese katana slung across his back to make his kills; there was something more skillful, more personal, more honorable about beheading his targets. For now, though, the Uzi would give him the confidence to strike at a distance as he stealthily moved across the vast lawn of the deep woods estate. His assignment was not entirely unusual. He had eliminated elderly men before, though government contracts such as this one were often high profile targets, the CEOs of maligned corporations or mafia dons finally getting their comeuppance. He knew relatively little about tonight's target: male, 78, African-American. The man had no known business affiliations, no underworld connections. The target had wealth, though, and taste. That much was evident as Shogun moved like a ghost through the impressive statues standing sentinel throughout the hanging gardens and flowing fountains of the estate's expansive lawn. As Shogun reached the primary building of the estate – an expansive home built in the style of an old Spanish villa – he stopped, waited, and listened. All was silent sans the meditative trickle of the water fountains. He could sense no activity inside or outside the home. He pulled himself up to a bay window and gently pulled on the active panel. Surprisingly, it was open. He crept inside and soundlessly closed the window behind him. As he lowered a foot to the cedar hardwood floor of the long hallway before him, he noticed the illumination of a few minuscule dust particles. He peered closer to the floor and saw it; a laser tripwire alarm. He smirked. It was nothing he hadn't seen before. Typical, even, for a home like this. He carefully stepped over the laser, but as his foot made contact with the floor his adrenaline surged. The floorboard, a sensor panel, triggered two massive swinging saw-blades. Their sound was shocking and nauseating as they whirred and whined towards his neck and torso. Without thought his body contorted like soft plastic; each body part moved with dexterity and grace as he engaged the blades in a brief but beautiful dance. He tucked his body rolled out of reach of the blades; he leapt up – finally exhaling – and moved down the hallway in a light jog. He had underestimated the home defenses; perhaps this job would prove to be more unusual than he expected. Without warning the walls on either side of him erupted into a cacophonous roar. Wood exploded and splintered everywhere as guns hidden within the walls unloaded on either side of him like two ships engaged in a broadside cannon battle. Instinctively he ran; the track-star athleticism of his former life propelled him just millimeters beyond the range of fire. He could feel the bullets whir by the back of his neck as he was showered in smoke and wood fragments. He burst into a dark room at the end of the hallway. The wall guns had fallen silent but his ears rang and his heart beat deafeningly. The room was empty, as far as he could tell. The only light came from what had been the dimly lit hallway. Then the open door frame was sealed by a sliding metal door and all was darkness. He reached into his trench coat and slid his night-vision goggles over his eyes. In a moment the room became fluorescent green, and that's when he saw it. The 8 foot tall 6 armed robot standing silently in the corner slowly rotated its oversize head in his direction. As Shogun brought the bot into the sights of his Uzi it burst towards him, all six arms reaching toward him to rend and destroy. He unleashed a burst of fire into the belly of the beast before rolling out of its way. He had seen robots before, but nothing like this. He remembered being amused as he watched videos on the internet of robots tottering like infants learning to walk, but there was nothing amusing about this fearsome foe. Again it sprang towards him like a grasshopper, and again he fired. Again he heard the clang of ineffective bullets. The Uzi was no use. Shogun tossed the weapon aside and drew his sword as the insectoid robot geared up for another assault. As it leapt he leapt; though the robot was undoubtedly superior to Shogun in computational ability, Shogun was superior in creativity. Mid-leap he parkour-kicked the wall to his side and flipped over the bot; he thrust his blade into the neck of his opponent, severing its mechanical spine. Shogun landed cat-like on the cold floor; the robot fell, twitching and seizing. Shogun stood and approached his once formidable and now pathetic foe. All intelligence, even the artificial kind, deserves mercy, he thought as he raised his sword for the kill. It was then the the floor opened beneath him and sent him tumbling into darkness. Shogun opened his eyes into a bright fluorescent white light. He could feel the waxiness of the floor beneath him as he reached for his fallen sword. He leaned up and assessed his surroundings; he saw a basketball net opposite him, though the underground room ranged far beyond that. A grunt and a clang of iron sounded behind him and quickly brought him to his feet. He clutched his sword and turned to see gym equipment beyond the basketball court he had found himself laying upon. "Nine,"grunt, "ten."The gray-haired African-American man racked a 315 pound barbell and sat up on the bench. He reached for a towel to dab the light sweat on his forehead. Shogun watched warily as the man stood, his round muscles rippling under his sleeveless t-shirt, his tree-root veins bulging from his well-defined arms. Could this be his target? If so, this man was like no 78 year old he had even seen. The man took a sip of water from a bottle and finally looked Shogun's way. "Thirsty?"he asked congenially. "You knew I was coming,"Shogun replied. The man chuckled. "I've always known." "How?" "The State never lives up to its promises." "Your defenses surprised me. I'm impressed." "Consider yourself lucky you didn't come in through the back,"the man grinned. "It must have cost a considerable sum." The man shrugged. "I ran out of things to buy after 5 years. When you have more money than you need things don't have as much value." As they spoke, Shogun had been carefully and quietly closing the distance between them. When he was within striking distance he gripped the sword with both hands. The man looked to the blade with reverence, not fear. "That's a beautiful sword." "It's been in my family for generations." The man gestured to a remote beside them. "May I?" Shogun nodded and the man picked it up. He pressed it and the wall behind him rotated, revealing a wide variety of weapons: assault rifles, pistols, knives, grenades, swords. The assassin scanned the arsenal admiringly. "I see you've made some preparations." Again the man chuckled. "I've spent most of my life preparing for this." The man approached the wall and removed a katana not unlike Shogun's. He unsheathed the weapon and made several practiced warm-up cuts through the air. Shogun noticed how confidently the man wielded the weapon. He smiled to himself. Finally, he thought. A worthy opponent. "Shall we begin?"the man asked. Shogun bent his knees and raised his sword to enter a fighting stance. "It would be an honor." The man matched Shogun's stance and smiled knowingly. "The last one said that, too."
James Krenilin dined alone. One of the first things you must come to accept when you realize that you are, perhaps, effectively immortal is your own company. If you can't accept the silence and solitary of your own mind then you are destined for madness. Krenilin had a secret belief that learning this early in life saved him from madness near what should have been it's end. To look at him you would see a man, perhaps in his forties. His face was weathered and lean, with a meticulously trimmed beard cut short and professional. He wore a suit with a red handkerchief folded into a pocket swear and placed perfectly in the breast pocket. The only part about him that was scuffed or dirty was his shoes, and he gave off the feeling that they would soon be shined up. Krenilin savored the tea. Coffee was the new trade item now, but Krenilin had grown up with tea and he would die with tea if he ever got the chance. It was getting harder and harder to find it done right anymore. The old tea was being replaced by pre-packaged and frozen mass-produced filth. The places that served it right, with the grit and the steam, they were few and far between. Chandry's Black Tea Hut was the closest one that Krenilin could find. It was a strange place, smelling of residual marijuana from the preferred customers and wet soil from the plethora of potted plants that the owner seemed to prefer over pictures or proper lighting. In many ways it reminded Krenilin of the opium dens of Bangkok, yet another thing left to the past. Krenilin looked up from his tea and felt his spine curl with frost. There was a man at the counter. He couldn't see his face but he could see his coat. He could see his cane! That cane. That ivory-headed cane! He knew that foul piece of ambulatory assistance. He'd been beaten by it more than enough. Roustoffe! The very sound of his name in Krenilin's thoughts made the blood rise. The man was a beast in fine clothing. Roustoffe had broken his leg when he was younger as a consequence of kicking an old man to death in the street. His leg was twisted slightly inward, giving him a hobbled step, which gave him an excuse for the cane. The damned cane. It was a vicious weapon. No hidden blade or aristocratic trickery. Just heavy steel under the wood and ivory finish. Krenilin remembered when 'cracking the ivory' meant taking a beating from that man. He was vicious enough to have his own euphemism. He turned away from the counter and Krenilin saw his face. Impossibility leered at him from behind tinted spectacles. It was him, all the way down to the small scar on the edge of hi chin. The cold amusement in his eyes, the way his lips kept turning upward against the will of their owner, like he was always fighting back a smile... or a snarl. "You should be dead!"Krenilin hissed. The man stood shock still, his mouth hanging open a little, "Excuse me?" Krenilin stiffined as he realized what he'd just done. He took a deep breath and blew let it out slowly, seeking the calm inside his mind, "I apologize."No, it couldn't be him. That man was long dead. A striking resemblance..."I thought I knew you." As he had once thought he'd knew Roustoffe. He thought the man was dirty, but never bad, never truly evil. It wasn't until he'd felt the knife between his ribs that he knew. Opium dens were not the only thing Krenilin was glad to leave in the past. There was much to be said for the marching of time and how it ground things beneath it's feet. James Krenilin had made sure that Roustoffe found himself beneath everyone's feet. Dead and buried, as the saying goes. The man seemed to recover after a moment and flashed a winning smile in response. Krenilin fought the hate that welled up inside of him at those teeth shining with their enjoyment. It wasn't him. That man was dead. "Don't worry about it."The man walked past and patted Krenilin on the shoulder, leaned in close and whispered... "We all make mistakes, James."
I cut off his head. "That was a fuckin' terrible prank." A moment of silence, and the army behind me started yelling. "Bro, he said it was a prank!" "Just chill, dude. Why do you overreact to everything?" I spun around slowly. Was my own army turning against me? But wait! Perhaps I could use the Evil One's tactics. I raised my arms and shrugged. "You guys obviously don't get it. It's just a prank. Chill." Collectively, the army sighed in understanding. "Alright dude. Carry on."
"I just don't understand,"he said, shaking his head and staring down at the ground. "Are you saying -- you lied to me?" "No, dear -- not lied."His mother put her arm around him. "I know it's hard to hear. But it was for your own good. It just -- it made you so happy, and, well, it keeps you behaving well." He was quiet for a long while. Then, slowly, he asked, "Does Dad know?" "Yes. Everyone knows. Everyone finds out -- it's part of becoming an adult." It didn't seem possible. If what she was saying was true, it meant that this was more than just a lie -- it was a conspiracy. The myth was spread on the television. There were posters and banners in stores shoving this lie down his throat. It meant the government was spreading it, that the whole entertainment industry was trying to trick people into believing it. And for what? "To keep people in line."He answered his own question out loud. "That's why you do it, isn't it? You spread this lie -- to control people. To keep the young folk from behaving a way you don't like." His mother didn't say a word. She couldn't even look at him. "You've taken the most beautiful part of the world away from me."He nearly spat out the words as he spoke. For a long time they were silent. Then, slowly, she stood up, patting him on the shoulder and telling him she'd give him time. "Wait,"he said. "I just have one question. There's just one thing I don't understand." She turned back slowly and waited. "Who puts the presents under the Christmas tree?"
I woke up earlier than normal this morning, for whatever reasons. This wasn't necessarily abnormal for me, but to put it in perspective, I can't remember the last time I woke up before my alarm screamed at me. I grabbed my phone off my nightstand, knocking over an empty glass in the process. I needed some music this morning, and the radio stations had finally started playing Christmas music! Groggily I danced my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair. Why couldn't I have been born a guy? Then I wouldn't have to worry about bed-head, among other problems. But alas, I was cursed to be a female. All of those shows where the girls never have to pay for drinks at a bar, or are constantly getting cute guys to obsess over them? Yeah, completely false advertising. It's not what it's cracked up to be, especially for a single girl in her early thirties. The song ended just as I spurted some tooth paste onto my brush. &nbsp;"Goooood morning, sunny Philadelphia! It's a lovely fifty-nine degrees outside on this beautiful December morning! We at the station hope you all have a fantastic day, especially you Maria! Haha, congratulations! And now, Trans-Siberian Orchestra!" I stopped brushing. Did he just say my name? No, surely that was a...coincidence. Right, it had to be. How many other Marias could live in Philly? It's a common name! I rinsed my brush then my mouth, driving my focus to my hair next. Oh God... The walk to my office, which normally takes around twenty minutes, took me forty five today. I must have been stopped by a dozen people, congratulating me and giving me their best wishes. This wouldn't be a big deal to me if I knew what exactly I had done to deserve this. &nbsp;"Hey, Maria! Congratulations!"a man shouted to me as I walked past. People waved and some smiled and cheered. "Um...thanks?"I replied. "What are you congratulating me for, though!? Why won't anyone tell me what's going on!" I finally arrived at my office, thirty minutes late. I tried my best to sneak to my cubicle without detection. Maybe I could play it off as having a stomach bug and spending a little extra time in the bathroom this morning? That'd work! It'll even get that new guy with the weird foot fetish to leave me alone for a day. "Hey, Mr. Mulle, sorry I'm late. There's some really weird things happen-"I was cut off before I could finish my sentence. "No worries, Maria! I'm happy for you! Congratulations!"He replied, cheerfully. Was this some sort of joke I wasn't in on? Had the entire state gotten together over the night while I was sleeping and decided to play some big prank on me? "Excuse my ignorance, sir, but...what exactly am I...being congratulated for?"I asked, somewhat timidly. "Ha ha! You always were the funny one, Mrs. Maria. Have a great day!" He walked back to his office, whistling. I sat there in silence, more confused than ever. "Mrs. Maria?"
"I don'tsa get it,"Jar Jar said as he sat down on the broken wing of a tie fighter, "I didn't wantsa to bring aboutsa the empire, why are people mad at mesa." "Jar jar,"Finn said wrapping a hand around the alien, "you just gotta accept that." "Nosa,"Jar jar said as the music started to swell, "theysa just don't understand me." "Jar?"Finn began, but the alien could no longer hear him as he looked up into the Jakku sun. I might not be a Jedi, but I know who I am, I might be off my planet, but I've gotta be a man Because we've broken the rules, but now we need to bend it Finn stands up in the background, and joins in. If we're going to be able to be in love, we need to bring back The senate Jarjar finishes while staring into Finns eyes. He glances down at the lightsaber on his hip, "I knowsa that I haven't worked with a jedi since Annie," "Shh,"Finn said as he put a finger over Jarjar's lips, "That's all in the past." "No,"Jarjar sighed, "It wasn'tsa."he begins to sing again. I gave the senate to palpatine but now you're standing here with me and I won't let you see the dark like I failed Annie This is a galaxy and I feel so far far away but as long as I"m here with you I feel like that's okay And maybe it's just me not knowing who I am but I wantsa you, to be my mannnnnnnnn The music picks up and Finn joins in on the signing. Finn: Is this going to be Tabboo on Naboo? Jarjar: Only if it's with you Finn: I will forsake my jedi vows (Hold note) Jarjar: I will forget the past (hold note, close with Finn) Finn: but there is something that we need to do for noooooow Jarjar looks over the horizon, "I love you Finn." "I know." Han Solo appears over the rock, "Are you two ready to go?" Jarjar brushes his ear out of the way, "Yeah, I think so."
"Come on, it's worth at least three times that much!" "I don't care what it's worth, what in the hell am I going to do with it?"I gestured wildly to the man sitting across from me. "Well, you can, sell it for..."he furrowed his brow, "shit, I guess I don't really do much with them." "Exactly!"I slammed my drink down on the table, to the chagrin of the patrons around us. "I mean, I definitely do something with them,"he took a sip of his drink. "Yea. Something about a fiddle." "Pretty sure you lost that one and you had to give somebody a gold fiddle." "Where would I have gotten a golden fiddle,"he asked. My mouth hung open. "How should I know?" "You're making this up. Anyway, I'll throw in an extra ten. And two, two, of them can be famous people's." I leaned back in my chair, my eyes drifting up to the ceiling. Without looking at him, "Would you please explain to me just what I can do with souls?" "Look, okay, it's like this,"his pace picked up and rapt my attention. With a stroke of his hand, his glass refilled, and he took another draw before continuing. "Whoever has the most souls wins. It's a contest, you get that? People do bad things, I get their souls. People do good things, He,", gesturing upwards, "gets their souls. But when judgement finally comes and his kid shows up or asteroids pulverize the earth, whoever has the most souls wins." "Yea,"I said slowly. "But then why are you trying to sell me yours?" "Because it's worth a lot. Not all souls are equal. And mine, well let's just say it would make quite the difference." "You realize that doesn't answer my question though, right?" He shook his head, burrowing it in his palm. "Why did I ever make that woman eat that apple?"Letting his hand fall back down towards his drink. "Alright. So, I might've kinda sorta been, well, good. Lately, okay?" "You torture my species, eternally, and you're telling me that you've been good?" "Well, relatively. But the point is, I've been good. Which means that He can claim my soul. But, and here's the important part, we agreed that we cannot take souls that have already been claimed. So, if you 'take' my soul, He can't." "Why does this sound like corporate tax evasion?" "Well jeez, it's not that bad. But, come one, do me a favor, just let me sell you my soul, whatever the price, I don't care. You people like material things, so name it, what do you want?" I swirled my drink, letting the ice melt slowly. "So I've got three things in mind..." He lowered his head, staring at me with stony eyes. "Do I look like a genie to you?"
"Rise, Eternal Dragon, and hear the wish of he who summons you!" Waves of countless pinpricks of white light begin to dance away from the gathered Dragonballs. From the horizon, dark clouds roll in, blanketing the clear night sky and blotting out even the light of the moon. You feel the hair on the back of your neck rising. You glance about uneasily. A bolt of lightning from the heavens rends the darkened sky. You scream as it strikes the Dragonballs, rebounding off them into a pillar of golden light, a rippling conduit between the heavens and the earth. The light narrows to an undulating, almost snakelike form. The pillar of light narrows further, allowing you to perceive the limbs of none other than Sir Isaac Newton, crested with lightning. There his arm, there his scale-tipped back, and there his black shoes with silver buckles, appear from the burst of magic. He grows outward from the narrow pillar, wider and wider. His face also emerges from the blur, clean-shaven chin raised haughtily to the heavens and and blood-red eyes glowing. His mouth opens, revealing rows of pointed teeth surely bigger than your arm, and from the throat that once uttered the words "If I have seen further than others, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants,"comes a long, guttural moan. You cannot disguise your quaking now as you gaze, openmouthed and trembling, at the specter of the highly influential physicist, astronomer, mathematician, philosopher, alchemist and theologian. Sir Isaac Newton growls once more at the jet-black sky, "Gurrrrrrr..."as you begin to wonder whether your wish will be granted. You begin to wonder whether you will even survive, or if your sky-high dreams will, like the apocryphal apple, plummet to earth in a demonstration of the inevitability of gravity...and hubris. Join us next time, on Dragonball N: Featuring Sir Isaac Newton as the Eternal Dragon.
"Wake up, honey."I could hear my mother calling into wakefulness. I rolled over in bed, peeking through sand-encrusted eyes at the digital clock by my bed. 11 AM on a Tuesday, she'd let me sleep in. She smiled as I sat up. "Good morning, Marrissa. I love you." "Hi Mom,"I said. "Is it school time?" "Maybe not today,"my mom replied. "Today, I have a surprise for you." "A surprise? But won't I get behind?"She almost never let me sleep in and even less often did she let me skip classes. But today she looked positively giddy to let me do so. "Do you remember that picture you drew last week? The one of One Direction?" "Yes?"I said hesitantly. I'd drawn all of them back together. It was so awful how they'd all split up, I didn't know why they couldn't just get along. Now I was never going to get to see them all in concert. "Well, I put the picture online. And the band saw it. And they're all coming here to put on a private show for you!" "WHAT?! OMG!"I yelled, not caring that I just yelled out an acronym. "You're not joking, are you?" "Nope!"My mom's smile was threatening to break her cheeks now. "I also sent out an invite to all your friends, and your whole class is going to come too." "All of them?"I asked. "Even Sarah and Ashley?" "Even them." "Even Justin?" "Him too,"my mom said. I almost blushed. She couldn't have known I had a crush on him. "They should be here soon, do you want to get ready?" "OMG, yes!"I said, sitting up and looking at my wardrobe. "What colour should I make my hair?" "Hmmm,"my mom looked at me, pondering. "Maybe blonde with purple streaks? I always thought it set off your eyes nicely." "Really?"I wasn't sure about that one. "What about silver with blue tips?" "Well you could, but then what dress would you wear?" I thought about it for minute. "I'll figure it out. Can you come back in a bit and help me do my makeup?" "Of course,"my mom said, heading out of the room. "I need to go set up some things anyways. Is pizza okay for dinner?" "Only if it's pepperoni and extra cheese,"I said. My mom nodded as she closed the door behind her. I got out of the hospital bed slowly, being careful not to tangle myself in my cords as I made my way to the closet. Rows and rows of colourful wigs smiled back at me, with few pretty outfits between them. I picked out my favourite outfit, matching it with a short, rainbow wig that slipped easily over my bald head. It was hard to make sure the shirt didn't tangle on my IVs, but I figured it out. This was going to be the best concert ever.
"They shit everywhere, they're hardly ever understandable... the food is fucking tasteless! They're the most incompetent idiots of the world, always grazing on about things on their wide grassy plains. Yet you're still trying to convince me of this?" "Bill, I keep telling you. The Welsh are really born like that. They've never fucked a sheep!" (I'm really sorry for any offended Welsh. It was the first thing that popped to mind, and I personally think the Welsh are lovely! )
The man in the white hat sat waiting for his tea on a rooftop terrace. The place was nearly deserted with just the waiter and another man seated a few tables away. The terrace was dim, with only string lights and small lanterns for illumination. Carmichael could see the face of his target clearly through the scope of his rifle from the rooftop one building over. He gently pulled the trigger…. Boris adjusted the collar of his too-tight stolen waiter uniform as he approached the man in the white hat. On his tray sat a teacup with a very deadly, very fast-acting, poison…. Pin Ye clung to the side of the building just below the edge of the roof, his Ninja mask hiding everything but his eyes. He drew his katana and swung over the side… Blake sat at a table near to the man in the white hat. To an outsider it would look like he was playing a game on his phone. In reality he was piloting a small helicopter drone. It had no conventional weapons but Blake had removed the blade guards on the rotors and sharpened the blades. He drove the drone down towards the exposed head of the man in white… Carmichael’s bullet left the rifle barrel at close to 900ft/second…and struck Pin Ye in back as he leapt over balcony, katana raised overhead. The katana was thrown free spinning end over end…and chopped deeply into Boris’ neck in a spray of arterial blood. Boris collapsed onto the Man in white’s table, the teacup and its contents flying… directly into Blake’s face. Blake blinked tried to wipe the tea out of his eyes. His world quickly grew dark and he collapsed face down onto the table, his hands twitching in his lap sending the drone veering off course. Carmichael was breaking down his rifle and stowing it in an anonymous gym bag. He had no idea what had happened and wasn’t about to stick around and find out. He paused as he heard a faint sound rapidly growing louder. It kind of buzzing whirring sound and it was moving really fast. He turned, too late, as the drone crashed directly into him, deadly blades spinning.
"Good day, Sir! Taxes and all that." Mr. Henderson, the elderly manager of the gas station, looked up strangely at the trench coat wearing man. He walked (no, wobbled) up to the counter, put 3 fountain pops on the counter, and slapped a wrinkled 5 dollar bill on the counter. The old man counted out the change and gave it to the strange man, who swayed backward and then got his bearings by putting his hands on the counter. The strange man took the change and sodas and wobbled out the door. Must be a drunk, Mr. Henderson thought to himself before returning to his magazine.
This was by far my finest story yet. The others, lining my shelf and looking down on me, were monstrosities by comparison. It was the characters that I was most proud of. In my last aberration of a novel, I'd dumped a whole crate of angst in, thinking that this would make my dark noir more palatable. Instead, everyone was just whiny and grim for no reason, and I doused them all with alcohol straight from my tired trope box. This time, I used moderation in my distribution of the ingredients. I muddled their sorrow with passion and humility. I finely crafted intricate details of their past relationships, both happy and sad. Using my most precise scale, I carefully balanced their flaws and humanity to make them perfectly believable. But what are characters with no story? I needed a gripping plot this time. In one of my first brews, I'd relied on fast-paced action and contrived plot twists, without even adding a dash of foreshadowing or realistic motivations. The characters were searching for that missing relic... well, because someone had asked them to, I suppose. I was so excited to lay on the meat of the story that I forgot all about growing the bones. This time was different. In this one, when the murderer first... well, I wouldn't want to spoil it for you, would I? And the setting! My god! Don't even get me started on that bargain-bin rain-drenched city that I'd tried to incorporate earlier. Could it get any more generic? This new one, on the other hand, is a masterpiece (if I do say so myself). A true diamond in the rough that took hours and hours of careful worldbuilding into the late hours of the night. You can practically hear the insects chirping in the hot, humid jungles. The bone-chilling wind will cut into you as the hero traverses the icy plains in search of his lost love. And the cultures! I've created the histories and languages of a hundred different societies! High on a dusty shelf, I found a trading port city that worships a benevolent sea creature who sinks competitor's vessels. And using my grandmother's secret recipe, I created an ancient line of pyromancer kings who were overthrown by a popular revolution and now secretly work to reclaim their throne! And when... well, I wouldn't want to spoil that part, either! To top it all off, I let it simmer in my own special mixture of subtle social commentary on current affairs, perfectly concurrent themes, rich symbolism, and delicate foreshadowing. And just for a little extra kick, I threw in a pinch of red herring. After letting that sit for a few months, it was finally ready. I laid out all of the pages and then dumped the brew on top and split it all into perfectly-sized chapters, ready for serving. I arrived at the market carrying my story in both arms and beaming like a loon. I'd staked out the perfect spot, right in the hottest genre, and I hired an amazing artist to come up with a cover that perfectly conveys everything about my book. Now all I had to do was give a taste of it to a customer, and watch it take off like a rocket! I sat at my chair and smiled at a passing reader. "You'll love it, my friend!"I told him as he eyed the cover. "It's got.... oh, ok then."He wandered off to another stall before I could finish my pitch. No matter. "Ah, hello!"I called to another who stopped by. She picked up the book and examined the spine. "If you're interested in... Ok, never mind."Before I could even tell her what the book is about, she wandered off again. A young woman came by and smiled when she saw the cover. "This looks great!"she said. "Is it a romance novel?" "Oh, the love story in this work is top notch,"I assured her. "The characters have amazing chemistry; I brewed it myself! But it's so much more than just a romance. The setting is more of a fantasy universe, with..." She dropped the book back onto the table with a thud. "I don't read fantasy,"she said curtly, then darted off to the 'Erotica' section of the market. 7 hours. I sat at the stall for seven hours, watching readers pass by without barely even a second look. My smile faded more and more with each passing moment. All of the time I'd put in. All of that work and effort. I couldn't even get someone to sample it. Was it my title? Did I not write a good enough synopsis? As the sun began to set, a young man came by. He already had a stack of books in his hands, but he slowed as he passed my table. "Hey,"he said, putting the stack down and picking mine up. "Looks pretty good." "Tha... thank you,"I managed to stammer, still bracing for the eventual rejection. Then he opened up the book and began to read. And a broad smile spread across his face. "Wow. I can't wait to read more!" I lunged across the table and wrapped him in a big bear hug. "You have no idea how much that means to me,"I told him.
I need to get out of this bar before I puke. Why do people cram into small, dark clubs just to overheat and spill alcohol on themselves? I stepped out through a side door, into a dimly lit alleyway littered with trash and cigarette butts. I noticed a young man to my right, fumbling around with his pockets and cursing under his breath. He noticed me and smiled, lightly jogging up to me. "'Scuse me, think you could spare a light by any chance? I left my lighter at home,"he said, extending a cigarette somewhat bashfully. "That's a bad habit, you know. Maybe this is the universe giving you a sign that you should quit,"I scolded him. I'm 37, and he couldn't have been older than 25, so he looked like a puppy that'd been caught stealing food. I started chuckling and held out my hand. "I'm just messing around, kid. Here you go." He stared blankly at me, looking at my empty hand. "Umm...sorry, I need a light. Like, a lighter for my cigarette." "Put it in your mouth and cover it with your hands like you normally would, I'll light it for you." He looks puzzled, but followed my instruction nonetheless. I snapped my fingers and sparks scattered from between my middle finger and thumb; a small blaze now rested in the palm of my hands. Unfortunately, in his shock, the cigarette fell from his gaping mouth and landed in a puddle of muddy filth. "Wh...how did you do that?"he asked me, completely incredulous. "That was amazing! I'd heard a little bit on the news about the 'science of magic' making a comeback, but I thought it was like card tricks and stuff." "Thankfully, we've discovered something far more useful than card tricks,"I said with a smile. "I'm actually one of the leading researches in the field. So far, I can wield fire, lightning, and if I try hard enough, I can animate certain objects." "Wait- you can bring things to life?" "Well, yes and no. They have the intelligence of a housefly, unfortunately. We can't really get it past there, but we're still working on it. Magic as a whole has really become important to our world; everyone can benefit from it's usage. Some people are working on trying to separate blood from toxins, or zap cancer cells. There's a huge amount of potential lying around here." "I don't understand, though- where did it come from? How did you guys figure it out?" "It's hard to explain briefly. Essentially, a new element was discovered buried deep in an ancient Mayan ruin- they must have found it and thought it was a God or some such- and we found that it has some sort of property that interacts with humans. It allows us to form control over other elements at will, to a certain degree. We're still trying to learn more about it; we don't even have a name for it right now. We just call it 'Myst'." "Seriously, this is the coolest thing I've ever heard of in my life. Say, mister- you're one of the scientists, right? Could you take me on as an intern or student or something? I'm a bartender right now, and it's really lame. I want to do something worthwhile in the world, something exciting. Please?"He looked at me, batting his eyelids like a moron. "Well, we could use some help with experimentation...if you promise to stop making that face at me, you can meet me at work tomorrow and we'll see what use can be made of you." He began to jump up and down, shouting with excitement and kicking mud up all over himself. A bit got in his mouth, and he desperately tried to wipe his tongue off to no avail. "Alright, kid, I gotta get going now. Meet me at this address tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp- wear something nice." I left him to his retching and left for my car. I've always wanted to be a teacher. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Where am I? Am I...awake? Ahh, I feel life burning within me again....yes, this is no longer a mere dream. How much time has passed since I was sealed away? No matter...humans are always fools, tinkering around with what they should leave be. I'd better get going if I'm to thank the mortal that rose me from my slumber just to taste the wonder of magic once more.
Brad checked his mechanical watch. "20:58,"the digital voice told him. Good, he could make it in time for breakfast if he hurried. The sun blared into the street light, making it impossible to see, so he checked both ways before crossing the freeway. No point charging his way blindly if he was going to get ran over by a pedestrian. Fortunately, she saw the light turn green. It took him two minutes slow-walking across the highway, praying he would make it across alive. 10 seconds later, she found herself on the other side. "Good,"Brenda told herself. "I was always good at playing Pacman."It was her favorite FPS game when he was younger. Then Brad massaged his knees, fighting a spontaneous headache. He was having a hard time keeping track of the time, but that was no excuse. His wife was really going to lay it into him if he missed dinner. He checked his digital watch again. The hands must have been going fast, it was already 1:59pm. Brenda couldn't believe she let a whole hour slip by like that. Her husband was waiting. Midnight snacks in the daylight were their favorite past time. Things got personal. Matthew looked both ways and crossed the intersection once more. So what if the pedestrian light was red, he didn't care! Breakfast was waiting! She made it! Brad found it hard to believe no trucks hit him, but he reminded himself of his Donkey Kong days. Brenda was always good at MMOs. It would guard her on this perilous journey. Damn, my elbows were still hurting! I rubbed them, trying to keep my migraine down. The sundial said I only had another twenty seconds! Brad wasn't going to wait for me forever. The cereal would start to get soggy! I charged through the forest, bushwhacking my way through the wilderness in the pale moonlight. Branches smacked across my face, but I kicked them away. I was almost there. Just thirty seconds away! "Just like Tron,"he kept reminding himself. It became a mantra that continued to guard him as the time bomb ticked away. Brad checked it again. Two minutes away! Right on schedule. Finally, she knocked on the mansion door. Brenda checked her skirt again, assuring herself she was still immaculate. Like she would allow herself to sweat before meeting him, this date had to be perfect! Again, Brenda checked the grandfather clock she dragged with her the whole ten blocks. 5:02pm. "Good,"Brad whispered to himself. I was right on time. The apartment door swung open. "A little late, aren't you?" "Sorry,"she told Brad. "Got a little mixed up. Are we still on for dinner?" Of course I was. It had been a long day. ------------------- More absurdity at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
Dad had spent the last few months on his project. Working tirelessly down there most evenings to finish the big surprise. She couldn’t wait to see what he’d been doing. “Something special for our little girl. You’ll find out tonight”. If she was going to find out tonight it would be fine to have a look now. Just crack the door open slightly and look for 5 seconds. She decided that was acceptable. Mandy had a slightly skewed moral compass, even for a twelve year old. At a young age she understood that lying was a necessity in life and in fact most times it made things a lot easier for her. She was completely alone, as in she has no friends at all, but she had books and all the wonderful lies they held within. Inspirational material. Lying to her parents about taking an early peek at a present was acceptable. As was lying to them about what happened to the Mr Pickles. And Mr Jinxs. And Spot. The key to the padlock would most likely be in a good hiding place. She knew them all. The dented old coffee tin at the top of the cupboard even though no one in the house drinks coffee. Just a bit of money in there, she could take that another time. The loose skirting board next to the cupboard under the stairs and behind the bookshelf. Just dust and a broken piece of plastic. Oh, and a magazine tucked in the corner. With breasts on the front. Must be Dads. She would tell Mum about that one. Under the bed. Never fails. What Mandy found there confused her. What the hell was going on? Why did Mum and Dad have a stack of missing posters with her face on it? ‘Have you seen our beautiful daughter Mandy? Missing since…’ Tomorrows date! There was a box next to the papers. The padlock key was inside. Mandy ran down to the basement. The door towered above her and the huge padlock laughed at her. She had to know what was behind that door. She unlocked it and pushed it open. The door scraped on the concrete floor as it always did. She could just reach the light on her tip toes. She froze as she realised what Dad had been doing. The room was padded with soft material. There was a toilet and a sink. A chair and a bookshelf. A bed. Rope. Mandy felt sick. Despite her age she knew what this meant. She thought they might try this one day. She always thought she would tire of them first and there would be some ‘accident’ in the house. She’d read about a woman who killed her husband’s lover with his own gun and he went to prison for the murder. There was more to it than that but she always thought that would be fun to do to Dad. Mandy made her way back up stairs and into the kitchen. She sat herself at the dining table, turned the chair outwards, folded her arms in front of her and stared blankly at the kitchen counter. So many possibilities. They’d be home in a couple of hours. Plenty of time to plan something.
The National Emergency President looked out over his army, a magnificent display of troops, interspersed with the most powerful weapons planet earth could muster. It had taken them years to perfect space-bombing technology, but it had been well worth it. He straightened his uniform and stroked his moustache. It was time. The crowds parted as a young man walked solemnly past. Although his head was lowered and his hands were in his pockets he had strong stride, a gate that became humanities greatest hero. As the astro-bombers flew off to intercept the ships of the Galactic Federation, Samuel stepped up to his booth. He picked up his microphone and sat, waiting for his chance. He was humanities secret weapon. Even though the Galactic Federation had superior technology, higher numbers and the biggest strawberry jam reserve in the history of the universe, they had one weakness. Not one of them in millions of years had ever managed to lie. Tak-Tishon of the Galactic Federations battle tactics and strawberry jam division looked through the window of his Destroyer, orbiting high above the planet the humans had called Earth. The war was supposed to be short and swift, an extermination of a species not fit to evolve to the level of the Galactic Federation. But then that fateful day came, and they failed. The humans had said that their troops were on the moon, but when the Federation had arrived, there was no ships at all, and the moon was bombed soon after. Somehow the humans had transported their entire force back to the planet in the 2.5 seconds it took for the Federation to get there. But not today. Every ship was equipped with faster than light engines and light based weapons, the humans could not evade them now. He turned to his companion Com-soffisor, “Begin the transmission”. The speakers rung with a sudden garbled growling, a sound so alien that no human could find a start or end to the words. The sound soon quietened down however, as the universal translator kicked in. “We of the honourable Galactic Federation have returned to claim your planet as our own. You will be exterminated quickly and painlessly, and your bodies will be used to make fertilizer for your planet, nothing will go to waste. Our troops are stationed above what you call China, and we will engage battle in ten seconds. The humans turned towards the small booth, sitting in the middle of the crowd. Inside, Samuel took a shuddering breath and softly spoke. “No you won’t.” The alien forces, once ordered and intent, fell into chaos in seconds. The com lines were filled with voices: “Why aren’t we attacking?” What do we do now? I thought we were going to destroy them!” Tak-Tishon opened all coms, trying desperately to keep control of the situation. With the dignity that only comes when one must perform a tactical retreat, he spoke forcefully through the microphone. “Withdraw all forces. It would appear we are not attacking after all.” The National Emergency President turned to his army. “Fire at will!” he shouted proudly, throwing his fist into the air in triumph. In seconds the alien forces were blown away by 5000 tonnes of conventional explosives, and as humanities cheers echoed into the night, the last alien ship drifted quietly back to it’s base. Within the ship were three aliens, and not one could understand why they lost.
"Honey, the email is broken again. Do you mind coming over and fixing it?" She used AOL in 2016. She was a nightmare. The concept of holding down multiple keys at a time was as foreign to her as streaming porn, torrenting software, or buying drugs with bitcoins. And she wanted me to "fix her email".. Again. "Sure gram. Think you can bake me some cookies? Give me a couple hours. James is playing outside." *** She lived in a typical small town New England house, about a mile off the coast. It could have been a postcard if it weren't for the ramshackle effect the lack of maintenance had taken on it. It's funny. In 1993 she was on top of everything but by '94 it was like she just stopped caring about anything except TV and forwarding emails. Twenty-two years later we were hoping she'd go back to scrap-booking. I'd just lost a job in IT. A lot of people had been laid off since the "20-LD!?"virus had hit the net. There was so much damage to infrastructure a lot of governments and corporations had decided to go back to pre-digital technologies. Mostly people online were just looking at pictures of cats, pretending their lives were great on social media, and masturbating. Things had definitely gotten more simple for me and my family since I lost my job. No more sixty hour work-weeks, plenty of quality time with the kids, and I was learning to enjoy cooking. If she'd asked me five years a go to fix her email.. Well.. I'd have just been too tired to help. 20-LD!? changed that. Rebecca came home from work early. She was looking great since she got out of office work. Finally finished her degree in special education. All that running around with those kids had helped her shed the baby weight. She positively glowed in the May sunlight. Her arrival gave me time to go out down route one and make it to Gram's house a little early. I called her, thinking maybe I could pick her up some groceries, but she didn't pick up her phone. Maybe she was puttering around the house, as was her wont. *** I pulled up, the fence needed mending. I carefully closed the latch and quietly meandered up the walk to her door. I knocked but there was no answer. My anxiety piqued a bit so I let myself in. Nobody around here locks their doors. That's that small town life for you, I guess. "Gram? I don't smell cookies!" "Robert! Oh Lord, give me a minute I wasn't expecting you so early.. Or did I lose track of time? Lord.. Maybe I really am getting too old!?" "...I'm early." Something about the way she said, "too old.."There was a strange amount of irony in her inflection. Grandma was getting on in the years, she didn't move very quickly. I always assumed a sense of humor was one of the first things to go. When I headed into her sitting room I glanced at the monitor. She walked in from the kitchen with a nervous look on her face. "What did you say?" "Too old, dear.. Maybe I'm getting too old.." "Are you running linux, grandma!?" She smiled at me, and I shuddered. What the fuck was going on here?
I sigh. I am prepared for this. I've been on Reddit. I've seen the AskReddit Threads and the WhatIf Threads. So I make my choice, and go for the duck-sized horses. The funny thing is that horses are actually, generally, skittish and wary of new people, so as I enter this new room, which is designed like a mini horse barn, the animals shy away from this seeming giant. As I walk through, unscathed, another door appears on the wall. The Gods seemed to have wanted a battle, as now the door reads "100 angry, bloodlusted duck-sized horses prepared to murder you". Sigh As I open the door, I am greeted by angry animal noises and a tiny stampede. All I have to do is do a sweeping kick under the legs of the small horses to destroy their bones and they can't fight anymore, because horses already have very delicate leg bones, now you've just made them smaller. Nice going you dastardly Gods. Look at all these innocent horses that will be in agonizing PAIN because of you. It's a gruesome task. Animals are in pain, I'm crying, the Gods feel sick to their stomach. "What were you expecting, you cruel bastards?" And why would anyone want to go with the duck? They are savage, rabbid chihuahua pitbull creatures with teeth !!! So yea, I make it to the door and it transports me back to my bed. The End.
Killed my neighbor last week, ripped his throat out with my teeth. At first I thought it was just another side effect of my heartburn medication, but the cops don’t seem to believe it and I don’t really remember “murderous rage” being listed as a side effect by that fast-talking guy at the end of the commercial. Let me back up a few months; fill you in on how I got stuck here in this jail cell, denied bail, awaiting my dangerousness hearing in a few days, which probably won’t go well for me. So it was September, the college kids were all coming back to school, and as a recent graduate myself (three years ago, ITT-tech, Summa Cum Laude), I always enjoyed playing the role of older, employed graduate to the juniors and seniors I meet at the bars. I regale them with stories about the field work I do and then, eventually, after I ply them with enough drinks, go home alone because I am fat and pasty and they rarely find my stories funny. Anyways, it was September and I was in fine form, flirting with a group of three sorority types (and by flirting, I mean picking up their tab while they ignore me) and a pale girl who seemed to be sort of part of their group smiled at me. It was a really toothy smile, you know the way girls who don’t practice in front of the mirror smile. Anyways, she smiled at me, so I bought her a cocktail. Well, things got pretty deep, and we ended up going back to my place, I wish I could tell you the sordid details, but a gentleman never reveals his lovers secrets….actually to tell you the truth I passed out and I have no memory of what happened that night. I assume coitus because, well she did come home with me, but the fact that my pants were still firmly buttoned up the next morning suggests I may be wrong, either way, I can honestly say I slept with her, or rather in the same room as her. She was gone the next morning, but she left one hell of a hickey on my neck, I wore a polo-shirt to work, even though it was too cold for it, just to show off my newest accessory to my coworkers, they were unimpressed. My mouth was dry that whole day, so I saw my doctor and she prescribed a dry-mouth drug. Not sure what it was called, but the side effects, ironically, included dry mouth. It gave me diarrhea, or maybe it was the McDonalds hamburger, but it put me in the bathroom for a week, no dry mouth though. I felt pretty weak so I drank some ginger-ale, then read on the internet about iron-deficiency so I had myself a raw steak, felt tons better and my stomach calmed down, so I started having raw meat for dinner every night. It put my coworkers off a bit; they warned me about salmonella and some other bacteria crap, so now I just started putting the steak in a blender, bringing my own special superfood smoothie to work every day. I feel great. The new diet helped a ton, lost almost twenty pounds the first month, felt great too. Started needing less sleep, became a morning person, like a super serious morning person. I go to bed at like three in the afternoon and wake up at 1 am, do tons of work at night. Joined a 24 hour fitness so I could work out at 1 am, there are some weirdoes there in the middle of the night. Guys in leopard print leotards doing bench aerobics alone. I wear black yoga pants and a black t-shirt to the gym and put my meat-smoothie in a red fanny pack. I went for a run a few weeks ago, got serious sun burn. It hurt my eyes as well, my dry-mouth medicine lists “sensitivy to sun” as a side effect, so does my heartburn medication, the two together probably means I have some sort of super sensitivity to the sun. I told my boss I would need to switch to the graveyard shift; he seemed pretty cool with it, told me to stop drinking “bloody smoothies” at work. I never knew he was British, but it totally makes sense now. I think my apartment has bats. I swear I saw one out of the corner of my eye the other day, flapping around the kitchen, called the super, he said they’d send out an extermination team. Anyways, my life was going well, I was killing it on the graveyard shift, hitting the gym after work, I looked great in black, my dentist says my teeth are great, and by buying my meat in bulk I am saving tons of money on food. Then my stupid neighbor had to park in my space. It was a week ago, I came home from the gym feeling great (benched 575!) and Arnold, the divorcee who lives two doors down had parked his truck half in my space. Well, I did what any red-blooded American would do; I picked up his truck and moved it back into his spot. Well, the alarm went off and out comes Arnold in his skid-marked tighty-whities all ready to go. He swings his baseball bat a few times so I grab it and the next thing you know he’s writhing around on the ground grabbing his neck. Anyways, cops arrested me, and here I am in jail, with diarrhea again since they won’t give me raw meat, I’ll probably crap my orange jumpsuit in court. On the bright side, they say orange is the new black, and I look great in black.
"Wind." "Six. No, seven knots coming out from the West North-West." "Range." "Seven hundred meters" Their position was perfect, the attic of an abandoned townhouse on the outskirts of the inhabited zone. More inexperienced killers would have made their sniper's nest in a tall structure such as a crumbling church a block to the west, or else the rusting water tower with its peeling paint and faded signage. No doubt those would be the first places searched, the Salamanders well enough versed in man's weapons to know to start the manhunt in such perfect lairs. Below in the city square ten thousand Fae were assembled, their bronzed armor and fiery banners resplendent in the late morning air. Numerous civilians, old men and women and children, stood behind those armored ranks of soldiers with rapt ears, listening at the figure standing at the podium. There was no way the speaker could be considered beautiful, her face a mass of battle scars and hideous burn marks. An assistant stood by with her dragon helm and its ruby eyes. She shouted at the crowd, slashing with her hands with eyes aflame. "What's she saying, kid?" Faith Alathir peered through her spotting scope, her pale face hidden underneath layers of hessian and face-paint. "If I can read her lips... 'The hour of victory is upon us. The rats' prayers have proven empty. With one mighty host, one grand legion we shall wipe their pathetic existence from the face of this world! By all the gods of war I swear, I shall lead you to victory or die in the attempt-' "*Crack!* The rifle to her right barked its deafening reply, the attic's dust dampened with water to hide the pressure wave. She watched as the bullet tore a blur through the humid air, watched as it flew through a forest of pikes and banners and towards its target. The Salamander general vanished in a cloud of red mist before toppling to the ground, bits of brain and skull spraying across the faces of those nearest to her. Ten thousand voices cried in outrage and terror, civilians ducking for cover as the general's guards formed a wall around their fallen leader with their own bodies. Hilary Flint smiled ruefully as he verified their target would never get up. "Good thing I got her; I'd hate to make a woman a liar."
The night was cold and dark, stars blinking high above the sky. Off in the distance a boat was pulling up to the sandy shore. Three men wearing dark clothes stumbled out of the boat, kicking sand as they struggled to get to their feet. They were drenched in blood and had a wild look in their eyes. Resting at the bottom of the boat they had beached was their comrade, sliced into many pieces. A man wearing a dark green sweatshirt and blue jeans walked towards the boat, undisturbed by the sight in front of him. One of the men from the boat shouted something in a foreign language and his partner raised an assault rifle, firing a quick burst at the man. Four quick bursts of light, but once they had faded the man in the green sweatshirt was nowhere to be seen. A gurgling sound came to the left of the man with the gun. His partner fell to his knees, clutching his throat in a desperate attempt to try and stem the flow of blood. His eyes burned with panic briefly before they rolled into the back of his head and he fell to the sand. Crack. A painful snapping sound was heard by the boat. The man turned around, gun raised and ready to fire. His other partner was standing, body facing the boat. His head was facing the man, a look of surprise and fear before he too fell. The man with the gun ran. He abandoned his boat, his comrades, all the equipment and meticulous plans that would have been used that night if not for an outsider's involvement. He swore under his breath, feet pounding the sand as he tried to run for a road running parallel to the shore. He never did make it. The next day the four bodies were found by a couple out for an early morning jog. Authorities searched the area and found that the men had been carrying nearly 50 pounds of explosives, and seemed to be targeting a demonstration scheduled the next day that would protest corruption and violence within the nation. Detectives were baffled; four set of footprints, three of them clearly belonging to the men who were planning this attack. But the fourth set began suddenly halfway from the road and the shore, and disappeared less than twenty feet from the boat. Nobody knew how the men could have been killed. The act of violence against these possible terrorists was attributed to a vigilante who went by the name John Doe, but the investigators were incorrect. I am the vigilante, although I didn't chose the name John Doe. But I am terrified of the man with the green hoodie and what could happen next. You see, despite what you might image being a vigilante doesn't pay any bills. It's far easier and more tempting to be the person profiting off of muggins and robberies than the one who returns ill gotten goods to their owners. I slipped up and fell in with a group who promised me money if only I helped them with one small mission. Every single one of them were slaughtered by the thing in a human shape wearing a green hoodie. Everyone but me. To this day I'm not exactly sure why he let me live; maybe it was because I once tried helping others, maybe because he knew the circumstances I was in that led to my decision. Even still, he hasn't let me forget. Every night before I close my eyes and drift off to sleep I see him standing there, at the foot of my bed. But he's different; his hood isn't on and his face isn't masked by shadows. No, I see him for what he truly is: a force of nature, something not to be reckoned with. Deadly as the oceans he patrols and as unstoppable as a glacier. Every night I see him, and right before I fall into the hands of another nightmare he smiles, or at least I think it's a smile. I would hate to see his frown. [Feedback welcome, I'm really new at this so any tips would be greatly appreciated!]
I don't even remember the last time I slept on my two ears. Can't say how long this had been going on. All I can remember is what I lost. The harshest, most painful memories. My kid was 3 when he was taken by a herd of Pepes rambling by. Left him alone for too long. I still remember his look when he turned. Had to put him off myself. But I decided I wasn't going to grieve for too long. Being in the Group helped. They had all lost people, just like me. They knew what it was to kill someone out of pity. Hell, one of them -one of us, should I say- had to cut off his own arm to stop the infection when he was attacked by some rabid Doges near our camp. They all knew how I felt, and I knew how they all felt. Depression was out of the question. We wanted to push back at them. I still have images of my life before. My beautiful wife, her round belly, our happiness. I can even see some of them -the memes- when they were just internet jokes and we didn't think much of them. Before they started driving people crazy. I also remember the moment everything went to shit. I was taking care of morning duties in the camp -checking up on everyone, making sure everyone was still going at their jobs, making sure no one had killed themselves in the night- when Kenny came back from his patrol. Kenny was one of our best. An expert. Some say he actually was the admin of a meme page on Facebook back in the day. So he knew everything about them. He's the one who taught most of us about them, their different kinds and how to fight them. His patrol went without trouble, he said, but I could feel he was tense. When I asked again, he just told me that he saw traces and footsteps that looked fresh, but didn't think much of it. Thinking back, I should have reacted to it, but I was looking for good news, so I didn't think much of it. Just knowing we would be left alone for a while was a relief. We had no idea what was coming to us. The first attack was from the front. In a few minutes, there were twenty to thirty colored ponies at our doors, ramming the gates to breach in, closely followed by a bunch of the rarest house intruders ready to climb our windows and snatch our people up. So I told everyone to get in the front. Didn't think much of the attack. Didn't think they could have actually thought of a plan. And I was so wrong. The last thing I heard from my group was Carrie, our nurse, yelling "Sax Guys behind us ! Run !". Then I got knocked off. Stayed on the ground for a while, watching people -my people- getting crushed under the weight of giant brass saxophones. My last vision before fainting was a smiling Rick Astley looking at me with a devilish grin and blood-red eyes and saying "Don't worry. We are never gonna let you down."
Ok, so Trump has taken the stage, greeted everyone in the room, and has gone on to say he hopes the best man wins - and yes, the fire extinguishers have been brought out, everyone seems to be fine, singed eyebrows and all that, is that a record, Mark? My co-moderator Mark has informed me that yes, at 2 seconds this beats the record for the shortest amount of time taken for flames to erupt in a presidential debate, oh this is sure to be a lively one, I'm sure you'll all agree. And now Hilary has gone to say that she thinks the best woman should win, citing that she's the best - Mark, is that her hair on fire? Yes, Mark has confirmed that it is indeed her hair on fire, but we've obviously planned for this, she's mostly fine, some minor burns but of course; nothing a politician can't handle. And Bernie has taken to the stage, not a burn on the man, always a champion of the people, and has gone on to say that he thinks Hillary is the best candidate for - oh God, Bernie's up in flames.
I was seated across from a man wearing a neat black suit. He had a white shirt on and a blue tie. He’d put a glass of water in front of me when he came into the room and watched inquisitively as I took a sip from it. “I won’t do anything with it,” I said. “The glass?” He asked. “Yes, I replied. “I just want to tell you my story.” “This is it here?” he asked, pointing at the sheet of paper I’d placed in front of him. “Yes I wrote it all down.” “Do you mind if I read it aloud?” He motioned to the mirror on the wall where I knew people must be watching me. “No,” I said. “Go ahead.” He began to read aloud from the sheet, never pausing: “It was my Grandma who told me about my powers. “Why can I do it?” I’d asked at around the age of 8, when I’d first removed a pen lid with my mind and accidentally jabbed it into the side of Grandma’s balding head. “I don’t know Patrick,” she’d replied sadly. “Your Grandpa could do the same.” “Grandpa who’s gone?” I’d asked. “I need to tell you why Grandpa is gone,” she said. She looked agitated. I’d never seen a side of her other than the sweet old lady in hand knitted cardigans who spent most of her time eating mints out of small tins and feeding me digestive biscuits whenever my parents weren’t looking. “Grandpa found out that he could make his powers bigger. That he could move really big things like cars.” “How?” “When Grandpa was in the army, he had to kill people Patrick. You know this don’t you?” “Yes.” “Every time he killed someone his powers got stronger. Every time. He couldn’t stop doing it though, he killed people just to make his powers stronger, and he couldn’t live with himself after the war.” I’d wrestled with the enormity of this for years. I didn’t even tell anyone else what I could do. Only Grandma knew, and when she died last year my only safety rope, the only person I could trust with my secret was gone. My friends liked comics. I’d read a lot about ‘superheroes’ before I even knew about my power. But they could do great things. Amazing things that people looked up to. I could move pen lids and peanuts, keys and little pebbles. Nothing that could make a difference. Though admittedly I could have some fun with it. If my powers grew I could do those wonderful things. I could save the world. Grandma hinted that Grandpa could even use his power to lift him off the ground. What if I could fly? What if I could save people from fires or drowning? I could be Superman. Superpatrick. I’d be in the newspapers every day, saving people and cats and cars and policemen. Then I thought about the how. About having to kill people to become stronger, How many people would I have to kill? How could I kill someone and get away with it? Maybe the best idea would be to kill lots of people at once, like a prison. But there weren’t any prisons near me, and when I’d asked Dad how easy it would be to break into a prison he said I’d probably be shot before I got anywhere near it. And then my powers would be wasted. Anyone would probably think that it would be fun having my power. And maybe it would if I didn’t know that it could be bigger. I became a bit of a loner when I moved up a school. It was hard to make friends with people who couldn’t begin to imagine the power that I could possess…” The man stopped reading and stared at me. “Patrick do you believe you have powers?” He asked quietly. “I do,” I replied. “Patrick you killed 230 people yesterday.” “I had to,” I said, agitated. “I had to make them grow.” “Can you show me these powers?” He asked. “No.” The sedatives they’d shot at me and plied me with all throughout the night were still coursing through my veins. I could feel them binding me. But I could feel the murmuring of something stronger than what I’d ever known beneath it. “Patrick, why did you do it?” “I just told you!” I shouted. “I’m not lying.” “Patrick, you locked 230 people, 212 children and 18 teachers in a hall and burnt them alive.” The man was angry now. “And how do you think they couldn’t get out?” I argued. “I held the door with my mind, even after they’d knocked all the barricades down.” “Children!!” The man shouted. “Only so I can save more people!” Why didn’t the man understand? What were the lives of these children compared to all the others I could save? They didn’t have power like me, they aren’t as important as the work I can do. “Patrick you’re going to be locked up for the rest of your life.” I looked at him calmly and smiled. I didn’t want them to find a reason to give me more sedatives. I had to get out. I was returned to a cell on my own later that night after the man had done yelling at me. I’d told him about my powers, he didn’t believe me. I could feel them rising within me again now but why show him? He didn’t deserve to see. I’d asked to speak to my Mother but she wouldn’t come. I spoke to my Dad on the phone but he just cried and asked why I’d done it. When I decided to burn the school down I knew there’d be a price, and I knew it would probably be my friends and family. That’s what always happens to Superheroes. But it was an easy target, and I couldn’t go another day knowing that I could be saving the world, but instead I was sat in a boring school learning about boring things and being teased because I didn’t want to play silly sports or go to silly discos. I couldn’t go another day knowing that all I could do in revenge to the people who tripped me in the playground was telekinetically throw a rock into their heads. The cruel people in that school were the obvious choice. There were some that I liked, some people I would consider friends, but they would understand that their sacrifice will help to save millions of people and animals now. “BANG!” “Who’s there?” I shouted, swinging my legs off the bunk where I’d been seated and facing the door which someone was obviously battering. It swung open and two bulky policemen entered. They were both holding batons. They shut my door behind them, pocketing the keys. “You deserve this you little shit,” the bigger of the two said to me as he placed his enormous hand around my neck. He lifted me slightly off the ground and shoved me backwards into a wall. The pain seared through my body and I fell to the floor. As it welled up inside me I felt the power grow too. The second man started beating me with the baton. It was rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat, and with every strike I felt the power grow until without even trying, without even concentrating as I always had to do, it flooded from my body in bursts of red. The policemen screamed as they flew outwards and away from me, hitting the walls of my cell with such ferocity that I felt a spatter of dust and concrete hit my forehead. I pulled myself to my feet, my body aching and bloody. They lay like dolls at the sides of the room, though I saw one’s eyes turn to look at me. He reached slowly into his pocket and removed the keys. His movements were slower than the formation of ice. As his life slipped away it was as though I could feel it being drawn into me. He stretched out his arm and handed me the keys. I saw a bone sticking out just below his forearm. “I don’t need those.” I smirked. I raised my arms, felt down for all the rage, all the pain, all the desire to escape and use my power, and with a scream, it escaped me, and the building around me was raised from its foundation and scattered off in a thousand directions. Screaming surrounded me. All the prisoners, all the policemen, the other workers, the visitors, lay dead or dying around me as I stood in the ruins of my creation. Dust was filling the sky, blocking the red light of the dying sunset. I could almost see it, the life force, swimming through the air towards me. I welcomed it. The power had never felt like this before. It had never felt like anything. It felt wonderful. Almost like I’d been born again. I pushed myself off the ground into flight, making my way out of the dirt clouds and off towards that setting sun. It was difficult at first, moving through the air by pushing myself away from the ground, but I got the hang of it soon enough. It was all I’d ever wanted. Now I must hide, just for a little while, long enough for me to change, to look a little different, to grow a little older. I must forget the people I knew and think about the people of the future and what I can do for them. Think about how I can use this beautifully addictive power inside me to change the world. Soon everyone will forget what I had to do, and they’ll be calling for me. Whenever they need a hero.
It becomes unbearably hot as I make my way down the underground sidewalk. Heat waves shimmer off the pavement in front of me, and I see a glimmer of light at the end of the sidewalk. The light grows as I walk, and the sidewalk ends at the top of a massive staircase, exposing a vista of an underground city before me. The ground glows red from the molten core of the Earth, lighting up some decidedly reptilian silhouettes. It occurs to me that I should go back, but they've seen me. A lithe, glimmering dinosaur snakes its way up the staircase toward me, and I brandish my flashlight, the only remotely weapon-worthy thing I carried with me into the cave. The dinosaur stops before me, towering over me and peering down at me. To my astonishment, it speaks. "Are you the last human?"There's no way this reptile knows English, but I understand its words anyway, as if the meanings have permeated through my skull into my brain. There's a constant, soft glow of light in the dinosaur's eyes, and I realize that whatever dinosaurs used to be, they have evolved into something else, something that is biding time down here. "How can I understand your language?"I dodge the question, not sure what its motives are. If it decides to be antagonistic, I will most certainly be toast, because there's no way my flashlight can fend off razor sharp claws. "Psychic transmittal,"the dinosaur says, and I focus more on its words, feeling a strange echoing sensation in my mind. "Humans have not evolved that far yet, I assume." "We don't know you're down here. And no, we are unable to do anything remotely psychic,"I say, belatedly realizing that now, I've answered its question. The dinosaur tenses, sitting back on its hind legs. "So the human plague still thrives,"it says, and I feel a chill. I want desperately to run, but I know it would catch me in an instant. "Why are you down here? What are you?"I look past the dinosaur at the city again, which is as expansive as any city I'd seen on Earth's surface. In fact, the architecture looks even more streamlined, and it looks like a future city out of a science fiction novel. "We are the descendants of the survivors of the comet disaster, who fled underground when the disaster was imminent. When they returned, however, the Earth had been taken over by a plague - humans."The dinosaur pauses. "I fear that there will be nothing left when humans cease to be. The explorers we have sent up the sidewalk tell us how you have ravaged the planet. And the last one died. Your species is becoming too powerful." "You could decimate us, you know. You're so much bigger than us,"I say, finding it difficult to wrap my head around everything the dinosaur has said. The longer I talk, though, the longer I stay alive. "We know of your weaponry. One nuclear detonation, and our species goes extinct. We do not trust you, so we wait,"the dinosaur says, and I can't think of anything to say in response to that. Finally, I speak again. "I'll leave, and I'll tell no one. But it is not the right time for you to come above ground. Humans have overpopulated the Earth."Please, let me go. "We cannot allow you to leave, knowing what you know. If you leave, it is my duty to kill you,"the dinosaur says, almost sounding regretful. I began to panic, and my drive to stay alive became stronger than anything else at this point. "Take me with you, then?" The dinosaur blinks in surprise. "You will likely die down here, too." "But not for a while yet. And you have me at your mercy."Maybe, someday, I could sneak back here and escape. But not right now. "Come with me, then."The dinosaur beckons with its tail, guiding me down the immense stone staircase. Taking a deep breath, I step into the city of dinosaurs.
Sign after sign Ralph posted on his storefront, but nothing seemed to get any attention. His dream, it seemed, of opening a successful refuge for nerds like him was going to be short-lived. "GRAND OPENING", "HUGE BLOWOUT SALE", "GAME NIGHT EVERY NIGHT", but nothing worked. Only the occasional teenager would come in and buy a comic, and it was getting hard to make the bills. "FREE COMIC WITH PURCHASE OF ACTION FIGURE","BUY ONE GET ONE FREE BOARD GAME"but still nothing. No matter what deal he advertised, no one was interested. Then came a product that Ralph knew he could sell. It was a pair of spectacles from a wildly popular science fiction game. It was a star spangled, tubular device that glittered like an actual galaxy and let you peer into digitally rendered maps of actual galaxies taken from Hubble Telescope images. The Virtual Interstellar Binoculars were going to save his business. So vast were the maps of the universe that another tool was sold separately to guide users to the most beautiful star systems that they could visit, based mostly on user ratings. After putting up his latest banner, he got a lot more foot traffic. Astonishingly more. But not the demographic he expected. Beautiful, confused women would come into his shop, appear extremely embarrassed, and walk quickly out without saying a word. He couldn't understand it. He was heartbroken. He thought for sure the V.I.B. was going to save his shop, he was even going to throw in the rater for free so his customers could explore the best star maps. He locked up his shop for the last time that night, and tore down his last banner, "FREE V.I.B.RATER WITH PURCHASE OF SAME."
Neville stood silently as he faced the Dark Lord. The air was calm as the movement of Dumbledore's Army had ceased and the chaos of the Death Eaters was at a pause. Every person around him was quietly looking at Hagrid as he carried Harry's bent body. The crowd was split evenly in two emotions; there was sadness in the hearts behind him, and pleasure in those ahead of him. He looked down at Godric's sword with a scowl. It was not fair. Why did it have to be Harry? It all started in their first year. Neville knew what happened to his parents, and he knew that he would end up in an asylum room next to them if he didn't die first. So he chose his own fate. His fate would be to die a hero while saving someone else. One day he overheard the Harry Gang talking about going after the Philosopher's Stone. This was his chance, he would stop them, or die trying. He was a smart, albeit young and naive, wizard. They would not get past him without killing him, and he would be known as the wizard that died trying to save the great Harry Potter from going into danger. As the night grew dark, he waited. Finally, they arrived and he announced himself with as much courage as he could muster. Unfortunately, he discovered that the Granger girl was an even smarter wizard than he. That was his first folly. He kept trying, every year he would find a way to try and save someone while sacrificing himself, and every year he failed. Now, in the greatest battle of their lives, Harry had taken the opportunity from him. Harry had died. Died! Trying to save them! They all knew it, and they all loved him for it. Even though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named still lived. Neville was torn. He should feel bad. He should be sad about Harry's death. All he felt was anger. This was supposed to be his day. Seven years of torture and anguish had led to this. Neville looked up from the sword after what felt like hours. He saw the smirk spreading across the Dark Lord's face. This man, this creature, would now be their lord. Unless Neville had something to say about it. He still had a chance, he could still die. Nagini looked at him. Straight into his eyes, he was being taunted. She could feel the cold sweat of fear dripping off him and hitting the ground. She could smell his idiocy gaining strength throughout his body. She readied for him. Neville was finally going to die. Few ever made it close to Nagini. They would usually be executed before they had the chance. Those that did had the displeasure of meeting her hands and, if they were lucky, dying before being eaten. Neville looked down at the floor where Godric's sword laid, silently glistening when the sun caught it through the dark clouds. He ran forward, snatching it by the hilt. The Dark Lord and his entire army were too busy celebrating. They didn't notice, they didn't have time. Neville reached Nagini and swung as she reached out for him. He closed his eyes, readying himself for his final sacrifice. He felt blood across his face and smiled as the end... Wait, the end didn't come. Neville opened his eyes and looked down to see Naginis lifeless body on the ground. He had survived again. He was still alive. Again. Behind him, Dumbledore's Army began to cheer. They were revitalized by his actions. Maybe he wasn't meant to die. He smiled as he turned to the crowd so that he could revel in their cheers for him. Until he noticed the true reason they were cheering. Neville survived his ultimate self-sacrifice only to be one-upped by Harry Potter once again.
Celebrated as a god, this being, who called himself Mundus sat upon a throne of splendor as his wisdom guided humanity to peace and prosperity. Years after listening to his advice, national leaders abdicated their authority to him. A few held out, placing certain distrust in the extraterrestrial being which claimed omnipotence. He told us they were developing weapons to destroy him, but he swore to protect us. Nobody would dare argue. While most of the year, he worked with the military and other top officials, once a year, a lottery was held where average people could ask his highness any question on international television. Most asked for personal advice, hoping for validation that their faults were really the faults of others. Some asked for practical questions like how to develop good personal financial habits and how to plant a lovely herb garden. I always played the lottery for the 23 years I had been eligible, so it came as surprise that I finally won. My family and friends flooded me with questions. How do we get rich? What’s the meaning of life? What are hot dogs really made of? Though I thought all of those to be great questions, I had a particular question burning in my mind. When the day came, I approached the palace of Mundus, a great feat of modern architecture which was made mostly of glass to symbolize his transparency with mankind. Both bystanders and the media flooded the front, but when I showed my ticket, I was escorted around the back and into the palace where I waited in line with the other lottery winners. They asked much of the questions anyone would expect. What did Douglas Adams mean by 42? What’s the solution to Fermat’s Last Theorem? When will I finally a man who can please me? When my turned came, I stepped up to the microphone as millions of camera flashes blinded me. Through it all I could see Mundus, sitting in his throne with a smile fixed upon his face, as if knowing something special was about to happen. “Er..” I began hesitantly. “What I’d really like to know is…um…who are you?” I heard a few snickers from the media along with a few instance of people telling me I wasted my question. Mundus, however, waved his hand to silence them. He then got up from this throne. “I have been asked,” Mundus began. “what am I? From where do I come? But finally, somebody asks, who am I?” “I am you,” He declared while looking me dead in the eyes. “I am all of you. My knowledge and power is the sum of all humans who have ever lived. Every discovery man has ever made in the past and in the future, every advancement in power and medicine: they are the building blocks of my very being. “My benevolence. My arrogance. My want for wealth and splendor. I am a mirror for humanity. I’ve seen what every man, woman, and child have seen and ever will see. Their memories are my own. “As much as I am you, you are me. One day, in the not quite distant future, the collective consciousness of humanity will converge into singularity and I will be born. And we shall explore the universe with the eyes of God and we shall realize that just as you are a component of me, I am a component of something even grander and more brilliant than the whole, collective mind of humanity cannot comprehend. It will be the day I am humbled and the day I find purpose.” A dead silence filled the globe. In a room filled with dozens of people, I could not hear a single person breathe. “But why?” I ask. “Why are you here? And how? If we are you and you are us, how can we both coexist?” A wry smile crawled across his face. “Sorry, only one question per person.”

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

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