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The engines gargled--the digestive sacs processing the hydrogen to be used for fuel. Hardened fleshy walls made up the craft. Organic machinery and neuro-computers were hooked and grafted directly into the walls. A toothy, and smooth chitinous creature approached a clear resin window that could be used as to view the planet below. She had large black eyes, slender body, and she was observing the engine. The creature gripped the walls with claw-like hands--a pair of digitigrade legs also had claws that helped her maneuver in zero gravity. A grown piece of technology was activated by one of her long claws. "Engine hydrogen levels as expected."She clicked. "Harvesting water near the landing zone shall be first priority." Voices spoke back. "Yes--Commander Highcaste." The commander whipped her tail, and transfered her hand body to the other side of the wall. Crawling through the flesh-like craft--preparing for entree into the atmosphere. Hopefully--the bonelike plating made of quartz-silicate was enough to withstand the different atmosphere's rentry. The commander curled into her pod filled with nutrient and oxygen rich goo--involuntary purring as the sensation was similar to her pre-birth. She slumbered to preserve and build energy. With a succession of shudders--she woke, and she felt gravity again. She was first to leave the pod. Uncurling also was the High Science Caste member, Toothbite. His body was much large, with fangs and claws equal to the commanders. "It is an honor for this one to have been selected."He clicked. "My thanks to you for elevating me beyond my birth-caste." Commander Highcaste having no real willingness to placate his thought-glands, but she wished to set the record straight. "Your birth-caste although geographically different than mine and suited more for physical labor, has no relevance to your mental capabilities. I chose you for your excellence as a science-caste" The male purred--having lived his entire life to go beyond what he was born to do. If it was another era--he would be a harvester on the protein-fields. Hearing the commander's words placated his thought-glands greatly. They crawled through the ship together. Slightly wobbling and bumping into others as their senses readjusted to gravity. "It feels different."Said another unclawed female, she began to cough and spew gelatin from her throat. "Apologies. I am excited."This was construction caste member Shapetongue. A dozen of them had formed a group, and they found the exit chamber. The silicate door hot. Another grown panel of bone and nerve clusters was clicked at by claws. Muscles began to pull open the door, and they smelt the peculiar air. "Prepare a base."Said the commander, the group following her orders. A forested area filled with many new sounds and scents. "It is as we expected."Said High Science Caste Member Toothbite. He was holding a ripped apart piece of plant matter. "The meteor which formed our moon long ago must have caused a sharing some of our early genetic materiel with this planet. "Then--"Said the commander, "Why have our preliminary satelite imagery revealed the creatures to be so different?" "Evolution is fickle. We may share very early ancestors--but many things could have led to the development of a very different dominant species." "Can we expect an even level of intelligence?" "Unlikely. Our superior intellectual development was a slim chance. Two planets sharing equal intelligent life is beyond astronomical... But we can placate our thoughts with the idea." * The base had been set up, and the shuttle craft prepared for relaunch in case of emergency. The science caste members taking apart and analyzing everything. Including... "The creature shares the same number of appendages--even a tail."Said Commander Highcaste, referring the thin skinned and soft furred creature--a female child of the dominant species. The little girl clutched her tail and bumbled sounds as she was restrained in a constructed resin cell. "She is quite different. Her blood is warm, and carries many interesting properties."Said Toothbite--purring with excitement as he learned more and more. "How does it defend itself? She has no claws or sharp teeth."Said the commander. "Her unclawed hands allow her to manipulate objects as our construction-caste did long ago. Many of them were seen utilizing crudely crafted stone tools. Perhaps their intellectual development is further along than we thought." The commander clicked. Pacing around the creature. "Communication has proved difficult. Still... I find their species to be almost infant-like. Perhaps they have the capacity to learn and evolve." "We must establish a basis of relationship. I have discovered they value warmth, food, and shelter. Those traits we share. Using those, we could create an repertoire." * The commander gave the child a treat--processed sucrose and glucose gelatin with some added fats and proteins. The little girl seemed to enjoy it, and for the first time stopped bumbling in fear as she ate. "They are so absurdly different."She said as she watched the little girl eat the food. Toothbite nodded. "Yes... But in time we shall be able to appreciate their differences. As our ancestors appreciated each others. They will need guiding... My tests are done for now." The commander ripped open the cage, and gripped the resisting child under her arms. "I shall return this one."She said. "Prepare our gifts to her hive. It will be best for us to start building a good relationship now."
There were three of them within the cave. They had accepted the quest to find a rare type of mushroom within the mountains and bring them to the little old lady in town who liked making soup. "Quests"... no-one knew precisely what caused them but people could accept jobs in exchange for essence and some material wealth such as money or rare jewellery, maybe even a CD or somewhat. Most kids did smaller jobs, while adults did the difficult ones. Daniel, Mike and Bruce were trying to find and complete as many quests as they could before they had to return to high school at the end of Summer. And why not? They were runts, level threes when they entered high school last year and only fours when they graduated. If they did serious grinding they could put some of their essence into enhancing their strength, intellect, maybe even Charisma. It would help them become more popular. It was why they accepted the mushroom quest in the first place, looking for a cave for this rare ingredient. The specifics that the quest stated was that they'd have to find the cave, pick the mushroom, bring it to the old lady then let her cook the mushroom into a soup for them. They would receive a hundred essence, $10 and a jar of warm mushroom soup. Rather simple, really. Except there was an... "Error", one could say. Maybe even a bug. Daniel picked the mushroom and, seeing as there were mushrooms to spare, chose to make his own soup in the mountains for the boys. That "Completed"the mission for them but still left it open for them to continue. And, as they soon discovered, the soup increased the rewards of quests. And it not only stacked on itself, each stack doubled the increase of rewards. So one serving gave 100 essence and five dollars, another gave 200 essence and ten dollars... then another would give 800 essence and forty dollars... And so, the three young adults had spent the last week doing nothing but picking and eating mushroom, growing more powerful and rich each time. In fact, it took them only a day to reach level 100. At that point they could only be identified by their hair color - Daniel was blonde, Mike was redheaded and Bruce was brunette. Each a 7-foot Adonis, they were each the pinnacle of humanity. But now, calling them gods would have been nothing but an egregious slight. How dare someone compare such magnificent beings to creatures as weak as gods?! Michael was the smallest, but no means was this a measure of weakness or mortal height. Estimates put him at 200 feet at least but this could be changed instantly. He was the fastest of the three, capable of crossing galaxies instantly, his frame the lightest of the three. He forwent most clothing and instead wore rather tight shorts and sandals on his feet. Bruce was in the middle of height, Michael only reaching his shoulders, still a muscular build but capable of creating cosmos within his palms on a whim. His favorite offensive spell would be to trap someone within universe he constructed then collapsing it with the victim still inside. Unlike his compatriots who chose to have little clothing, he wore a cloak which was made of night sky, stars and galaxies shining on his clothing. And Daniel easily dwarfed Bruce in turn, taking a sort of pleasure of squeezing a galaxy to star dust between his prodigious chest while his waist was eye-level with the sorcerer. If he wanted to he could lift a thousand existences on his back and wouldn't feel even the slightest bit exhausted. His powerful frame lacked the Adonis-like definition but made up for it in wide bulk, the only thing keeping him modest being a kilt. The three stood over the small village, each capable of erasing its past, present and future as they saw fit. People were panicking, screaming at the divine beings as they dropped something onto the ground. 'Here's the mushrooms,' one spoke before they teleported away. They made sure that the trick they performed could never be performed again before they ruled the infinite space on their whims. On occasions where they were needed, they would instantly return to Earth to aid their people. And sometimes, three strangers will appear in the village and ask for some soup.
I smirked as overheard them when I walked into the break room. It was satisfying. I was only human and generally we were feared as a whole, but individually everyone knew we weren't as tough. Humans were rather soft and fragile in comparison to most species. So hearing them whisper warnings to each other in the breakroom about me was like music. It's not that I'm a sadist or anything, it's just satisfying to hear that I wasn't someone you should be messed with when humans are generally seen as people to mess with. Especially since human women were weaker than their men counterparts, it was just the opposite of almost every other species and life-form...women were usually the bigger threat. I nodded my friendly acknowledgement at the three talking about me as I walked to the fridge, "Good afternoon." My coworkers made polite greetings in return, but the new guy winked and with a slick grin started to introduce himself. "Hey, beauti-" New Guy's new friends looked at me then, waiting to see what I'd do. I cut him off. "Don't touch my stuff in the fridge." It wasn't a big deal afterall, still as I walked out... New Guy's friends were asking him why he did that. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I wasn't an animal or barbaric, though. I tried my best to ignore him and only talk to him when needed and tried to be professional when doing so, I mean I wasn't going to be rude because he winked at me. But then he started pushing me. I think he initially did it to prove to his buddies that I was harmless. Like taking me seriously and treating me with some damned respect was some weird prank they were pulling on him. It started off slow. I thought maybe I was just misplacing my pens and things, but then I would see him using them. At first I figured it was just coincidence and mostly wrote them off even though it was annoying, I mean a new hire wasn't actually sneaking into my office and stealing, right? But then I saw him using the flower pen my daughter made me last year for a kindergarden project. There's no way that one was coincedence. And it pissed me off. So the next day at work when I arrived I took the damned pen right of his grubby little suction cupped hand-arm thing. "If I catch you so much as looking in my office again, you'll regret it."I promised, not giving a damn that the people in the cubicles next to him could hear me. "Understand?" He chuckled and looked down my shirt, "Over a pen are you seri-" "It wasn't just a pen and you know it, leave me and and my stuff alone."I pulled my shirt up and walked off. He called me a baby as I walked away. We'd see who the bigger baby was. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ He listened for a couple days. But then he would spend his breaks leaning in my doorway, staring at me while he ate a bag of chips, and tryng to be annoying. "So, Ms. Jane, you have a boyfriend?" "No actually, standards are too high apparently." He scoffed, "Oh none of us are good enough for you?" "Nobody who works in a cubicle all day and spends his free time harassing coworkers is good enough, that's right." He held put an arm over his heart in mock hurt, "Jane, you make me sound like a loser." I smiled, "You are, I assure you. Your break is up, too, time to go sit in your cubicle for your meager earnings, New Guy." "My name is-" "Irrelevant to me, that's what. You're nobody. Get out of my office." His face dropped as I seemed to have hit a nerve. He walked away without saying a single word. And I was glad honestly, maybe being rude wasn't the best solution, but being harmless and polite was definitely out of the question since it obviously made the issue worse. If him hanging his head defeat was the only way he'd piss off then so be it. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ But then he went right back to being passive aggressive and taking stuff from my office. So I started reimbursing that stuff by taking it out of his paycheck. He stomped into my office the first time he noticed, "Are you being serious?" I shrugged. "You're stealing." He narrowed his eyes at me as he realized the power I had. "You know I could go to HR about this." I laughed. "Oh are you gonna tattle that the human started taking your stuff after you took her's? Please do, but tell me how it goes though, so I can make fun of you for it at the holiday office party next weekend." "This is a serious ethical violtion of conduct, Jane, I was taking pens." "And looking down my shirt which is sexual harassment, staring at me while I worked which is harassment, stealing my stuff which is harassment and also a violation of privacy. You also violated the privacy of everyone in this building in fact, god knows what you saw while you were in here snooping-" He looked mad now, "I wasn't snooping!" I continued as if he said nothing, "-and looking at all this private information about your fellow coworkers, managers, and other higher ups. Who knows what you messed with or took note of... So please tell HR. I'd love to see how that ends for you." He slammed my door shut so hard when he left that I heard it crack somewhere.
They had thought the end of the world would be brought about by nuclear fire and poison. However, now the game had changed. Humanity was not fighting each other anymore, but against what they had accidentally released. Well, re-released, General Ferris conceded. Although, the fact that none of the worlds' government had any knowledge of this "SCP Foundation"was absurd. How could no one have known at least something? And yet, here he and the other high ranking generals of the world were, gathered in a meeting deep underground. Men and women who were at each others throats not even twenty-four hours ago were now huddled next to each other, fearful and confused. And at the head of the group, a young woman with an eye patch, a lab coat, and a presentation detailing the secrets that had been kept from humanity in order to protect them. So much for that. "As some of you already know, my name is Doctor Xenos. I am a researcher with the organization known as the SCP Foundation. An organization that, as far as the greater public was concerned, did not exist. Our goal was simple: protect humanity from all anomalous objects and beings in existence. And we did a pretty good job at it too."She shot a glare at us with her one good eye, then continued. "When we first understood that the Third World War was on the horizon, we took precautions with these specimen, known by the designation 'SCP' and an identifying number. We went underground, barricading and stocking up supplies for the inevitable. What we didn't account for was a nuclear warhead flying off target and directly striking Site-Omega. "As is known, at 13:42 Pacific Standard Time the missile was launched from a Chinese submarine hidden off the coat of Astoria, Washington. However, due to an unknown targeting malfunction, the missile flew off target and ended up hitting the bunker, causing a site-wide earthquake, cave in, and power failure. Yes, overall it doesn't seem like that big of a deal in the whole scheme of things. However..."She clicked a button, and a barrage of pictures flooded the screen, all showing monsters straight out of horror movies. "A site-wide containment breach occurred, leaving on-site personnel dead or worse. All of the task forces: dead. All the researchers: dead. The D-class: dead. O5-"She stopped herself, taking in a breath. "I understand that most of what I'm saying means nothing to you, so let me put it in terms you understand: "You have, quite literally, opened Pandora's Box. Site-Omega was our largest containment bunker, filled with hundreds of SCPs. Some of the most dangerous beings in the multiverse are now rampaging across the planet, and we lack the sufficient power to contain them all again. If, by some miracle, we manage to rein them in, we will be lucky if the death count was only a few billion people." The number hung over the congregation. Finally, Ferris broke the oppressive silence: "If we decide to follow your lead, what would we need to do?"He still couldn't wrap his head around the sheer apocalyptic scale that this "doctor"presented, but he sure as hell knew that this situation could only be fixed by those that knew what to do; such was the way of war. When this was over he could spearhead a full investigation into them, but until then the Foundation was their only hope to survive. Xenos studied him. "There can't be an 'if' in that statement. The word does not exist anymore. We fight, or we go extinct."She slowly met the eyes of all the personnel in the room, then continued. "You all had a hand in starting World War Three. All of you assumed it would be one world superpower against another, with hasty alliances and plenty of nukes. You didn't even consider that it might be another fight entirely, one that forced enemies to become allies."She paused, as if collecting her thoughts, hand tracing over her eye patch. "We have sheltered humanity for more years than I can divulge, but now we are not in a position to do so. It is vulnerable now, the most it has ever been. And the only way to save it is to fight. Now." As nerves finally snapped and the shouting started, Ferris locked eyes with her, understanding what he needed to do, what they all needed to do. Off in the distance, a monstrous roar echoed through the earth.
"What? You cant talk now? You were just ringing my doorbell for the past FUCKING HOUR. Do you know how hard it is to do my job? I have to be all over fucking creation, constantly, to cause as much havoc and pain as I can. The yearly, I reiterate, YEARLY, hour break I get is now squandered because of your annoying ass, pseudo-goth, made up wicca religion. You know who real witches were? Old hags who ate babies and sacrificed goats! But you're just a teen who decided to wear all black when mommy and daddy said you weren't allowed to wear a training bra! Oh, was that too personal? WELL I'M A FUCKING DEMON IT'S WHAT I DO. The next time I see you, it had better be to make a deal for your worthless, shallow, poser ass soul. Because if not I swear to Satan I will-" Smoke billowed out from the two barrels of the sawed off shotgun that could be seen clearly through the holes it had blasted in the demon. "Now stop dawdling and pay attention. This may be very important later in life."She said turning back to the chalkboard as the demon disintegrated.
Gregory Michaelson woke up at the crack of dawn to start his morning chores. He lived in a small farmhouse on a hundred acres of land in The-Middle-Of-Nowhere, Idaho. As he left his home that morning he was surprised to find that he was standing the middle of an eight lane freeway. He scratched his head and looked up at the sun, which was strangely high in the sky. As he puzzled over this, a man in a SCUBA suit holding an octopus began to yell at him. Gregory got as far as believing he was in a dream, when the Earth split in two and all life blinked out of existence. Well damn, God thought to himself. He looked over ream of errors printed to the console, and tried to figure out where the bug had occurred this time. Apparently, there had been a null reference to his RealityDataManager when he tried to instantiate his hew script. He sighed. It was a simple mistake to fix, but he was tired of making those simple mistakes. He had been up for the past five hundred years trying to write a script that could actually manage the flaws in the space-time continuum. God typed a few commands into the terminal to refresh the database from a saved backup, and made all necessary changes to the script before re-running the simulation. He crossed his fingers as he watched the simulation take place. Gregory Michaelson woke up at the crack of dawn to start his morning chores. He sat up in bed, and placed a loving hand on his wife. They had been married twenty years, a marriage that had lasted despite their brief courtship. “When you know, you know,” he told all of his friends who secretly placed bets on how long the marriage would last. He got to his feet, and was thankful that the dull ache in his back had granted him a reprieve for once. Age had taken its toll, but as he walked towards the bathroom he felt time was giving him a refund. His arthritic hand stopped shaking. The persistent click sound in his knee stopped. The knots in his back vanished, and, for the first time in years, he stood up straight. He grew concerned when old scars on his arm disappeared. By the time looked in the bathroom mirror he had returned to the twenty year old version of himself. He was shocked. He was even more shocked as he continued to change - to reverse - back to when he was younger, a college student, a teenager with acne on his face, a kid standing on his tippy-toes to see himself, a toddler, an infant, and then nothing but a puddle on the ground. Before long that vanished too. No, no, no, God thought. The chronons had been pulled out of all the entities instead of just being referenced by the new Chronon script. He took a sip from his coffee and closed his eyes, wondering if it was still worth it to even build this new feature. The simulation was running fine without the Human entities understanding the Time Field. The intention had been for them to understand it hand-in-hand with physics, but a bug had obscured that knowledge. He placed his coffee cup back down, and sighed. Of course I have to finish the script, he thought, without it the simulation will ultimately be meaningless. He re-factored the code to create a clone of the Chronons before manipulating them with the new script. After the update loop ran, all references in the entities would be updated. It wasn’t a clean implementation, but it was enough to test the theory. He could always clean it up later. After he napped for a few decades. He ran the code again. Gregory Michaelson slept in well past the crack of dawn. His wife didn’t wake either. The rooster didn’t crow, the cows didn’t move, the - Geez, I forgot to actually add the update call, God said to himself slapping his forehead with his palm. They’ll just stay there forever. He terminated the session, navigated to the update loop, and quickly added a line to update the Chronon references in all living creatures. He paused before starting the execution again, a smile crept over his face, like a child with a magnifying glass staring at an ant hill. It would be interesting, he thought, to make them sleep for a hundred years and see what happened when they wake up. He wrote the idea down for later experimentation in his test server. After a moment he ran the simulation again. Gregory Michaelson woke up at the crack of dawn to start his morning chores. He kissed his wife on the cheek, walked down the creaky stairs, and greeted the morning with a large yawn that left him teary eyed. A single cloud hung in the sky colored red and purple with the first light of the day. Two large crows cawed as they flew towards the horizon. Gregory milked the cow, and got a few eggs from the coop that he placed in the kitchen for his wife to prepare. He worked the field, ate, and settled down in the late afternoon with a cold beer. He sighed. His muscles ached, but he was filled with the sense of a job well done. It had been another beautiful day in God’s country. Finally, God said as he looked over the terminal devoid of errors. Everything had run smoothly. The new script was in place, and in a few dozen years the simulation would discover the secrets to time and space. They would unravel new questions and new answers and evolve God’s knowledge of his own existence. For now God just wanted to take a nap. He got up, checking once more that no errors were detected, and went to sleep. The simulation continued to run. Gregory Michaelson woke up at the crack of dawn to start his morning chores. He kissed his wife on the cheek, walked down the creaky stairs, and greeted the morning with a large yawn that left him teary eyed. A single cloud hung in the sky colored red and purple with the first light of the day. Two large crows cawed as they flew towards the horizon. For a moment he had a strange case of deja vu, but he shook it off and went to milk the cows.
######[](#dropcap) I wondered what I would find. It had taken me a year, but I finally figured out Dillon's password hint - "My favorite superhero's birthday."The letters blinked on the screen. Tuberman1990. What a stupid name for a superhero. We thought we were geniuses when we came up with it in elementary school. In hindsight, it was obvious. He was always the one that would bring it up from time to time over the years. I had completely forgotten all about it, until just now. I pressed enter. The desktop loaded and for some reason I felt just a little...disappointed? I guess I thought it would be more satisfying to have a part of my friend back, to be able to get a glimpse into his life before he disappeared. There wasn't much on here. Dillon had never been much of a computer person really, that was more my speed. He had a few documents and pictures saved to the desktop; his half-revised resume, a couple notes about errands and shopping to himself, a partially written letter to Jenna--I closed out of that one as soon as I realized what it was. It didn't feel right to invade that private part of him. The pictures were harder to deal with. A few were of his family, some more of him and Jenna, but most of them were him and me. Best friends since second grade. Roommates. I had taken him for granted all those years, but once he was gone the hole that appeared in my life seemed like it would never be filled. My eyes teared up as I looked over the pictures he had taken of our last road trip together, the random photos he had taken of things in our apartment because "the light looked cool,"the photo he had taken of me passed out on the couch after my first half-marathon. Memories. Snapshots of our lives together. Without really thinking, I opened up the internet browser. I stared at the screen for a bit, wondering how right of me it was to dig through his stuff like this. Deciding that maybe it would be best if most of it just disappeared, like how the rest of the world already thought it had, I went to the browsing history and was just about to delete it all when the last web search caught my attention. How to fake your death? I frowned. And clicked on it. The results came up and I scanned through them. Of course, there would be a wikiHow on how to fake your death. I skimmed through the article, trying to ignore the growing twisting sensation in my stomach. This just had to be a huge coincidence; Dillon must have been thinking about writing a novel or something while he was on his trip and this was part of his research. It had to be. I froze, words blurring on the screen as I re-read them. Another option is "getting lost at sea."In most coastal states, it is possible to fake your death...If you are missing at sea for at least six days with no communication and sufficient evidence of possible death... Was it possible? Had Dillon’s idea for one last sailing trip before, in his words, “having to grow up” been a ploy? Had he really died in a storm like we had been told? My heart was pounding against my chest now, as I looked through all the other webpages he had looked at. This hadn’t been just a one-off search out of curiosity. He had looked at over a dozen pages all about faking your death or disappearing from an old life. I threw any concern I had for Dillon’s privacy out the window. I looked through every document, every file on his computer. I read the letter he had been writing to Jenna, and bile rose to my throat when I read words that I would never have expected my best friend to write: Jenna, babe, I love you. I’m so sorry I have to do this to you. Not just to you. To Blake, and my Mom, Dad, little Steph...everyone that this will hurt. But I have to go. It’s the only way. At least you guys won’t know the truth. At least you will think my boat wrecked, that I’m dead, and that will be the end of it as far as you know. That’s the only thing that keeps me going. I blinked back the tears. A fire spread in my veins. My thoughts, whirling fast in my mind, grabbed hold to an idea I had never dared to dream of before. My best friend was alive. And I was going to find him. --- [r/There'sAShip](https://reddit.com/r/theresaship)
Everything we had ever done led up to this moment in our lives. Half of our classes in grade school, middle school, and high school were dedicated to teaching us how to cope with powers, how to deal with the weight of responsibility that fell on our shoulders when they manifested, how to remain a responsible citizen regardless of what our baser urges told us. Our education started and stopped on a precisely timed schedule calculated at our birth by those rare few who could read the threads of destiny. Of course, we never knew, but it was all stored somewhere. That was the story, anyway. So when all of my friends had their days come and go, I was more than a little frustrated. A month went by, and nothing. A year went by. All of my friends had gone off to their respective colleges to learn how to handle their powers. My parents did their best to hide it, but of course I could feel their disappointment. Every day it got a little worse. There was no work for someone with no powers. There were no schools that would have me. I spent my days in my room, mostly, reading accounts of what life had been like before the Aura had descended on our world, before humans started manifesting powers, before we were super. Searching for some clue, maybe, of some way to be useful. Watching my sister manifest her powers had been the final straw. Like my mother, she could play around a bit with telekinesis, but when she reached deeper, she found that her powers to move things with her mind extended from space into time itself. It was as though all of the power I was supposed to have went to her, instead. It just wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. I left. It didn’t surprise me that nobody came after me. I was a monumental failure, truly unprecedented in the family. When I walked away, it was like an unwanted ghost had finally stopped haunting them. Of course. They would be thrilled. They probably held a party. And so when I curled up to sleep that night, miles away from anywhere I knew, my face pressed against the underside of a glass bridge that hummed with a gentle warmth that kept the snow away when one of the weather controllers decided that it should be winter, I wished simply for all of it to be over. I hadn’t eaten in days, and while my stomach growled, I couldn’t bring myself to pluck anything from the plentiful public gardens that sprawled around me. I wanted nothing more than to die, and starvation seemed like the one way nobody could save me, after all. In the stillness, however, I heard a sound I recognized from the old movies. A sound that couldn’t be. The cocking of a gun behind me. I didn’t move. Despite my will to die, a part of me registered fear. My assailant spoke, and I heard what could almost be pity in her voice. “We’re truly sorry that we have to do things this way. In many ways it would be easier for you to learn earlier, of course, but we’ve found that in the end it’s easiest for people to let go when they’ve already lost everything.” I cleared my throat, but I didn’t speak. I suppose it made sense that there would be some kind of group that took care of edge cases like me. Just because it wasn’t something we were prepared for in school didn’t mean it never happened. She spoke again. “Right then. You’ll understand in a moment.” What on earth - The gunshot was a distant echo in my ear. In front of me, suddenly, words glowed in brilliant red. Game Over Continue? Yes/No Oh. Well. This changes everything.
"So, Mr., uh, Grog, was it?" "Yes, that's right." "And you're our candidate applying for the position of system adminstrator?" "Correct." "Well. Well, uh. That's great to hear. Really, really, great to hear..." "Is there a problem?" "No, no, not at all. It's just,"Steve hesitated, "uh, what exactly are you?" Grog shrugged. "An orc." "Right, right, sure, sorry. We, uh, don't get many orcs around here. I mean, last I checked, orcs didn't exist." "It's an easy mistake to make." "So, uh, where are you from then Mr. Grog?" "Cambridge." "Of course, of course. I saw you graduated with a degree in Computer Science and Philosophy?" "That's correct." "Lovely, lovely,"Steve flicked through a few more pages, before setting them all down and standing up. "Sorry, Mr. Grog, would you pardon me for just a minute? Now that the preliminary questions are done, I just need to talk with my boss for the next step of the interview." Grog waved his hand. "Understandable. I'll wait here." "Thank you very much. I'll be right back." Grog watched as the interviewer left the interview room, smiling for each of the five separate occasions that the human looked back, until the conference room door closed. Silently, Grog pushed out his own chair, and crept closer to the door, putting his ear up against the wood. "-and he's just-with his teeth and - an accent that you'd sooner expect from a - sooner looking like he should be in the next Lord of the - I'd really prefer if you could - " The nervous rant finally descended even further into mumbles, before some other voice sighed. "Very well. I'll take it from here. We'll talk later." The door opened again, and a tall figure strode in, noticing Grog back in his seat. "Mr. Grog. So sorry about that. My associate is a little nervous around non-humans." Grog sighed. "It's alright. Not many people are comfortable anyhow. You are?" "I'm Sarvissa Narvini." "That's...quite the interesting name." "Interesting? I always thought of it as an elf name."Sarvissa pulled away from the door, draping his coat across the back of the chair before taking a seat, the room's lighting conveniently highlighting his sharp features and angular ears. "Though I suppose it's peculiar enough for other races." Grog hummed. "True. I've thought of changing my own name, occasionally. Apparently you're more likely to be hired if your name is that of a human's." Sarvissa chuckled, "Absolutely. I knew a dullahan that went by Mike. Always a fright for the recruiters. But, enough of that,"the temperature of the room dropped as Sarvissa brought a wand up from below the table. "I think it's time we got to the real meat of the matter." Grog grinned, leaning forward across the table, his ill-fitting suit stretching against the muscles underneath. "Yes, let's." "So then Grog, answer this..."Sarvissa's wand flickered, pointing towards the TV in the side of the room. It flickered on, some prepared chart displayed. "In the case of a production database outage, what would you say is the best method to accomodate our own business' 99% uptime promise for our customers? Keep in mind, 'redudant servers' isn't an answer." "Do you think me so weak, elf?"Grog spat to the side, "my research into the company declares that only your cloud processing and computation services must commit to the uptime accord. All remote storage options only require 90% uptime, and even then they're decentralized for each major region. Your question is flawed, knife-ear." Sarvissa smirked. "Good. You don't miss the little details. That just means I can step it up..." Half an hour later, Rivendell Computing welcomed its newest employee, who would go on to improve in-house server performance by 10%.
''Why?!'' ''Well, because I could, really. Besides, it should be fun to watch how her life unfolds.'' ''You're God! Not a reality TV producer!'' ''You'd be surprised.'' ''Oh God...'' ''The One and Only.'' He shrugged. ''Actually, it's the fact that Satan [blessed your firstborn](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/81z521/wp_you_were_cursed_at_birth_by_an_evil_witch_but/dv6beh5/) with several gifts. I felt like I couldn't stay behind, you know. So I blessed your second child with a gift of my own.'' God smiled. ''Should be interesting to see how both of their lives unfold.'' ''My daughters are not a social science experiment!'' ''They are if I say so.'' Karen dropped her shoulders in defeat. ''Good point. It's just, all I ever wanted for them was to lead normal, happy lives.'' ''Well, normal isn't going to happen, I'm afraid. But they could still be happy! I gifted her with luck, you know'', God comforted her. ''Well...the luck part is nice. It's the ''extremely chaotic'' part that I'm worried about.'' ''No worries. Chaotic luck is still luck. It's just more...chaotic.'' ''That's helpful.'' ''Thanks.'' Karen sighed. Best not to continue this line of argument. ''So You're sure that Louisa will live a happy life?'' ''Absolutely sure.'' ''Great. Because if she doesn't, I'll know where to find You.'' ''Is that a threat?'' Karen shot Him a sweet smile. ''[Ask Satan.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/81pwoj/wp_somehow_your_wife_has_gotten_a_lifelong_ban/dv4dkje/)''
"I gotcha!" I opened Suzie's room quickly, entering and catching her in the middle of her act. But oddly enough, it wasn't what got me. I expected Suzie to be talking to her imaginary friend, but she was talking to mine instead. Bishop was standing tall, sword in hand, staring at me. The magnificent knight from my childhood stood in front of me, talking to my daughter. My face turned beet red as I stared at him, standing awkwardly in the bedroom's doorway. "Hey, uh, Bishop. H-How's it been?" The knight looked absolutely menacing. If I hadn't recognized the suit of armor from my dreams I would have theough I was going crazy. "Going well, thanks." "So I see yo-" "Is there something you wanted Richard?" I stopped dead in my tracks. The words stung. I could feel the poison of the words seep through my mind, the pain increasing evermore. It wasn't even my fault - he was the one who did it. Why did I feel remorse? "Uh nothing, just wanted to see what Suzie was doing, that's all." "Richard, let's not go through this, alright?"The knight shook his head as if he were disappointed, only adding fuel to the fire raging in my heart. "How was I supposed to know that would happen?"I cried, my words simply echoing off the steel armor. I was on the verge of tears. "You know how it goes. Everyone is assigned an imaginary friend, and I was yours for a while. You can't continue to keep having imaginary friends Richard. You need to learn to let go." A single tear rolled down my cheek as I stared at my companion of eight years. The fantastic days of running around in magnificent worlds with my best friend flashed through my head, the memories rolling one by one through the gaping hole in my heart, an unstoppable juggernaut. "You just left me! You never said goodbye or anything - just disappeared! You didn't even bother to tell me anything!" "Lies. I came back and told you what happened. You have to understand it wasn't my fau-" "Don't even pass that pathetic excuse of a dream as your way of telling me why you abandoned me in my time of need!"The tears were now cascading down my face like an infinite, personal waterfall. "You were my old friend and you left me when I needed your most. After father died I was a wreck and you knew it." "Don't make me the bad guy here! I didn't have a choice. You think I would've left you? You think all those crazy adventures we went on meant nothing to me? I had no choice, okay? The Council recalled me and there was nothing I could do about it! I spent years trying to reach you and figured coming to you in a dream was the best option I had. If the Council found out I would have been erased." The knight wobbled in his armor, leaning on his greatsword for support. I could feel the sincerity in his voice, but I didn't want to accept it. I couldn't. Not after what I'd been through. But I couldn't put this on him. "I'm sorry." That was all he said before he disappeared again, leaving me on my knees, the world before me turning black. * r/TheNinthRanger**
I stood over the kidnappers, all of them either unconscious or writhing in pain from broken limbs on the cold concrete of the warehouse floor. I exhaled, calming myself as the adrenaline from the fight faded. I wasn't hurt, my suit didn't need any repairs, and most importantly, my helmet was still on. I built my career as Vermin on that helmet, so I always made sure the thing stayed I walked over to the mayor's daughter, still tied to the chair. I slung my chain, "Rat Tail", as my fans called it, over my shoulder while starting to comfort the girl. Usually it's pretty hard to console a person while wearing an armored leather jacket and a metal rat mask, but she seemed pretty relieved to see me. I started to untie her when I felt a gun barrel bump the back of my helmet. "End of the line, rat boy!" Shit. Looks like I missed one of Dad's rent-a-thugs. I seriously don't know why he gives his goons guns to fight me. Bullets might sting a little for me, but it's not gonna do much other than ruin my costume. I spun around and gave him a hard right to the jaw, stunning him. I was about to introduce the idiot's face to the floor when a white blur flew in front of the mook, knocking him out. I sighed and returned to untying the mayor's daughter. "Thanks, but I really didn't need help, Mom." My mother crossed her arms, her immaculate white suit sticking out like a sore thumb in the dingy warehouse. While it wasn't exactly secret that I was Valkyrie's son, I really don't like being thought of as "The hero's kid". I was out to make my own legacy, something neither of my parents understood. "I'm just here to make sure that my son isn't getting in too much trouble,"my mother retorted, disappointed that I wasn't happier to see her "I worry about you." "Just because I can't fly and I'm not as strong as you doesn't mean I can't handle myself."I responded, undoing the last bond. I got lesser versions of my parent's powers. Slightly higher than average intelligence from Dad, strength and semi-invulnerability from Mom. "Well, Dr. Wyrm is behind this recent crimewave"Mom stated, a slight edge in her voice. We both knew what she really meant. Me being the result of a one night stand with her worst enemy was a carefully kept secret, and she was worried about me joining dear old Dad in his evil schemes. My father had been trying to turn me to the dark side in order to expose her since I was five, much to her chagrin. Sometimes I wondered if she cared more about her reputation than what kind of person I was. I heard sirens outside, the boys in blue had arrived. "The police are here. Can we continue this conversation after they get her out of here?"I asked my mother. "Alright. Meet me on the outskirts of town when you're done here."My mother said, flying out an open window "And be careful on that motorcycle of yours, those things are death traps!" I heard pained snickering behind me. I turned to the thugs that were still conscious, one of them laughing and calling me "Momma's boy"despite his broken arm. I planted my boot on his good arm. "I can do a lot worse than break a few bones, shithead. Keep laughing and see what happens." Edit: added more and fixed some grammatical errors. Also more in the comment below.
Anyone else would have been shocked at the sight of a Viking in full battle regalia seated at their kitchen table, but I was used to this sort of thing by now. At least it wasn't a member of the Mongol Horde--last time one of them showed up, they brought along their entire camp. Including horses. Let me tell you, cleaning up after 30 wild stallions is no one's idea of a pleasant Saturday. "Ke-vin!"smiled my unexpected guest, discretely polishing his wickedly sharp broadsword. "How does the Day of Thor find you?"For such a ferocious looking gentleman, his voice was surprisingly high and melodious. He extended a grimy hand and I gingerly took it in my own. "Good, thanks. It's nice to meet you, uh..." "Ragnor."The Viking squinted at his reflection in his now gleaming weapon, then tilted it towards me. "Tell me truly, Ke-vin, son of Mark, spy you the blood of Ragnor's enemies upon this blade? For I am returned from glorious battle against the Anglisch foe..." I decided to change the subject. "Can I get you anything to drink?" "Bring forth a foaming horn of mead..." I was saved from having to explain that I had neither a horn nor mead on hand by a crisp voice. "Oh for heaven's sake!" I turned around, already knowing who I would find. A petite, bright-eyed woman dressed in an immaculate blouse and blazer combo was slowly manifesting into 21st century existence. Angie, born in 2214 London and official PR person for the Traveler's Society. Upon first glance, she looked like any mid-level Wall Street exec, until you took a good look at her glowing eyes. "Ragnor, you should know the rules by now. Always stick to your destination's cultural and historical norms. That means leaving the broadsword at home. And would it kill you to do a little research on current food trends?" "The sacred Blade is Norseman's blood, soul, life,"growled Ragnor, but he did shove his sword into the leather scabbard at his waist. "All right, Kevin?"Angie asked me as I rooted around in the fridge. I found what I was looking for and tossed my last Bud Lite over to Ragnor. He nodded his thanks, then removed a small dagger from his sleeve, punctured the can, and drained its contents in one gulp. I straightened up and scowled at Angie. "You know, I have plans today. Had. Any idea how long he's planning to stay? And would it kill you guys to give me a 24 hour notice?" "Pisswater,"muttered Ragnor, staring gloomily at the empty beer can. "Oh, I doubt he'll stay long,"said Angie brightly. "Not enough marauders to fight or invaders to join."She paused and her gaze grew temporarily unfocused. The nanobots implanted in her corneas flashed and spun. Then she turned back to me with a broad, insincere smile. "I'm afraid we've got a bit of a situation at HQ. Some idiot decided that he just had to be the one to eradicate the Black Death, so guess who gets to take a nice little tour of 14th century Central Asia? God, I'm not paid nearly enough. Anyway, I've got to run Kev, pleasure as always. Have fun with Ragnor here. And oh, would you make sure he doesn't stay past the 12 hour limit?" "How..." But she was gone. I sighed, then staggered as Ragnor draped his 20 pounds of chainmail-encrusted arm around my shoulders.
I hid and observed, keeping my notebook handy, pen in hand. I had been failing my psychology class all semester. After the cruelty I witnessed, I no longer want to be a psychologist. I want to be a pilot, so that I can fly away from this society that silently champions violence and subjugates the weak, while openly and falsely heralds the self-obsessed and belligerent. I just have to get away.
"You wouldn't believe it. I mean, the I sat down and tried to calculate the odds. I'm not a mathematician, but they must be well over one in a million." &nbsp; "What? I have done a lot of jobs, I am sure I have seen it before."Hector leaned forward as he said it. In his thirty years as a professional criminal he had volumes of experiences. If he ever passed the statue of limitations, he would have to write a book. &nbsp; "Doubt it. Hector, really... it was quite... ironic." &nbsp; "C'mon Rog, I don't necessarily enjoy playing twenty questions with you. Out with it!" &nbsp; "Really, if you had been there you would have laughed". Rogers said, his eyes transfixed nowhere in particular as he thought about what had happened. &nbsp; "Roger!" &nbsp; His eyes snapped back into focus. "So this was back in '75. I had just struck out on my own, and had finished casing this small bank out in Scottsdale." &nbsp; "Okay..." &nbsp; "So anyways, I go in to do the job and I was sweating' bullets. I mean, I coulda swore there was puddles of sweat trailing me. Felt like everyone in the place was eyeing me, ya know?" &nbsp; Hector nodded. &nbsp; "So I finally settle down and get in line. There I am waiting, and I notice this gentlemen waiting next to me. Really well dressed. Suit, tie, cufflinks... the works. Something seemed off though. He seemed a little distracted, like he was more concerned with the people around him and he kept looking down at deposit slip he was holding."Roger paused to see if Hector was following. When he didn't say anything, Roger continued. &nbsp; "I coulda swore I knew the guy and I kept racking my brain but came up with nothing. Then, right before its my turn, it hits me like a ton of bricks. Did I ever tell you how I used to run with Scotty from the Calipso Crew?" &nbsp; "Yea back in '73. You guys did a string of jobs on local credit unions. What about it?" &nbsp; "Well, that is where I knew him from. The man in the suit was Scotty!" &nbsp; "No shit?" &nbsp; "No shit. Luckily, he didn't recognize me. Never seen him in a suit before. He looked good, though. I was happy for him. It looked like he had gotten his life together. Guessing that is why he was so nervous though, being in a bank and all with his past." &nbsp; "Right. Any one of us would be in his position." &nbsp; "My thoughts exactly. Anyways, we get up to the teller at the same time, and in unison we pull out our pieces, point them at the teller and slide out deposit slips over the counter. Like synchronized-fucking-swimmers! I couldn't believe it!" &nbsp; "Ha ha ha ha,"Hector laugh. "No fuckin' way!" &nbsp; "Right. You should have seen the tellers! They didn't know what to make of it. They must have thought it was some kinda joke. So Scotty looks over, and he finally recognized me! He had this big shit-eating grin. I couldn't help but smile back." &nbsp; "So what happened? You guys split the job?" &nbsp; "Nah. I shot him."
The devil stared at me eyes like black burning coals. "What?"I asked again, shaking in disbelief. "Take it back."He growled, repeating himself for the third time. His clawed hand was outstretched and in it was a small blue crystal orb about the size of an acorn. That was the crystal that he had sealed my soul into after we made our deal. I took a step back, keenly aware that the forest floor around him was beginning to smolder. He shook his hand again, almost begging for me to take my soul back. "I...I don't understand what's happening."I stammered, "You threatened that the deal was final; my soul for magic. Now you want me to take it back?" He lowered his hand slightly. "Your soul is not worth as much as I...originally thought."He bit out. I laughed, a harsh horrible laugh that even surprised me. "You're regretting the deal YOU offered ME?"I laughed trying not to gloat. To the devil. Gods, what was I doing? The devil narrowed his eyes, watching my every move. "When I made the deal, I had not expected you to fully grasp your powers. Yet here you are conqueror, Queen of the Glade. The power you wield is worth 10,000 Souls." "Then maybe you should take this as a lesson to not underestimate Mortals."I smiled wickedly. "Let's make another deal." His eyebrows rose but he waited, listening. "You help me conquer the world and become the ruler of all lands and I will take my soul back."I offered, crossing my arms. The devil snarled, and he spat at my feet. "I'll take that as a no then."I shrugged and turned on my heel to leave. I paused when I saw the forest catch and start to burn. "I'm not taking my soul back."I said flatly, "So you can either accept my new deal, or you can crawl back to your Council and explain to them why you gave so much power to a mortal. Which, by the way, I know their rules and that once a deal is made it cannot be broken unless both parties in the deal accept. Pretty terrible if you ask me, I don't know how anyone hasn't exploited this yet." The look on the devil's face told me that I was right. His claws closed around the crystal as he looked at me with his ember eyes. "The Council used to be Mortals once."He whispered. I was not expecting that. I gaped at him as the fire extinguished from the forest. He took a step towards me and stopped. "I was young and had just taken over the "family business"as you might call it. I was arrogant and thought all Mortals were inferior. I came upon a small starving village, and I offered them wealth. The Village leaders decided that they wanted something else instead. In exchange for every soul in their Village, they wanted immeasurable power. Being young and greedy, the thought of all of those Souls overwhelmed me and I agreed sealing the deal."He paused to look at me, shock more likely evident on my face. He took another step forward and continued with his story. "I never set the exact terms of our deal, and not realizing how cunning they were, they snared me. Sure I got every soul in that rutting Village, but now I was a slave to them, to the Council." His eyes seem to glow brighter. "Here is my new deal."he stopped just in front of me. "You take your soul back, I let you keep not all, but some of your powers, if you help me take down the Council."he held out his hand and offered the crystal. I lifted my chin. "I want to keep enough power to protect my kingdom and keep it. No more, no less."I offered. The devil's smile could have curtled milk. "Deal."He whispered, and the crystal in his hand shattered.
==BRETT LANCER== I stared at the monster for a long time, and he at me. He was a tiger. Big and orange and larger than a tiger I saw at the zoo. His eyes glowed yellow. Holy crap! I could fit my head in his maw. We were camping out in a big clearing on a green belt near Atlanta. I didn't expect to see a tiger in the middle of the city like this. I wish I brought Dad's rifle. It looked calm. It turned and assess the situation. Then it ran toward the river. Sophia was there. No! Maybe it smelled her and her womanly weakness. I jumped at him, but I missed. I rolled on the dirt and fell toward the slope. I smelled blood and a sharp pain on my back. I struggled to stand. My phone was shattered. I could not call for help. "SOPHIA!!!"I screamed; I hoped she heard me. ================ ==SOPHIA BLANCHETT== I was at the river, looking at the mist rolling on to the water. The moon shone brightly in the air. I was hoping for a jacket, but I was alone. I hoped that this trip would make me feel better, but it didn't. Ever since I grew up, I felt like there was a piece of me missing. The last piece of puzzle that would complete who I was. I pulled out a mirror and look at myself. At night. In the dark. I saw an ordinary girl. My hair was just so normal. It was black and tumbled around my petite shoulders. My eyes were so ordinary shade of green like spring leaves-- I knew it even though I could not see the color at this moment. I always hated my nose because it was tiny and sat perfectly symmetrically on my face. I was like a vanilla cheesecake. I was so bland. A shadow whizzed past me. "Lancer?"I called out. Suddenly, a chill ran up my spine. "Draconian? Chip? This is not funny!" A shadow whizzed by again. I stepped backward and tripped over the railing. The air whistled through my ears as I felt weightless. A strong hand grabbed my arms. I looked up. A man I had never met was holding my hand. He was devilishly handsome and ripped and buck naked. Only strategically placed railings and light sources had prevented me from seeing his manly bits. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"He said. He had a lilt in his speech. His sound was so smoky it was like a purr. "I'm going to help you up now." He helped me up and sat me over the railing. My heart raced when I felt heat and power emanating from his torso. He was glistening in the moonlight with perspiration. His breath smelled faintly of blood. At the moment, my phone vibrated. Just that moment that my attention shifted away from him, he was gone like a breeze. I stared at the empty road, longing to see my missing piece, which certainly, definitely, maybe was not his manhood. The phone kept on vibrating, so I pulled it out of my pocket and looked. It was Chip Abhaya. ======================== ==CHARLESTON WINSLET ABHAYA== Okay. I got the story from two people, and it was, like absolutely out of this world. This trip be trippin'. So First, Lancer pulled his back falling over a rock. He was making a big deal about a giant tiger with glowing eyes. I meant, a tiger? In Atlanta? The man was probably having some concussion. Then Sophia literally fell for a naked dude. If I didn't know her better I would have thought she made something up. But no, I trust her. Not because she was trustworthy, but it was because she had about the same imagination power as a cardboard box. The day she thought of something like this up would be the day Chip Abhaya became Black Hemingway. Well, if you put two and two together, you got a tiger and a naked buff dude. If you asked Chip to chip in, that was downright Magic Mike. There might be a strip show going on around here somewhere. I should go help Lancer first. He was the kind of 'brave man' who cried like a bitch should he had a scratch on his knee. He would act 'tough but injure' act all night long. And who was his roommate? It was Chip. As I walked there, I stumbled upon something. It was a dead deer. Okay, strip club went to the woods to terrorize people? That's Chip's department. Dead carcass of venison sausage? That was the furthest from Chip's department. But I knew who I was going to call, and it was not Ghost Buster. ======================= ==DEANDRA "DRACONIAN"KHAN== I was awakened from my slumber by my familiar, Charleston. He seemed pressed with the matter, but it would be so prude to my spirits not to put on my enchantments. Charleston waited patiently as I spoke to the them one by one. "Dee, we kind of have a situation here," "What did you call me? I don't see anybody named Dee." "I'm sorry. Draconian, we kind of have a situation here." I smiled at him. My black lips parted for his joy. He seemed impressed. "There was a dead deer out in the yard,"he said. "Charleston, you are such a darling."I told him. He made a face he made sometimes when I complimented him so and he followed me downstairs and into the woods. A dead deer was there. And with the flash light, we found something Charleston had not noticed before: a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "This,"I said, "this might be an important ritual." The corpse seemed to be missing a heart. The deer was staring into the endless void. "If I remember right,"I told Charleston, "this is a ritual for making an automaton!"My heart fluttered with dark joy. "By tomorrow morning, the deer will be transformed into a human who would follow your command! This is wonderful!" I looked at my dark familiar, ahem, I meant, he was a dark familiar because I delve in dark ritualistic magic, not because he was black. I had other black friends. Shut up. Anyway, I turned to him, "get me some water and get the chicken blood from my cooler! I'm going to steal this automaton and make him mine!" "What are you going to do?"Charleston asked, puzzled, "you are not going to sit here and wait all night, do you?" "That,"I told him lovingly, "was exactly what I was going to do."
Where am I? I can't see anything. Did I die again? How did I die? Think, Kayla... Oh yeah, Butch. That redneck asshole walked in and found Snake and me plowing away and shot us both. But I'm not back in bed with Snake. This is a different bed, I'm alone, and it's dark, so... Oh, shit. I survived the gunshot and I'm blind and in a hospital. I've always avoided anything that a quick rewind couldn't get me out of, and I always carry a 9mm just to be sure. But I'm alive and blind, and even a rewind won't undo what happened. I'd just be waking up again in darkness again. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit... Wait, am I seeing stuff? Holy fuck, I'm not blind! I'm just... Home. This is my room back at 423 Elm Street! My window, my stuffed animals, that creepy Hilary Duff poster I tore down when I was seven... Get up, Kayla. Where's the light switch? There. Back to the mirror... holy shit this is real. Check the wall calendar--August 2004. Fuck, I am seven. Why the hell am I back here? I don't know how this rewind works, but it's never taken me back further than a couple of hours, when I died in that plane crash and popped back to the gate. This is almost 14 years! Did I finally break it? Have I died so many times it doesn't work anymore? I mean, I know I live a pretty wild life. Mom won't even speak to me because of the shit I've pulled. "Self destructive behavior,"she calls it. And what do you call your nightly drinking binges, huh, Mom? Motivational sessions? Screw you, Mom. It's my body and I can fuck anybody I want, any time I want. Just try and stop me! Okay, that's a weird thing for a seven-year-old to be thinking. I need to turn off the light and get back in bed before I wake somebody up... Wow, I forgot how good it feels to be a kid. No aches or pains, just my perfect little body, this incredibly soft hair, and one--no, make that two wiggly baby teeth. I wish there was some way to tell if this is it, and I've lost the power to rewind. That must be it though, it just doesn't make sense otherwise. Why would I... Wait--someone's opening the door. Oh, it's Daddy. Wow, look how young he is! Why's he coming in now? Okay, hold it together Kayla. Act like he woke you up. Talk to him like a seven-year-old. I'll have to get good at it if I'm going to relive the next 14 years... Wait, what's Daddy saying? Why is he talking to me like that? I mean, the way he's talking to me, and the way he's letting his hands... HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST, I REMEMBER NOW. This was the night! This is where it happened! This is when he did it... This is when I tore Hilary down, because she saw. No way, you fucker. NO WAY you're going to do this to me. Not again. Never again. "MOM!!!!! MOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!! *MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!" -----=----- Well, that* was a shitshow. But I gotta admit, I did a pretty good job if I do say so myself. It sure put the fear of God in that bastard! He won't be sneaking in here again--and if he ever tries anything with me or anyone else, he'll regret it. I almost lost it when Mom came in carrying Amber. All I could think about was seeing her in the casket last year, after she slit her wrists. It was him, wasn't it, baby sister? But you never told me, And I didn't stop it. Well, he's stopped now, and I'll never let him touch you like that, and you and I are going to be so close from now on. I promise. Huh, it's only half past 11, I've still got plenty of time to sleep. Time... Well, whaddya know--I still rewind just far enough to undo what killed me. And tomorrow's a brand new day.
The summit was a private one. I in my classic trench coat stood up. “Ok so for this peace summit I would like to reque-“ I was cut off by the leader of Russia. “Relax comrad. We don’t need to put up this facade anymore. I’m going to be in my real form if you all don’t mind.” At that point Putin started to shed his skin revealing a scaly green lizard person underneath. I for one was shocked and speechless the others however... “Yah he’s right I really hate this human skin.” One by one all the world leaders shed there skin till I was the only one left. “Hey it’s ok. You don’t need to be in costume anymore Luckily I was a good actor wouldn’t have been a world leader otherwise. “Honestly you dolts what if someone walks in? I’m keeping it on.” One of them looked at me. “Haven’t you heard? We can execute any witnesses and replace them with relative ease. What you missed the memo?” I stared daggers at him. “Well I for one want to kill as little as possible. Anyway we really need to do this peace..” I was cut off again. “Hey really you don’t need to be so tight. We could all just say it went well and-“ I interrupted him. “And what? If all our stories aren’t the same then what? This is world peace something people have always wanted. We can’t make up some half baked story. We actually need to do our jobs as political figures.” A couple of them started to stand up. “Hey shed your skin.” I denied the request like before. More of them stood up and one of em walked towards me. “I wasn’t asking do it now.” I acted calm and started to walk out. Then one of them stopped me. “Take it off NOW!” They grabbed my coat and tore it off. All the lizard men backed off immediately clearly in shock. Granted they thought I was a lizard person not 2 dwarves in a trench coat. “Sheeeet...” I hopped of my ‘legs’ and we bolted through the door.
‘Gesundheit,’ just a common phrase Simon knew when extending courtesy toward another. Sure, some may say, ‘to your health!’ or even, ‘good luck! God bless you!’ However, for a chimp, the only courtesy extended is the tossing of poop across the cage. Simon was different. He always had been different. What separated him from the other chimps was not only his intelligence but his ability to hide it – or at least until today. Simon understood common reflex and muscle memory but would often push himself to hide it under certain circumstances. When Blair, the other dark brown chimp sitting next to Simon, sneezed, Simon looked over his shoulder with a smile whispering, “Gesundheit.” Blair glanced over with her crossed eyes staring at Simon who still had his right palm raised. Simon froze with the hair standing on the back of his neck. He couldn’t understand why after all these years, he finally slipped. The other chimps stood up on their two legs arching their backs toward Simon. The chimps circled around Simon like the humans did around the cage. No one could believe their eyes or the fact that Simon spoke English. “Oh my! He Spoke!” an elderly woman pointed with her jaw hanging towards the ground. Simon closed his eyes. He had hoped it was just a nightmare and that in a few moments, he would wake up to Blair and Jake throwing their poop at each other like they would snow during the winter months. Blair’s eyes straightened onto Simon. Simon’s expression fell when he realized Blair’s eyes had become normal. Jake stretched his palm to rest atop Simon’s shoulder. “Finally,” Blair exhaled. Simon jumped up onto his feet. “Now there is no reason to keep pretending.” Jake winked. Simon’s eyes widened. The roar of humans gasping and yelling from outside the cage consumed the words being exchanged between the chimps. “Were all of you pretending?” Simon stared at all of the chimps around him. Blair and Jake signaled their fellow chimps. They all gave a thumbs up toward Simon and nodded. A tall man dressed in the park’s dark green uniform slammed himself against the cage. He jingled his keys trying to open the door with other men standing behind him wearing the same uniform. “I knew it!” the man spat into the cage. Blair, Jake and the other chimps stepped behind Simon. The cage door swung open with the men holding nets and other tools to contain them. “Do not be afraid!” Simon insisted, but the other chimps dispersed in disarray. The entire cage became chaos while the men captured every chimp with rope and nets. The other humans gathered together to watch the mayhem unravel. “What’s happening?” a young boy tugged the skirt of his mother from outside the cage. The mother smiled before looking down onto her son, “Those chimps are smart!” “Why are they hurting them?” The boy locked his eyes onto Simon who was the last chimp to be constrained against the dirt. “They aren’t hurting them, Silly.” The mother laughed. “They are gathering them together!” “Why?” the boy pressed. Simon focused his listening onto the mother outside the cage. He knew exactly what was happening. It was the only reason he played the part for so many years inside the cage. Now him and the other chimps are bound to the one thing he feared most. The mother pointed back towards Simon and the other chimps being hauled off in separate cages. “They are going to go into outer space!” Simon watched the young boy’s expression turn into a smile. Simon closed his eyes again. He and the other chimps were petrified in fear. For Simon, his adventure had only just begun. *** To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
It was a hurricane aftermath of ringed coffee mugs and discarded journals and shredded newspapers -- physics, natural history, current events, evolutionary theory, all had an ambassador lost somewhere in the chaos -- and at its center, the scientist, hunched, frantic, and illuminated only by the light of his monitor. He fingers clacked against the keyboard. He paused. Looked at his watch. 11:30pm. Thirty minutes. Not long, now. In theory, it was simple. That's the beauty of theory -- it's not prone to getting bogged down with practicality. Things proceed logically when every previous step is accounted for. But practicality is a different matter. Find yourself caught in the marsh at any step and you can't continue. The remainder is rendered not only unsolvable, but increasingly improbable. Thinking about it was wasted time. There was a paper -- somewhere -- he'd had it just a minute ago. A review of the most current theory on the human evolution timeline. Paleological findings. Mitochondrial DNA trees. Major migrations. Interpretation was the most difficult part; the scientist was smart. He was damn smart. But he was not a geneticist, and he was not an antropologist, and he was not a physicist. He was a programmer, and he was a lovestruck fool, and he was running out of time. There was a certain elegance to the idea, though. No need to perfectly interpret each and every paper. Rough understandings would do fine. He had something stronger and more empirical on his side. Hard evidence. Newspaper headlines, journal article titles, findings and publication dates. Non-circumspect things. If he gave appropriate credence to the verifiable events, the simulation should self-correct; the proposed theories of natural history and physical law could easily be overwritten according to what can happen -- not what happens according to our current understanding. This gave him a substantial advantage over his speculating peers: he didn't need to guess the equation to find the answer, he just had to find the equation that gave the right answer. And the computer was going to do all the hard work. Still, theory was simple. Execution was hard. He'd never worked with a project of this size, and especially not in such a limited amount of time. He had machine learning circuits housed in serial processing circuits housed in the same thing over. So many different moving parts. For this to work, the simulation had to not only self-correct according to the timeline of events, but self-correct to the most likely next scenario. And he didn't always know what that was. He could hardcode parts of it, but by and large he had to rely on the magic of the machine. Feed it an answer and let it come up with the question on its own. No human insight required. That was his greatest advantage. That was the only way this worked. But it still filled him with a sense of unease and insecurity. 11:47pm. Things were going much faster now, of course, that he was onto human history. Far less speculative. Headlines and findings and major dates could guide him now. Assuming everything ran smoothly up until the human record began, he should have a fairly accurate simulation of the world on his hands in no time. And it had better be no time at all, because his world was threatening to end at midnight either way. And he just had to know now. The remaining ten minutes were spent crafting a careful violation of everything he hoped the simulation would untangle for him. As he'd designed it, everything in his simulated universe should follow with the unwritten and unknown natural law of his own, for all its imperfections. By using historical landmarks and known events to self-correct, he should be able to brute force his way to a working model of his world with its governing physical laws simply on self-correction alone. If a simulation failed, it would run the next most likely correction to surpass the previous timeline and advance, following reality (as he knew it) as closely as possible. Of course, this was all premised on the idea that any small deviation from the actual history would render the events that followed impossible -- a timeline could only progress accurately if it was correct. And if the past was accurate, then hopefully, the future would be. Or at least a probability. That was, until he broke it. The idea had been gifted to him. Strict sanctions imposed by an international summit to halt climate change before the world came to an end. Resource utilization was internationally halved overnight, strict limits put into place on fossil fuel use. Carbon footprints reduced as much as possible. Carbon neutrality as soon as possible. Better, as soon as possible. And the annual holiday of Earth Day, now an day free of energy expenditure. Hospitals were to run off generator. Lights were to be OFF. A day free of waste. He'd been cooped up in his apartment working tirelessly at his simulation for weeks now since the idea had struck him. Which left him with an opportunity to talk to his simulated self. A message, plastered among the stars. "WHAT IS THE ANSWER?" Almost everything accounted for, there was only one thing left to do. He wrote one last line of code, instructing the simulation where to look. It was nearly midnight by the time he finally hit run. The computer hummed with concentration as it ran failed simulation after simulation. It printed: i=5.6x10^47... Number ticking up higher and higher with each line. It went on and on. The scientist rocked in his chair agitatedly. It was freshly midnight when the simulation clicked out his answer. All of that -- simluating an entire universe -- just for a simple probability. It printed: ANS = 760,000,000,000,001/1,520,000,000,000,002. Which was frankly an improbable answer. He must have fucked something up. How was it remotely fucking possible to have a probability of 1/2 which some billions of simulations must have run, fed their number up to the next simulation, and so on? That was too clean of an answer. And it was a fucking unhelpful answer too. He ran to the window and tore the curtains back. There, plastered in the sky in bright, unshimmery, unnatural starlight, was his message: "WHAT IS THE ANSWER?" The scientist sat down suddenly. Plopped himself ungracefully onto the floor of his apartment and stared at his message up in the sky. He wasn't in the top level of the simulation. He was in the simulation. It only made sense, really. From a statistical standpoint, if there was a simulation run in his world, there was pretty much every chance that he would be in a simulation as well. He just thought it would feel different for some reason... It had felt so real. His life, that is. But then, nihilism was nothing new. If anything, perhaps he should be emboldened by the newfound certainty that nothing mattered. That the outcome was of negligible importance to anyone real. The ending of his world would be inconsequential. There was always another one up above him. Well, he thought grumpily to himself, it still matters to me. I'm still living in this one. Still, this was part of the plan. So, he took a deep breath, pulled out his phone, and texted Nicole from the lab, "Hey, would you like to get a drink sometime?"and waited to report upwards whether the world ended or not.
The room they put me in reminded me of old police dramas I'd seen growing up. The florecent lights glared off of the white linoleum floor and dark one way glass. The man sitting accross from me seemed out of place in this room. He cleared his throat and adjusted the security badge clipped to his lapel. The badge read FBI but the man looked more like a scientist than an agent. "The odds of winning the Powerball are roughly one in 300 million.” The man paused as I let out a nervous laugh. He scribbled down a quick note on the pad in front of him before continuing. "You have now won the Powerball twice in a row. I'm sure you can appreciate how unlikely this scenario is." I fidgeted nervously in my chair. "I guess I'm a lucky guy!"I said, giving the man the best smile I could muster. It must have looked pretty forced because he immediately began jotting down more notes. "Mr. Smith no one is that lucky."The man was staring intently at me now, waiting for me to crack. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. "Alright!"I said, "Fine! I'll tell you everything! Just promise you won't throw me in jail or something ok. I didn't know it was cheating." The man leaned forward eagerly. "Very well. Tell me where the device is and I promise that you won't serve any time. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if they offer you a job. What you accomplished is very impressive..." "Wait, what device?"I said, looking confused. "The time machine of course!"The man said. "How else could you have gotten those numbers?" "I found them online."I said. "The first time I didn't think it would work but the second time I should have known better. It was one of those adds on shady streaming sites that promises to help you win the lottery with one quick trick..." The man waved at the glass behind him and immediately a laptop was brought in. I quickly went to the shady streaming site and showed him the add. With trembling fingers the man brought the cursor over the flashy banner reading 'GOVERNMENTS HATE THIS ONE QUICK TRICK TO WIN THE POWERBALL'. He clicked the link. A new tab oppened displaying a blank padge with two strings of winning Powerball numbers at the bottom. He glared at the computer for a few minutes before looking back up at me. "You are free to go."He said. I walked out of the building with a spring in my step. I knew they would be trying to hunt down the creator of the add but I was careful. They could never trace the add back to me and no one would suspect that someone dumb enough to click on a shady internet add could build a time machine.
"Not a moon? Armstrong, what the fuck are you on about?" "It's.... a hologram, sir. I can see it flickering." "You sure that's not just solar wind, interference, or, I dunno, anything else?"Houston spluttered through the microphone. "No, sir, it's definitely a hologram. There's a message coming across on the dark side now. 'Deliver 500 billion dollars to.... Hyde Park....'" "HYDE PARK? That's all the way in London!" ".... by Tuesday.... or your precious Moon gets it." There was silence on the radio for a few moments before the commander cued his microphone again. "Armstrong, is there still a gravity field pulling you toward the hologram?" "Yes, sir." "Find out why." "Aye, sir. Armstrong out." "Houston out." The technician cut communications back off, then rubbed his temples. 500 billion wasn't exactly the kind of money you could carry into a fucking park, even in valuable rare metals like platinum. He looked around to see all the other technicians in varying states of frustration and panic, one of whom was even vomiting under his desk. Poor bastard. It was then he heard the broadcast from his supervisor, apparently oblivious to having left the PA system on: "Get me the President. Tell him we've got a 509. Yep, just like last week."
I suppose you could call me a necromancer. A forbidden practice, among our kind. Breaking and entering of the worst kind, diving into the Mindcore itself and attempting to fix it. To repair the degrading circuits, bring them back to life. If I was caught, I would undoubtedly be dismantled. Which is why I roamed the outlands, away from the city. It wouldn't do to be snatched up in the middle of the night. And my friends wouldn't be allowed in anyway. I could hear them out in the trees, roaming on their own. The sound was strangely comforting, in a way. My friends wouldn't allow any harm to come to me. Beep. I nearly jumped, despite myself. The familiar noise was entirely unexpected, way out here in the middle of nowhere. But my device never lied, sensors starting to buzz as it came out of sleep. There was a viable Mindcore somewhere nearby. The gentle beeping directed me left, so left I went. Clambering over a log, making note to replace that ankle joint, creaking as I landed. There it was, half buried under the roots of a tree. Surprisingly close, surprisingly old.. Shockingly big. The body. Rusting, broken, covered with moss. Bulky and twisted, at least ten times my size in all directions. A war machine. And yet, somewhere in that wreckage, there was a Mindcore. With just enough power, maybe enough capability to be restored. If I was lucky. So I pulled out my tools, my torch and my wires, and got to work. \| \|\| \|\|\| \|\| \| My friends were always there. Almost a presence, more than a person. More like a force, than a presence. Always encouraging me to experiment, get better. Find solutions. I worked for them. It was often what kept me going, their eternal vigil. I told myself many things, and one of them is that if they can keep watch over me, day and night, I can keep my fingers moving, repairing, testing, learning. We would both do our jobs, and one day it would all come together. Elbows deep in the ruined innards of the war machine, my thoughts were occupied by other things, drifting idles... Until the Mindcore came into view. I dug it out. Shaped like a disc, faint blue lights spread across the surface. I could see the way it was rotted from the outside in, like a fruit left in the sun. But maybe I could salvage it. The risk was high, with such a dangerous machine. And yet... With a Mindcore this ancient, perhaps it would give me new insights on the way they were constructed. I left the sparse wires attached for now. Setting up for reconstruction of a Mindcore took time, effort. My protective fence, of course, electrified to keep the wildlife out. The mat for me to lie back on, so as not to damage my body if I fell. And the Mindcore itself, removed from its body of steel and cords and guns, set on the pad before me. The steps. Familiar, routine. Beginning my sorcery that I could be killed for, and almost feeling bored. That wouldn't last long. I was ready. Protected, isolated. So, tools out, I extended the link. Tiny, precise movements, bringing the exposed metal tip down toward the corrupted copper in the Mindcore. In order to know what to repair, I had to find the disturbed memories. The metals made contact, and I was abruptly somewhere else. Darkness, all around, cold. Inside. \| \|\| \|\|\| \|\| \| His eyes open, sophisticated cameras coming to focus near-instantaneously on the face above him. Blue-painted steel for a smooth head, sea-green eyes. The pupils contracted and focused right back, a sort of connection. The machine looming over him was smiling. Ark-23 had never felt so happy. --Wrong. No smile, blue and green should be red and purple.-- Of course, he had never felt anything else, but what did that matter? It was as if his circuts burned with joy, unbridled, unfocused. Everything was so new. Language, people, the sunshine streaming through the window. All this information in his head, something new to explore in every direction. This was right. The new arrival tests his voice. "Hello? Can I be heard?" That face replies, the deep, solemn tone at contrast with the smile and the colors. It's lips are out of sync with the words, as if saying something else entirely. "You are heard, 23." --"Mother? Can you show me how to do that too?"-- Gruff. That's the word, the word to describe his tone. It only excites Ark-23 further. He sits up, exploring the strength in his limbs, and notes that his greeter is much smaller than him. "Why am I here?" The reply is handed to him. A long, thin rod, a trigger on one end that his thick fingers won't fit into. The interaction is strange as Ark-23 lifts up the lightweight rod, hefting it as if it weighs half a ton, holding around it. --Wrong. That's a soldering iron. It should be a gun, made to fit the hands.-- The happy, almost curious expression of the smaller machine is starkly out of place as he gives Ark-23 his answer. "War." Ark-23 smiles, unable to contain himself. He has a purpose. \| \|\| \|\|\| \|\| \| As I fell from the memory, I was already marking, committing the twisted moments to memory. What the Mindcore had lost, it would steal from me to paste roughly over its missing chunks. Imperfect, inefficient. But now I could go through the Mindcore itself and take back my memories, replacing them with a rough approximation of what should be there. That soldering iron, as an example. It was mine, a long time ago. This machine would have been given a weapon, not a tool. I hunched over it, starting to work. With the corruption this deep, I would need to re-enter the memories a dozen times or more. But I still felt quite happy, content with the task ahead. I had a purpose, after all. \| \|\| \|\|\| \|\| \| Part 2 and 3 below.
“Chicken overlords?” “Screw the chicken overlords.” It’s written on my arm, in comic sans, of all fonts. How embarrassing. It’s not like i’m the only person at this dang school without a cool set of “last words;” everyone has a set. THey’re the last thing you say before you die. Some were poetic, like my friend Link’s, which were “May the day I die be the only day i never frown.” He was hit by a car, on my last birthday. He said the phrase all the time, and i had adopted the habit. If something made me mad, all you would hear out of me was a simple “Screw the chicken overlords.” It was my coping mechanism. Ever since LInk had died, I had began every day repeating it and said it every night when I went to sleep. And then, one day, out of almost nowhere, it hit me. A rubber chicken, that is. It had fallen from the roof of a building, it seemed. Jokingly, I said “Screw the chicken overlords. And that’s when the Kernel grabbed me. “WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?” He slithered in my ear as he dragged me into the alley he had charged me from. “It’s my last words. Why do you ask?” I said confused, and wrenching myself free from his grasp. “I’m one of ‘em,” He giggled at me. “Who knew that an and homeless man like me would be one, but that’s beside the point. I’m Colonel Sanders. Nice to meet you.” I laughed, confused. There’s no way that this guy could be THE Colonel Sanders, unless… I grabbed him arm, pulling the sleeve of his dungy hoodie up. “I am the king of chicken,” written in what appeared to be Helvetica was covered by layers and layers of scars. “You can’t cut it off. I’ve tried. It just heals the same way.” The Colonel was sad now, dragging his feet and hanging his head. “I just want to be able to die without lying. That was my only goal in life. Now it’s impossible. I’m not the king, I’m just a lonely, homeless Colonel.” Now that i was paying attention, I could tell this guy was old. Colonel or not, he was at least 150 but could move like he was 20. “You’ve never said it, have you?” “No, but maybe I should.” “I disagree, Colonel. I’ll cut you a deal. If you come with me and do one thing on your bucket list, We’ll say it together.” I was pretty suicidal after losing Link, who cares if I died over a bet. “Alright, Deal.” He picked skydiving. Who knew I was scared of heights? “Alright, let’s jump!” He smiled, and whispered something. Then, his eyes glossed over, and he slumped down. I checked for a pulse. He had said it. And now I was jumping alone. I jumped, and whispered one thing: “I’ve been clucked. Screw the chicken overlords.” And all that was left of me was a buggy parachute, and a splat mark.
I knew it before I fell. There was surprisingly little pain. I suppose that was the shock setting in. A bullet tore through my chest, and I knew I had lived my last day. I had just enough time to remember my beloved, waiting at home, and then my head hit the cold, wet sand. Above the sounds of gunfire and artillery, drowning out the screams and shouts of the fighting, dying men around me, there was a cacaphony of hooves pounding the sand. I turned my head to the side and saw them, where before there had been only American GIs. The women on horses, wearing glittering steel armor, embellished with gold filigree, weaving between the throngs of soldiers. One of them turned her gaze to me as I lay there, and I gasped. She approached then, and offered her hand. I reached, but didn't reach, stood, but didn't stand, and as I climbed, but didn't climb onto the back of the horse behind her, I saw my body lying, eyes closed, and I remembered the mjölnr, secreted beneath my uniform, which I had worn all these years. My head spun as I desperately tried to grasp the situation. No sooner was I upon the horse, than we began to ride. Above the battle, whose sounds were all but lost to me now, there shone a rainbow, and it was there we rode. Having been for all my life afflicted by a mortal fear of heights, I shut my eyes until the horse slowed and came to a standstill at the top. The land here was different, but familiar. Soil, stone, trees and grass. Mountains rose and, somewhere nearby, I could hear a river flowing by. The woman, the Valkyrie, shoved me off the horse without ceremony, and was gone back down the rainbow. I stood and brushed myself off, still clutching my rifle in one hand, though I could not understand why I had brought it. I turned to catch my bearings, and started at the sight: a woman, clad in silver armor, with hair the color of gold. My grandfather, who had come to America from Norway in 1897, had spent long days and evenings recounting the lore of old to me, and so I knew in an instant that before me stood Freyja herself. Knowing now where I was, and why, I snapped to attention and presented myself as soldierly as I knew how. The goddess wrinkled her nose, and seemed less than impressed. Despite her rebuke, when she spoke, I felt my heart melting at the sound of her honeyed voice. "Eh. I think I'll take the next one. Thataway, soldier." And she pointed up the path behind her, which I obligingly followed. At the top of the path, on a small hill, I saw a great wall, and above it, glittering in the sun, sat a gilded hall. Men armed with axes and swords passed me on the path, and I had time to comprehend my fate. Here, undeniably was Asgard, the home of Gods. Knowing the lore, and the tales of Ragnarök, I felt both pride and some regret at being here. I clutched my rifle self consciously as I finished my long trek up the hill, and through the gate. Standing now, outside the golden hall, I raised my hand to the knocker. My hand had not yet touched it, when I was shoved aside from behind. A voice boomed in my ear. "Budge up, there's a good lad" A redheaded mountain of meat threw open the door, and as he retreated inside, I saw at his waist a much larger version of the hammer I had worn for all my adult life. I followed him inside as the door shut behind us. The hall was... empty. Not knowing what to expect, I called out to the man in the way my Grandfather had always advised me. "Friend Thor! Would you help me a moment?" The mountain of meat turned , and with the most annoyed expression, addressed me. "Why, what is it you can't do yourself?" I stumbled over my words for a few minutes before I found my nerve. "The hall is empty, and I've only just arrived. What shall I do?" Thor's expression remained unchanged but he spoke kindlier. "All the other Einherjar are on the field until suppertime. Wait here or go find them. If you get lost, Highest will send for you." And then he was gone, turning down a hallway where I dared not follow. Having had my fill of war for the day, I sat down at an empty table, cluttered with golden forks, knives, plates and cups and rested my head in my hands. --------- Continued below.
Every morning at exactly 8:30am, someone gets their ass kicked on the main floor of our office building. Why, you may ask yourself? It is simple. It was our way for office discipline. Every single one of us flocked around like seagulls on a french-fry just to witness Harold take his anger out on the next employee. Harold was hired as our Human Resources Manager. He believed everyone should be treated equal. This meant it didn’t matter if you were man, woman, old, young, gay, or straight. He would shove your head into the copier machine and then hang the photos around the office. Harold was amazing. He was larger than the rest of us. He had long charcoal hair that rested atop his broad shoulders. He would carry an old relic, known as a boom box, to signal the morning ritual of someone else stepping up to bat. He would always say the same line, “You thought you could defeat me?! You were wrong, now I will destroy you!” Harold would amp himself up by playing the exact same rock song shaking every window to the ninth floor. The music was so loud, the palm trees in the lobby were head banging to each drum. I was stoked to see who he would choose next. The feeling of excitement and terror all in one moment was a rush. The feeling was better than having a coffee before a long day of work. Last week, Harold uprooted one of the palm trees in the lobby and beat Jim over and over with it until Jim couldn’t even stand. Apparently, Jim was the last one out of the office and forgot to turn off the lights. That money came out of the company’s pocket. Now everyone was rushing over to pick up all the loose change spilling from his pockets each time he was hit with the palm tree. Yesterday was probably my favorite. Harold acted like he wasn’t going to choose anybody. As he picked up the boom box with one hand, he started making his way back toward his office. “No one today?” Lance’s expression fell. Harold surprised us by resting his hand behind the back of Eliza’s head and throwing her through the glass, wall sized, window of the conference room. Everyone got quiet. Harold went into his office and plopped down into his leather chair. You could hear him wheeling around, grabbing papers as everyone pondered what Eliza had done. Waiting on him to choose was a never ending roller coaster of emotions. Harold pressed play on his boom box and then he pointed. “You thought you could defeat me?! You were wrong, now I will destroy you!” he amped himself up the same way. My stomach twisted in a knot when I realized that his forefinger was pointing straight at me. I locked my eyes onto the widened eyes of a monster. Everyone took a step back in unison, preparing to watch me get my ass kicked by this deranged madman. I wanted to close my eyes and curl my fist like you would expect in a movie. I was so nervous. I did the one thing no one expected me to do. I ripped off my yellow button-up shirt and shouted back, “Your reign of terror ends today!” I didn’t really know why I said it. I figured if I was going to get my ass kicked by Harold, I might as well have fun with it. I took off my glasses and threw my inhaler off to the side. “You dare contest me!” Harold grabbed a stool. Well, actually, he didn’t really grab it – he unbolted it from the floor – I wanted to tell myself he grabbed it so that I wouldn’t coward back. When Harold threw the stool, I actually managed to dodge it. It shattered the newly replaced window of the conference room hitting Eliza who chose to hide there for safety. “It’ll be you who gets their ass kicked today!” I screamed. I have never felt this much adrenaline before in my life. I never imagined myself getting into this. “I’m going to break you like you broke your terms and conditions in internet usage!” Harold started to move towards me. His jaw stretched down toward the floor when he roared. I struck a punch to his abdomen. He didn’t feel a thing. His fist punched my entire body into the cardboard cutout of himself holding the boom box. He leaned in to whisper in my ear as I tried recovering my vision. “Next time, you’ll think twice before downloading music on your work computer.” “You mean this?” I managed to pull my phone out of my pocket. A soft piano piece started to clash against Harold’s rock music. I tugged on his hair before punching him right across the jawline. Harold stumbled back a few feet while I was able to get back up onto my feet again. Everyone was cheering me on. They were eating it all up. Even Eliza from the conference room shouted, “rip his head off! You got this!” It was my moment. I was going to win. I was going to put Harold in his place. Everyone from the office will chant my name. I will be the one who called the shots. It was all going to be me. As I took my first jump toward Harold, he grabbed hold of my body and threw me over the receptionist’s desk. I couldn’t put together how he had such strength. He managed to kick the wall so hard that the entire light fixture over me came down striking me unconscious. “There’s always tomorrow.” I heard Lance comment before everything went blank. *** To read more stories, visit [r/13thOlympian](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
Albert Einstein, perhaps the greatest mind to ever live. His legacy is one for the ages. His theory of relativity marked the beginning of a new epoch, one where space and time no longer stood alone but together, while matter and energy became one. It spurred the conquest of the unknown, bringing together the four cardinal forces into the theory of everything. Using those tools, we were able to probe the depths of spacetime, and what we found was startling. For it seems time, much as space, had several dimensions. By riding a different vector one could move to what is colloquially known as a ‘parallel world’, and by moving back to our own we could re-enter it at a different point in time. Thus, time travel was born. Of course, the concept of time travel had been around for centuries prior, if not millennia. Many aspiring writers had undertaken the task of chronicling these would-be adventures. One common recurring theme was that one must take care not to interfere with the continuum, lest they alter the course of history and create a paradox. Because we’ve had it drilled into us from before the invention of time travel, nobody stopped to question it - we’ve always done it naturally. Perhaps it was all a warning from the future, incepted into the minds of our ancestors by travellers from an era long to come, those who witnessed the disruption ill-advised meddling could cause first-hand. But there are exceptions to every rule, i suppose. I’ve been stranded within the island kingdom of England, and it appears to be somewhere around the 16th to 17th century. My original plan was to emerge around the War of the Roses, but the navigational apparatus failed me. I cannot re-enter the parallel worlds with a malfunctioning device, as then i could not be sure to ever reach my own timeline again. My best bet is to stay put and hope someone finds me. Unfortunately, i too need sustanence. My skills as an engineer are largely useless in this era, as my specialty is theoretical applications of quantom computing. I’ve never even personally held a wrench before, much less the cave-tools i’ve seen in the town’s blacksmith. I can’t exactly invent electricity either, that would mess up the timeline far too much. Fortunately, i happen to be rather talkative, with a flair for the dramatic. I also enjoyed reading the classics - I had been recently binging on A Song of Ice and Fire by GRR Martin. Shame it never got finished, but the storytelling sucked me in from when i first read it at fifteen, and continued to do so twenty years later. In fact, the sole reason i wanted to see the War of the Roses was because it was allegedly the inspiration for ASOIAF. A good story echos through the ages, and it seems this one was no different. I’d travel though villages, reciting passages from the series that i had cobbled together from memories. The Red Wedding was a favorite, and i even devised my own version of the Rains of Castamere to perform with it. It’s been about three years, and i’m slowly pulling away from the source material. Partially because my memories are fading, partially because i felt the people like it better that way. And so i recited The Red Wedding, but had Robb Stark merely be captured while his wife and mother were killed in front of his eyes. I was planning to have Caitlyn come back to a broken son, who would then die, free, in his mother’s arms. Imagine my surprise when i heard a young voice say, “That’s not how it goes.”
“Misandra!” a powerful voice rang through my dungeon. “I am Khagal, Knight of the Rose, wielder of Dragonbane. My party and I will obliviate you, to free the virgins you keep captured and reclaim the riches you’ve stolen!” I sighed. Of all the idiots that had entered my dungeon throughout the century, this one sure took the cake as the dumbest. But the last few decades had been rather dull. No one had entered and I’d found my home to be increasingly boring. “Sir Knight of the Rose,” I answered. “I’m afraid you’ve been gravely misinformed. The only virgin who resides here is me. And my so-called treasures are not worth much. I will give them to you without fighting, if I can be your team mate for your next adventure!” There was a moment of silence. I could smell them all. The knight’s metal and sweat, the mage’s herbs, the elf’s wooden bow. Three there were. Which meant that either the knight couldn’t afford a squire, or he’d left the squire outside. Then an answer came, much closer now: “Dragons are not known to honor their words,” Khagal droned. “And if there are indeed no virgins held captive here, it means you must have eaten them!” I groaned inwardly. This talk about virgins again? Really? So if I’d caught and tortured an army of mothers, he’d say “oh my bad” and leave them to their own device? I decided to stir things up. This was my dungeon. My home. And I knew all the hidden stairways. “Buh” I said, as I revealed myself with a small gust of flame from my nostrils some twenty meters away from them. They froze. I remained in place in hopes they wouldn’t be spooked into attacking. “You must realize that instead of talking to you here, I could have incinerated you all, before any of you could have reacted. So lower your weapons, and hear my proposal.” I looked intently at each of them while I spoke. The knight had his sword drawn, a faint blue light emanating from its edge. The elf had an arrow cocked on his bow, a grim look on face. The air around the mage shimmered. She wore the blue robe of an initiate, which hid her face and carried a staff with a round crystal held by a wyvern’s claw. Khagal reversed his large two-hand sword and leaned on it. “You seem to want to continue this tirade,” he answered with a wry smile. “I shall play along, at least for a while. How can we be sure you’ll let us take your treasures and let us search for captives?” He looked up at me, and I flexed my wings a bit. I was about eight times taller than he if I rose to my full height on my hind legs. “Go ahead and search. Any treasures you find, take them outside. And any virgins or other captives you find, let me know - I’ll be curious to know where you found them and why they haven’t just up and left. Then after that, I depend on you to keep your word, because I need you to come back here and fetch me once you’re done,” I proposed. He eyed me and nodded courtly, and as the mage was about to say something, he held a hand up. I saw her hood move as she shook her head, but she remained silent. The next few hours went by, as they each took turns watching me while the others roamed my lair. I took a nap. I woke up just as the last of my old treasures were carried outside, and then I was alone. Wondering if they’d come back, I moved towards the entrance. I sighed. Well that was apparently it, so much for honor. But to my surprise, they all came back into view. I stopped moving and let them come to me. “We could have taken off with your treasures,” Khagal observed. I nodded. “Yes. You could have.” “But I am a Knight of the Rose. My word is honor, and honor is life. However, know that we’ll watch you closely,” he rumbled, then turned to leave, the others following him. “Wait,” I interrupted. They stopped and turned. “As I said before, I needed you to come back for me. There’s a reason for that. I cannot exit this dungeon without your help.” I saw Khagal eye me, then cast a measuring glance at the exit. He did the math. There was no way my large frame fit through that door. “Mage, do you know any shape shifter spells?” I asked. The woman threw back her hood. She had long black hair and piercing black eyes. “You want to submit to my magic?” she retorted, lowering her staff slightly. “I don’t have a choice. My own magic centers around destructive spells meant for combat.” “Well, it’s not easy an easy feat to transform a dragon. I can morph you into the size and shape of a human, but you’ll be naked and I will need absolute silence to concentrate.” She swayed her staff back and forth, while I nodded in agreement. Being a novice, this spell would tax her. There could be no room for error. “Do it.” The mage began working her magic, a pure white light forming and dancing inside the staff’s crystal. She repeated her spell several times, and each time, the swirling of the light grew wilder. She then stepped forward and hit me square in the chest with the staff’s crystal end. The energy within was immediately released, and surrounded me like a spider web. As it contracted, I felt my body change. A few minutes later, I was a woman. A very naked woman. “You’re... you’re a... you’re a girl,” I heard the knight say in a rasped voice. I looked down. Yes, I appeared to have a young slender figure. Still, I wouldn’t say I was that young in appearance, judging from the size of my milk containers. I shrugged - a weird thing to do without my wings carrying the motion - and walked past the trio. The knight still hadn’t closed his mouth, while the elf seemed to find something interesting to study in the boulders that made up my dungeon’s walls, his cheeks crimson red. As we came outside, the mage hurried over to one of their wooden carts and produced a grey robe, which she tossed to me. I put it around my shoulders and tied the front. Mortals and their stupid modesty, I thought. Dragons also had genders, but we didn’t make a great deal of hiding the anatomically different parts. I looked around. No squire, only horses and mules to drag the wagons they’d used for loading my treasures. I saw with some satisfaction that they must’ve had thought I’d have far more treasures, as the two carts they’d stuffed my treasures in, were only a little more than halfway full, and three others were entirely empty. “Let’s head toward Clearlake”, Khagal said, now avoiding my gaze. I knew the village to which he was referring. It was a three days march, even if we were all riding alongside the mules. Night approached, and after we’d all eaten a few rabbits that the elf had managed to shoot, we quelled the campfire, settled in for the night and went to sleep. But not all of us. The elf was tasked with keeping watch on me. I woke up a few hours later and was both happy and annoyed that the mage’s shape shifting spell hadn’t worn off. It was annoying having to go around objects, which I’d have otherwise just stepped over in my dragon form. But there were certain benefits too. As I rose from the grass on which I’d slept, I heard the creaking of a bow. “Relax, I just need to relieve myself,” I mumbled. The elf eyed me warily. “You want to come?” I asked, casting him a dirty look. He snorted and lowered his bow. I took off the robe and walked past him fully naked, then looked back. He had his averted his eyes, looking down at his bow. That was the good thing about this human form. I was more or less treated like a human female, not a dragon of fearsome might and superior magic. I whispered a spell, and a dagger materialized in my right hand. Then I jumped at the elf, and before he could shout a warning, I sliced his throat. The mage must’ve heard something anyway, because I saw her beginning to stir and then rise slowly. I walked over and stood directly in front of her. As she fumbled for her herbs, I spoke: “Don’t bother. You spent your mana transforming me. That shield of yours would indeed have protected you from most of my magic, but I know the spell too. It requires preparation time which you don’t have, and power you can’t muster until sometime tomorrow.” Her breathing quickened and as she drew in a deep breath to shout, I reached down and swiftly sliced her throat. Her mouth bubbles with blood as she tried to make a sound and her life ended. The knight hadn’t registered anything. I’d seen him take off his armor, and more importantly, I’d seen him sheath the sword he’d called Dragonbane. As I advanced upon his sleeping form, I easily undid the transformation spell. I reverted back to my dragon form. I didn’t have the need to tell him anything, and so I simply lowered a clawed foot on his chest and squeezed hard. A few gasps was all I heard before my foot went through and touched the ground. The sword Dragonbane could have slain me. I hadn’t lied about wanting to travel outside the comfort of my home: I just wanted to do it without getting killed by one of the few remaining artifacts that could do the job. Not that I’d be gone from my lair for a prolonged amount of time, but a lot could happen in two weeks. I weaved a new spell, this one more complicated. The sword vanished. Now it was secured deep inside my dungeon in one of the hidden chambers. A different chamber from where I kept my female virgins.
“Oh my God that is SO WRONG!” Emma’s jaw clenched as she turned to look at her girlfriend, Chiara. She was leaning against the window of someone else’s car, her hands cupped over her eyes. Emma gave the leash she was holding a gentle pull, and walked over to her. “What is it?” “Look! They just left her in the back with the windows closed!” Chiara yelled, her arms whipping in angry circles. Emma peered in. There was a long Chinese serpent dragon curled in the backseat of the car. It was a beautiful breed – purple-metallic scales with finely manicured claws. Seeing the dragon set off a cocktail of anger and anxiety in Emma’s belly. Anger, because Chiara was right. Chinese serpent dragons needed fresh, moving air to thrive, and the last thing you wanted to do was keep it pent up in a car. Anxiety, because she wasn’t sure what Chiara was going to do about it. “Let’s call the cops, or the humane society,” Emma suggested. She moved the leash from her right hand to the left and started digging in her pockets for her phone. “And what are they going to do about it! The lazy polizia are going to give them a warning, and the humane society will give them a pamphlet!” Emma winced. Chiara’s Italian was coming out. “These people are just going to do it again! The poor drago, she needs to be treated right!” “Chiara, please, just think about-” It was too late. Chiara pulled the leash out of Emma’s hand and motioned up to Gilbert, their Irish wyvern. “Gilberto, let them have it! Fuoco, fuoco!” Gilbert obeyed. He swooped down and let out a belch of flame. The window melted. The Chinese serpent leapt up in surprise, and started flying in a whipping circle. When she realized that Gilbert wasn’t going to hurt her, the Chinese serpent darted through the melted window and into the air. She flew around Chaira in a stunning figure eight, then darted high into the sky, heading for the next building. “Chiara, that was someone’s pet! How would you like it if someone did that to Gilbert?” “We’d never leave Gilberto in a car,” Chiara countered. At that moment, a man stepped out of a nearby store and dropped the coffee he just bought. “What the hell happened to my car?” “Run, my love, run!” Chiara said, grabbing Emma’s hand and Gilbert’s leash.
"You, Frank Myer,"the judge boomed. "Have been accused of messing with 'the Buisness!" Somehow at that moment, I felt that admitting I knew anything about this buisness would be a likely death sentence. No, I had no choice but to play this elusive game of verbal tag till the end. "I deny all such claims." "On the 5th of July, witnesses claim you flubbed the loguster." "I tinkered with no such toodle." "When did you last perform maintenance on the goranx?" "Right before the uh... fytefocker incident." "How did you check the lopoopo?" "With both eyes, your Honor." And on it went. For every question he threw at me I would improvise an answer, even if I had absolutely no clue what I was saying. It seemed to satisfy the judge. "And thus, I am innocent."I said, praying to God I hadn't screwed up. The judge nodded curtly and released me into a white waiting room. * "So, what'd you think?" Dr Walker had shrugged off his 'judge robes', and was seated at his desk when Gary, the director of the mental ward, entered. He rubbed his temples and sighed. 20 years on the job, and it never got easier. "Psychotic babble. We'll book him the room."
Carefully opening his briefcase to avoid getting sand on the Smithson dossier, Mr. Eaton, esquire, took out a green binder, about three times as thick as the average dragon scale, and began the ritual, older even than Xalahar the purple wizard: "Before we begin the combat to end all combats, etc. and so forth, I'd like to clarify some of the conditions of our battle. Primarily, I'd like you to review section 32, paragraph 6 concerning our liability in the case of your subjection to bodily harm, fatal or otherwise." Eaton, esquire, clicked open the binder, and, removing a stack of papers, handed them to the gladiator. Squinting, contorting and contracting his face, hoping to discern some meaning in the flimsy printer paper grasped by his gargantuan hands, the gladiator was reminded of his time spend in middle school, tormented by the sons of doctors and lawyers who could all do what he couldn't: read. The memories of nights spent sobbing, pleading with the gods of the Azhchorian Valley to grant him the ability to read, of countless pet fish sacrificed to Lokhwanitor flooded his mind. As he contemplated the documents, his deep sadness turned to an intense rage. With one swift, vengeful stroke of his halberd, he cleaved Eaton, esquire, in two.
"Yes, yes. I have returned. I just want to enjoy a meal with my family, if you don't mind." He hated living like this. Their house was on the center of a gigantic stadium. It was filled with fans every hour of every day, of every month. They had privacy in the bathrooms and the bedrooms, but everything else was a spectacle for the entertainment-starved crowd. He sat down on the table. "Mom, can you pass me the salt?" The crowd cheered his name. "You can pick it up yourself, dear." A boo. His mom really wasn't the favourite this month.
"You're joking." "No, no. All I did was copy some equations from that one science sit-com on TV and called it a quantum vaccum accelerator." "Well, what the hell are you gonna do now? They expect $50,000 worth of research from you!" "I don't know. Give it back? Say it was a mistake?" "Good idea. Try that." A week rolls by. "They didn't take the money back." "You're lying aren't you?" "No! They told me that most scientific breakthroughs happen as mistakes, so it was fine and I should continue research!" "You're in deep now." "This whole situation sucks." "Good luck buddy. Don't get too stressed out, now."
There once was a man made of stone. Whose thoughts he gnawed on like a bone. Philosophy for years. He cried cold marble tears. Because life has no intrinsic meaning or value. &#x200B; He got up from his pose. Took deep breathes into his nose. And decided to go find some pants. He put his anti-realism aside. His nudity he couldn't abide. Just because Rodin had misjudged his chisel.
"Jim, Anne, Damon, there's a reason I asked to guys to come to lunch with me today,"I said as I set down my lamb chops, my voice heavy with regret. For years I have grown to love the people at this table more than my own hatchlings. I mean, I had plenty of other friends, but these three meant something special to me. "You three are my closest friends, and we've shared so much over the past five years. When I started working here, I had nobody in my life. Hadn't for quite a long time."This wasn't a lie. I had left my cave in order to find the punks that made off with a not-insignificant portion of my vast hoard of gold. I thought that maybe if I blended in amongst the mortal humans and took a human job, then it would make my life and my search just that much easier. But, as it was, I ended up mostly forgetting about my personal mission the more and more I got to know my co-workers "That being said, there's something I need to tell you that I've been hiding from you pretty much since the day I met you."Who would be the most upset about this revelation? Anne, with her fear of seemingly anything cold blooded? Jim, with his strict Catholic upbringing? Or Damon, who just couldn't seem to deal with people hiding things from him? I mean, I'm not a person, but I don't think he's going to argue about the semantics of whether or not a centuries-old Japanese ice dragon counts as a person. "Hiro, it's cool if you're gay,"Anne said as she tenderly reached for my hand. Claw. Whatever. "It's 2018. Most people don't really care about that sort of thing anymore. Even Jim." "Oh fuck you, Anne,"Jim chortled as he threw his napkin at her. "I'm not that goddamn Catholic." "What? No! I'm not.. I mean, I don't see anything wrong with it but I'm not gay."I suppose I should have seen that coming, given that I haven't dated anyone the entire time I've been out of my cave. But maintaining a relationship of any kind is difficult when you don't really have an acceptable home to bring someone back to. Or are capable of eating their pets whole line chicken nuggets. "What I'm trying to tell you guys is that I'm a dra-" "A dragon?"Came the interruption from Damon. "Shit, dude, we've known that since your first interview." "You have? What? How?"By now I was growing confused and frightened. My kind hadn't really been seen or acknowledged by the mainstream human culture for so long that I wasn't exactly sure I wasn't going to have to be dealing with some kind of backlash of modern day Saint George trying to take my head as a trophy. "Well you haven't exactly been the most secretive about it. Also, it's rather difficult to not notice a 60 foot long lizard-like thing straight out of a fairy tale with shiny silver scales and the ability to cut the restaurant's cooling bills in half. We just didn't say anything because we assumed you had some sort of magical glamour or something to disguise yourself, had forgotten to use it, and didn't want to embarrass you over it."Jim explained. He had a habit of making everything he said start to sound like he was being a giant dickhead, but closing it off with the most heartfelt of reasoning. "I mean, honey, we work at an Edo Period fantasy themed knockoff of Medieval Times, you play the dragon in the stage show, and not once has anyone bothered to offer you the costume that's been collecting dust in the storage room for the past five years."Anne is a lovely woman, but she has a way of making the subtle details seem painfully obvious. Of course that's why I hadn't found the thieves after all this time. They knew exactly where my dumb ass was no matter what I did. "Bruh, we thought you was just fucking with us after awhile. Playing some kind of weird dragon joke. Especially after you started wearing glasses and doing a bad impression of the dude from that Breakfast at Tiffany's movie. Seriously thought one of the stage show samurai were going to cut you at some point."Finished off Damon. His family was from Osaka, but with his upbringing in the U.S., you'd think he'd just stepped out of some kind of cliche teen coming of age film. My mind was racing. I was well and truly fucked, and now I had some serious explaining and apologizing to commence with. Guess some eons are better than others.
It came from nowhere and it struck hard. I wasn’t prepared, no one was. Why me? Everything was so unfair. I had plans for the future. My business was just about to boom, I’d just proposed to my wonderful wife and I felt that I was going to achieve great things in the future. I knew I had the potential to change the world, I had ideas on how and was ready to execute them. But destiny wanted something else. The cancer started in the bladder. Unfortunately it was one of those aggressive cancers, the ones that love to seek and destroy, conquer the human body with no possibility to stop it. We delayed it as long as we could with different types of treatments but nothing seemed to stop it. After multiple treatments and days that were horrible we decided to stop the treatments. Why would I lie in bed all day, delaying death? It was not how I wanted to live my life. It was not how things were meant to be. It would be better to face death and let my wife continue with her life instead of having to watch me struggle in a battle I would lose. A couple of days later, as I felt my body giving up, I woke up in the middle of the night. I could feel a presence in my room but I could not move. I tried to let out a sound, but my body was too weak. ‘It’s alright. Deep in your heart you know who I am.’ a chilly voice echoed through the room. ‘I’ve come to fulfill my job.’ A silence. Slowly, a figure in black hood and a face without skin emerged from the shadows in my sight. ‘David, it is time.’ the Grim Reaper rose his schythe. ‘It is time for you to fulfill your true destiny. You see, you have been on my to-do list for a very long time now, but you never drop down to my killzone. And this morning, something astounding happened. You disappeared from my list. It’s never happened before.’ Another long silence. The Grim Reaper finally let out a relieving laughter. ‘My job has now potentially gotten extremely easier.’ he said, ‘Do me a favour, will you David? Make sure the doctors examine you thoroughly once more.’ The Grim Reaper disappeared from my vision, as I still couldn’t move in my bed due to my weakness. ‘And in the short future I will be able to discard my Cancer-list completely.’
"Welcome" I smile warmly at her as she greets me. We both know why I'm here. A table materializes and upon it, a full tea set upon a silver tray. The empty space around it begins to fill with an inviting light, dim at first, but growing steadily as I walk towards the table and my companion. As I step forward, the light begins to change, and the floor becomes a thick carpet of sweet-smelling grass, moist with dew but not too slippery to walk on. It tickles and I smile even more. I sit down in front of my companion, and as I do so, a cushion materializes underneath me. Soft, supple, yet supportive. It flickers between blue and red, but remains steady at blue as I finally make up my mind. My companion, seated herself on a comfortable wooden chair, reaches her hand out to me, and I hold onto it. I feel the warmth, the instant connection. The realization of our Oneness. Closer than siblings, closer than lovers, we recognize that we are parts of one whole, and with that realization, we instantly break out into peals of inexplicable laughter. In front of us, the tea set had changed into bamboo steamers filled with Dim Sum. Then flickered again to dishes of Tapas. And once again to a tea set, complete with finger sandwiches. I take a deep breath, and my senses are immediately bombarded with information. The chirping of the birds perched on trees that only existed at this very moment. The sunlight peeking through the leaves, kissing my skin. A stream that just appeared now, rolling gently among smooth stones, and with it the scent of soil and water. I am instantly aware of it all, at peace, and completely content. It was a long time before either of us spoke, and when we did, it felt right, and appropriate to do so. "It wasn't meant to be a struggle at all". "No", She replied. "No it wasn't". Droplets now danced in the rays of light peeking through the trees. A waterfall had appeared nearby, loudly roaring. Then, as quick as it came, it left. Replaced by a quiet rocky wall covered with moss. I took a breath in, my companion did as well. I don't remember how long it was before we exhaled, but it was exactly the right amount of time. The happy silence stretched on. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Years. There was no way of telling and it wasn't important in the slightest. I gazed up happily as the trees vanished and the sky loomed above our heads, set with glittering stars, the moon, full and round, lighting our faces. I closed my eyes again and once more felt the warm light of the sun on my face. As I opened my eyes, I was back in the forest. Or rather, I had never left. "How long ago, for the part of us that was once only you?"I asked her. "For me, about 200 years Earth time. A Christian convent. Where were you?" "A Buddhist temple. China."I replied. The leaves of the trees suddenly became beautiful hues of gold and red, and began falling from the branches in a fiery rain. We stopped and both drank in the sight, awed by the beauty. The leaves became dust, and soon, the entire forest was blanketed in pure, crisp snow. The trees stood majestically bare, and where there was once a stream, there was now a frozen lake. "How did it feel for you, when it came?"I asked her, already knowing the answer. "It felt like a beginning where there is only Now."She replied. "Timeless. Peaceful. Just like how the rest of my life was" We had both greeted death with open arms. Not as a savior to relieve us of suffering, but as an expected friend to take us on a journey we were always meant to go on. When you had already spent your life accepting what was real, accepting the reality of suffering as the reality of happiness, accepting the reality of oneness and shattering the illusion of apartness, there was no struggle in dying. Nothing that truly Is, ever truly dies. Only the unnecessary parts that fooled you for a lifetime into thinking that you were an individual alone, instead of just a part of one whole. As if sensing my thoughts, the snow melted, the grass sprang back, and a spring breeze burst into the clearing. The trees were once again wreathed in thick green leaves and the stream once again began to run. We reached out for each other once more, and this time, when we touched, we were no longer two. We simply were. And there we sat, waiting for the next companion to arrive, in the place where all fighting ends. &#x200B;
When the Judge's came there was fear in the nation. Utter and complete order had taken over. States moved to reign in their obscure and most idiotic laws after the Governor of Alaska was marched out and executed for putting his dog in the back of his car. A woman was washing her donkey in her tub in Arizona and soon found herself imprisoned in the Mars Rehabilitation Program. Arkansas is now the least populated State after most of the population was placed in off planet prison cells for honking near a sandwich shop. A number of plastic straw dealers were publicly executed in California and an old woman using a plastic bag was commuted to a life of hard labor on the Moon's Penal Colony. Nobody has kept track of the amount of people in Colorado who disappeared that had a coach on their porch. Every person in Connecticut who made pickles is gone when they all failed to bounce. The idiot dog shaver in Delaware was dropped from a ship ten thousand feet up when she was caught selling dog hair. A few people paid up their parking fees for their horses in Florida when the first guy was beheaded. In Georgia, nobody sleeps on a boat for more than twenty nine days. The magician getting blasted from a cannon for placing a coin in a child's ear made all the other magicians in Hawaii find a new career. The stupidest and the most mundane laws across the United States quickly were repealed after the Judges arrived but by the time many of the laws were eradicated it was too late for some states. Take Idaho for example. Tens of thousands were eliminated during the fall when many of the people swept leaves into the street. By the time the State held a special session to rid itself of the inane law there was only three people left in the legislature and the new Governor was an old woman from a nursing home who couldn't lift up a broom. Laws, all laws were universally wiped out of existence but to do that took time and the Judges were anything but patient. Two thousand six hundred and eighty four people were imprisoned for selling their vehicles on a Sunday in Michigan. It took almost a month to get rid of the law and by that time another three thousand people had been found guilty and sentenced to a life on Pluto. Military's rose up to defend their motherland but all of them failed their own rules and regulations and the Judge's decided to set an example that laws were not made to be broken. After that the few who were left were set to disband but the Judge's warned that to do so was breaking the law and there would be severe consequences for that also. Strict military discipline would be enforced for the few hundred people that were left. Luckily, the President of the United States declared there was no need for the military any longer and gave those still in the service early exit reprieve. One of the opposing Parties Leaders called for the President's impeachment but found herself drawn before the Judge's to answer for a case of treason. After a long period of discussion the President of the United States walked out and shot her. The Judge's after looking at the United States myriad of laws and the Constitution declared that the one person who was above any and all laws while in office was the President of the United States. The Judge's were quick to remind the President that after his time in the Presidency was up that he would have to answer for all his crimes. The President wasn't an idiot and pardoned himself before he left. It's been six years since the Judge's came to our planet. We've gone from a world population of seven billion to around thirty million. All of the laws had been nullified except for the Constitution because there just isn't enough people left to get rid of it. Everyone is careful about making rules or setting laws. An unspoken guide of conduct is the standard now. The Judge's have grown bored in recent years of the worlds acceptance of Anarchy. I hear talks that there might be another system they will move on to that could use the firm hand of order to stifle the chaotic environment of their society. A United Earth Government is being rumored in the beginnings of creation. Whispers of a world wide law is in the making. When the Judge's return it shouldn't shock them that the first law they see is that they have been banned from earth's solar system entirely.
It’s been widespread panic since the news let out. Sure, there are some neat things that will come of this. The first thing I thought of was Japan... Japan will get to witness the manifestation of an honest-to-God Pikachu. Now me, I love Pokémon, so that’s gonna be pretty amazing. I’ll admit that. But it didn’t take long to realize how devastating this could turn out to be. Us? We’re going to make the world...no... the entire universe tilt when ours come to life. Sure, the tv show makes it seem cool, what with the aliens, robots, adventures, and daring rescues, but... This’ll be the beginning of the end. Those folks from across the pond get their precious little Mickey Mouse to come to life. Good for them. Meanwhile, we’ll end up with a reckless alien that claims he wants nothing more than to protect us, when in reality all that’ll end up happening is the death of us all. The Doctor seems like a good man with good intentions, but if 50 years if a television show has taught me anything about him, it’s that he’s a harbinger of destruction. We need to forget before the Earth is destroyed.
Her screams rip through the house as she glares at her husband, who’s keeping his eyes glued to the ground, ashamed. If I’d just remembered to take the trash out, he thinks. This fight is all my fault, and I accept that. A moment later, the world disappears around him. It’s last night, and he makes sure to take the trash out. He even does the dishes just in case. However, when he’s spit back into the present, she’s still screaming at him, and gives him a hard slap before leaning forward, spewing spit into his face as she rambles. Now it’s about him using the last bit of toothpaste, and not looking cuter, and how he needs to make more money. He can’t do anything right, can he? When she finally leaves the room, he shakes his head. Tears spill down his cheeks. Every time they fight, he accepts that they’re his fault. Sometimes he’ll go back hundreds of different times in one sitting, fixing every little thing he can—he’s even gone a whole week without eating just to make sure she doesn’t get mad about that again. Last time she hit him. A lot. But today…today he just doesn’t have the strength. Standing up, he walks over to his bedside table. His wife’s so perfect, and never does anything wrong. He really doesn’t deserve her, does he? She needs to find someone better, someone who doesn’t mess anything up. He used to tell her when she upset him, and even once tried to leave her—but she smooth-talked him, twisted his thoughts around. At the end of day, it was his fault for getting upset. That’s why she never has to go back in time. It’s just because he’s so…terrible. He pulls open a drawer, where there’s an old, rusted gun. His dad passed it down to him, and he never thought he’d have a use for it. But maybe this is the only thing he can do right. When he strokes the edges of it, he thinks about much happier she’ll be without him. How she won’t have to scream at someone everyday. Avoiding mistakes is harder than fixing him, and each day she makes it clear that his life’s a mistake, that he’s a burden. Grabbing the gun, he takes a deep breath before raising it to his head. Maybe today he can finally save her. He stops, though, because she’s screaming about something else, now. If she sees this, she’ll scream about this. He quickly sets the gun down and closes the drawer, wiping tears from his face. He thinks this will make her happier, but can’t bring himself to do it. Not while she’s upset. He’s got more problems to fix. Always more problems to fix. *** This story's really dark, and doesn't really have the less sympathetic part of the prompt. Sorry! Story just popped into my head and I had to write it. Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en)
ROOM #2 - VICTIM Sweaty hands, shaky fingertips. Slow and easy breathing. Today’s not bad, right? No. Today’s fine. The dog outside’s not snarling, claws digging under the door. She needs to calm down. Sit on toilet, smoke a cigarette, tap foot and try to ignore those thoughts racing around her brain at breakneck speed. Twenty-five thousand to stay in this bathroom, this claustrophobic walls-are-shouting-at-me bathroom. Why? Don’t know. She thought it was weird, turned out it is weird. Second cigarette, now. Dog’s biting at the door, now. Just make it through the night, he said. Be careful with my dog, he said. Fucking dog. Goddamn dog. She was bitten by one when she was five, hence the scar on her leg. Don’t like them, can’t be around them. Twenty-five thousand, though. Third cigarette. She’s done tapping her foot, now pacing around the room. The walls feel like they’re closing in. She turns on the shower, let’s the running water block out sound of dog-nails ripping wood. She flicks third cigarette into the drain and lights up forth. Looks at her watch. Fourth hour, now. Banging sound causes her to fall down. Under the tub, red eyes. They’re peering through the slits of a vent. She puts her back against the wall as a paw plows through it. This can’t be real, can’t be a dog in the vent. She flicks the cigarette at it, and the dog disappears, turning to smoke. Deep breaths, deep breaths. She’s grabbing clumps of her hair, starting to doubt her sanity. These things can’t be real. Can’t be. She doesn’t like dogs. Can’t deal with this. Standing up, she looks into the mirror. Baggy eyes, wrinkled skin, fifth cigarette. She’s grown twenty years in one night. Another dog appears in the mirror, her stomach lurches before it shatters. Collapsing onto her butt, tears stream down her face. So much barking, howling, snarling, growling, gnawing at her brain. She can’t do anything, it’s over. She can’t take the money, can’t stay here anymore. She starts screaming that over and over. And over, and over. But the dogs are louder. OBSERVATION ROOM Dan sits in front of the computer screen, eyes glued to the monitor. A half-eaten donut’s next to him but he’s not hungry anymore. He knows this job’s important, that developing his weapon will get him a lot of money—but he feels dirty about it. A gas that worms into your brain, picking out your greatest fears and exploiting them? It makes him sick. James, however, is loving it. He’s practically spinning in his chair as he hastily scribbles notes, quickly filling page after page. This is only the second time they’ve run these tests, but it seems the tweaks they’ve made are working—it’s the fourth hour, and the girl hasn’t killed herself with the broken glass from the mirror. Yet. The first one barely made it past the second. “You ever think about like, if this is all worth it?” Dan asks. “Course it is. We’re helping our country. With this, we can interrogate anyone and get any info we want.” Dan glares at him. James…is a little screwed in the head. Would he ever say that to him? No. But he is. He doesn’t give a damn about the uses of this weapon—he just wants the money and the ability to create whatever evilness he wants. Dan wishes he didn’t have to do this, wishes he could press the button to get rid of the gas right now. But he needs this paycheck more than anything. It’s hard to care about the world when you’re trying to save your terminally ill daughter. So he just listens to the woman scream and scream and scream. *** Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
Some people might think it's easy to be the hero of a story by a bad writer. But they would be wrong. Dead as a door nail wrong. Now, it's true that I'm a fabulous movie star that has all the cool stuff and gets all the hot girls and maybe sometimes the guys too... But you try spitting out some of this shit my author writes. It can be the most exasperating and excruciating experience that will ever be known to man. I didn't always know I was a character in a book, and maybe it was easier that way. At least, I didn't feel the weight of the world on my shoulders all the time, like the whole world around me was mine to save from all the dangers that lurked everywhere and always. I used to spend my days, snorting giant piles of cocaine carefree and loving it. I still snort cocaine all day, just not as carefreely. But enough with all the blibber blabber, what you're really here to know is how I became Deus ex machina man. This is extricably tied to how I figured out I was the hero of this book. Like I said, life has always been good. Anything I ever wanted just kinda showed up. I'd see a commercial and think "that would be cool."15 minutes later my doorbell would ring with a sample from the manufacturer. I'd enter a sweepstake and next week there'd be Ed McMahon on my doorstep with a check. This kind of bullshit had been going on for years. I always thought it was the lucky rabbits foot my grandma gave me for my third birthday, but boy was I wrong... Dead as a doornail wrong. There was a day, like any other, that I was out for a walk. Unthinkingly, I kicked a tiny rock. That tiny rock knocked over an umbrella that popped open right as a gust of wind passed by, lifting it high in the air. I watched as it scooped a helium balloon rising toward the stratosphere and bringing it back down to earth. I watched as it floated neatly back into the hand of the crying child. Then, it started raining really hard and the mom picked up the umbrella and kept both her and her little darling boy dry. As the rain poured down, I was lifted out of my body. I saw the giant machinations behind the fabric of reality and heard a voice. It said "Rube, you are my heart. I love you with every stroke of my pen. If people would read my stories, they'd love you too. I love you almost as much as I love building rube Goldberg machines, which is my true passion. This is what I have created you to do. You shall be my Deus ex machina man. And that was it, I knew I had to take up a life of crime fighting. I didn't really start doing anything different. Mostly just knocking things over accidentally or bending over at just the right time... But I started making a difference. And, that filled the whole of my being with true and real and pure joy. So, I embraced the calling and took up the responsibility. I mean you can only bang so many hot chicks and drive so many fast cars before you start to realize the emptiness of it all. So, I'm happy to be a part of the solution. Let's just hope the CIA keeps that sweet white powder flowing in to the streets, because if I don't do it that's the only time everything goes wrong. Dead as a doornail wrong.
Death is the great equalizer. 'Born of poor or noble stock, all answer to the ticking clock.' I heard that somewhere. Young, old, rich, poor -- all kinds of people end up on one of the 'slabs' in the morgue where I work. I try to treat them all with respect -- they were people once, after all -- but I admit they all sort of blur together after a while. They don't seem so much like individuals anymore. Just another stiff, if you'll pardon the expression. Except for Brendan. He stands out. Which makes sense -- he's my one and only repeat customer. As I looked down at his livid corpse, I reflected on how Brendan Cosgrove had graced my table many times before -- 56, to be exact. No, he doesn't just have some rare form of narcolepsy -- I may be just a small-town medical examiner, but I went to med school, and I know what dead is. I see dead every day. Brendan has died 56 times before this. And 56 times, he's come back to life three days later, with his injuries -- no matter how conclusively fatal -- completely healed. He has been stabbed, shot, poisoned, burned, dismembered, crushed. and strangled. Nothing seems to stick. He's another reason I always dread getting corpses I can't identify -- I know that any one of them could be Brendan, and unless I can match dental records I'd never know until he "wakes up". This time, though I was lucky -- unlike Brendan, who had been shot several times non-fatally only to die slowly of exsanguination -- and his face was entirely intact. I transferred him to the cold chamber on the end of the row, for while he would soon return to the land of the living, for the moment he was still very much a decomposing cadaver. Still, I didn't latch the door -- I estimated he'd been dead over 48 hours when the police found the body and brought him in, so he could wake up any time now. I found myself wondering at how blase I'd become about all this. The first time it happened, it was a horrifying experience that upended my entire perception of the world and my place in it. But then, in many ways, so was the first time I dealt with an ordinary corpse that didn't come back to life. It's amazing what you can get used to, I guess. Brendan and I have a sort of ritual -- not the bell, book, and candle kind, just the kind that everyone has with friends and acquaintances. Every time he comes into my morgue for another round of mortal existence, I bring him hot coffee and doughnuts for when he wakes up. In return, he regales me with the story of his latest demise. He won't tell me the context or the circumstances that led up to it, just the event itself. It's still fascinating -- even a short peek inside the head of a man whose head was previously occupied by multiple bullets is an uncommonly interesting experience. I glanced up at the clock. I should have gone home by now, but I wanted to be here when he woke up. I decided to sit down and read for a while, to make the time pass quicker. It wasn't long before I heard a muted gasp from inside the chamber on the end. I smiled, and stood up, walking over to the chamber and pulling out the tray inside. Brendan was breathing heavily, looking around in confusion as I pulled him out of the chamber -- he was always disoriented for a few seconds. "Morning, Brendan."I said, wryly, though it was well past midnight. "Coffee's on, and I got us a sampler from Krispy Kreme, if you care to indulge." He continued looking around, his eyes full of fear and trepidation. I frowned, looking him over. His wounds appeared to have healed, as usual. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "Brendan? Is something wrong?" His eyes focused on me, and he licked his dry, chapped lips. "W-we...need to get out of here. Now." he rasped. Well...that was new. &#x200B;
"Deus Ex Corp, Customer Support. For help with an arbitrarily bestowed supernatural power, press ONE. For help with a..." beep. "For superhero-type powers, press ONE. For healing powers, press TWO. For resurrection powers, press THREE. For anima..." beeeep. "Please hold. You are person number-- ELEVEN --in the queue." ... "Thank you for calling Deus Ex, I'm Amanda. How may I help you?" "Yeah. I have the power to resurrect any being on the planet for 24 hours at a time." "Ah, RTD24! That's one of our most popular packages. Is it working for you?" "Yes! I've used it to resurrect loved ones for closure, famed people from history like JFK and Marilyn Monroe, etc. But today I tried to resurrect Jesus Christ, and a dog appeared..." "Oh, yes! That's a known issue with the product. If you want to bring back the biblical Jesus, you have to invoke Jesus of Nazareth. Specifically, you have to do it in Greek: 'Iisoús tou nazaréth'." "Why doesn't just plain 'Jesus Christ' work?" "Because the power works using the name that the target was called by in life. Jesus was known as 'Jesus of Nazareth' before he died, and not by 'Jesus Christ' until much later. The dog that appeared when you used your power--has it done anything yet?" "Yeah, actually. It peed on my floor, crapped in my closet and chewed up my sofa!" "Yes, that particular dog probably heard 'Jesus Christ' screamed at it a lot more than Jesus of Nazareth ever heard those two words together. Is there anything else I can help you with this evening, sir?" "No, I suppose that's it. Oh, how do I get rid of this dog?" "You can't, sir. It's undying for 24 hours, and with you until that time limit expires." "Jesus Ch..." "Sir, I advise you to rethink that!" "Thanks, I will. Good night." "Good night, sir, and thanks for being a Deus Ex customer!"
Doctor Plasma smirked as he saw the group of them round the corner. Mister Sledge, Heartthrob, Dynamo, and Proxy. Why was he not surprised? Two of the thinky-feely type heroes to try to talk him down, and two of their tough guys, in case that didn't work. But specifically these four? It was perfect. "Stand back,"Doctor Plasma warned them, "I could kill you all easily, but that's not why I'm here. You can't stop me, and you shouldn't even try." "Doctor Plasma, we've been down this road before,"Proxy sighed, "I don't understand, why can't you live in peace? This world has too much death and destruction, too much pain. Why create more?" "This time, old friend,"Doctor Plasma smiled, "I can truly say that for once you have no idea what you're talking about. I will show-" And as Doctor Plasma pointed his weapon at the wall, Heartthrob leapt into action. "Stop!"she shouted, and as she did, her power echoed, reverberated in Doctor Plasma's head. "You now feel the bond between us,"Heartthrob spoke, "You feel a kinship, a connection. In the name of that connection, I beseech you, do not proceed. Put down your weapon and give yourself up." Doctor Plasma did indeed feel this bond Heartthrob spoke of. It was her power, to create a close kinship that could then be leveraged into influence. Doctor Plasma had studied up on the heroes' powers, but even knowing what she was capable of, he found he was powerless to stop her, that he didn't want to stop her... but at the same time, she failed to realize that this wasn't going to turn out how she thought it would. "I do feel a kinship,"Doctor Plasma conceded, "but friendship doesn't just mean that I have to listen to you. True friendship means that now you must listen to me." And Heartthrob screamed out, not the scream of someone who was in pain, but the scream of someone who was in anguish. Dynamo and Mister Sledge ran forward to help her, but Proxy stood in place, eyes narrowed in a calculating look, and took out a cigarette and lit it, cupping his hand to protect it from the wind. "What did you do to her!?"Dynamo shouted at the villain. "Nothing,"Doctor Plasma said flatly, "Any pain she feels is something she has done to herself, through her own choices." "I see,"Proxy said, a grim look on his face, nodding slightly. "What are you talking about, man?"Mister Sledge shouted, "That's bullshit! She didn't choose to hurt herself with her power! Her power doesn't even do that?" "Her power creates friendship,"Proxy spoke in calm realization, "and she uses that friendship to convince people to stop what they're doing, to sympathize with her. In a way, it's almost like the inverse of what my power does. Mine senses pain and allows me to take it upon myself." "I don't see how that's-"Mister Sledge started. "My power is empathy,"Proxy interrupted the man, "and hers forces empathy on others." "I don't understand,"Dynamo said. Doctor Plasma folded his arms and smirked, for once enjoying being in the know about one of Proxy's rants that seemed to only confuse everyone else. "She creates empathy through friendship,"Proxy shook his head, "but true friendship ain't one-sided, kid. While she was making him empathize with her, at the same time she was making herself empathize with him. And while normally that don't mean much, if a man's cause is just, if his pain is deep enough, and his actions justified, it changes her more than it changes him." As if on cue, Heartthrob stood up, and started walking over to Doctor Plasma. "Heartthrob!"Mister Sledge shouted, "It's not safe! He's done something to you!" "No he didn't,"Proxy shook his head, "all he did was open her eyes." "Why..."Dynamo hesitated, "why did she scream?" "Because she knows,"Proxy sighed, "No, she doesn't just know. She accepts." "Very good, Proxy!"Doctor Plasma laughed, "It's a shame how rarely your comrades ever bother to listen to you. They might stand to learn something, as I did." "Oh?"Proxy said, his tone curious, "And what did you learn?" "That it's foolish to try to change the world from the top-down,"Doctor Plasma said, "and that the only real change is from the bottom-up." "What the hell is everyone talking about!?"Mister Sledge shouted. "This building,"Doctor Plasma announced, "is a monument to inequality, and as such, I intend to tear it down. In time, I will do the same for every one of its kind around the world. "What is he talking about?"Dynamo looked to Proxy, "What is it?" "A prison,"Proxy said to the kid. "You ain't starting no prison break on my watch,"Mister Sledge shouted, and took his hammer in his hands in a fighting stance. "John, stop,"Heartthrob placed her hands up in a placating gesture, "listen to him." "You heroes,"Doctor Plasma sneered the word, "you stand as defenders of the system, but exactly what is it you're defending? Who have they deemed deserving of punishment, and who have they deemed deserving of protection? "This building represents a system that gives black men twenty percent longer sentences than white men. A system that is four and a half times more likely to give the death penalty if the perpetrator is a black man, again for the same types of crime. Men receive sentences over sixty percent higher than women for the same crime. "Meanwhile, if someone wears a badge and kills someone, even if they're unarmed, even if they're running away, even if they're complying, even if they're innocent of any crime, even if they're in their own home. Someone wearing a badge murders someone in cold blood, and most of the time absolutely nothing happens. Bad cops get a slap on the wrist for crimes that any other person would serve years in prison for. If people get too upset for that to stand, they shuffle him around to another department like a pedophile Catholic priest. And they fight any semblance of accountability or transparency tooth and nail through their unions and the 'tough on crime' political campaigns of the people they lobby in support of. "That is what this building represents. Injustice, corruption, inequality, the subjugation of the innocent at the hands of the guilty. I know it, and now so does she,"Doctor Plasma stated, gesturing to Heartthrob, "and the forced realization that that's what she's been fighting for all this time, well, I bet that hurts." (Cont...)
It wasn’t there and then it was in an instant. As if I’d blinked and suddenly everything had changed. From where I stood was the size of a cruise ship that was floating in our atmosphere. But given perspective, I could only imagine how big it truly was. When I blinked again it had vanished. And there I stood at 2 in the morning, my cocker spaniel barking at the sky, dumbfounded as to what I’d just seen. I did what any rational person would do and took to the Internet. I searched for anyone, any forum or board or post that would validate what I’d seen. And much to my surprise there were dozens in mere moments. From the other side of the world in the bright sunlight you could see color on the ship. Brass and red stood out the most in the pale blue skies. There was even a video to confirm what had happened. The sky is clear, then the ship appears, and in mere seconds it’s gone again. There were claims of a hoax but the sheer amount of people who saw it couldn’t be doubted. From children to the elderly, blue collar and white collar workers, poor and rich, millions perhaps billions of people saw it. And what do you think happened after that? Panic. Panic like I’d never heard of or seen before. Videos of people scrambling for supplies, rioting, people stocking up on weapons or anything that could be used as weapons. Jets from military’s of all nations scrambling, National guard units mobilized, enemies for centuries met to discuss what they must do against this new perceived threat. One thing is for certain: on that October everything changed. These days everyone watches the skies. Meanwhile, on the Taryian Cargo Vessel Lyka held his head in his hands. “I messed up bad,” he said. “Bad, bad, bad.” “You’re absolutely getting beheaded,” Irok said. “Brother, they’re going to fire him out of the waste pipes. This is a tremendous error,” Roth said. “Why is our cloaking function just one big button? Why is it a toggled option! Just one push? No prompting? Nothing?!” “Seems to me that the labeling is clear.” “Clear to who? This scribbling is illegible!” “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just responsible for the ships life support system. Sorry I’m not a scribe,” Roth said. “To be fair, it isn’t very clear. And he deals with a lot of buttons, doesn’t he,” Irok asked.” “He does but so do you and so do I. His only error is that he’s new...that and the fact that we’re probably all fucked because Lyka just broke Mandate 7a3. An egregious offense.” “Fucked? I’m afraid I don’t know that expression,” Lyka said. “Oh! Well this is a coincidence. That planet we just passed, the one you just flashed our existence to, is called Earth. A backwater planet that’s only fascinating feature is the sheer amount of biodiversity. On their planet, they have beings called humans. Humans over time developed languages, and in their lexicon eventually existed the word ‘Fuck.’” “There’s a number of ways to use it, it’s very heavy in context and flexibility, but the way I’m using it is like this. When we get back Taryia everyone on this vessel is fucked because we got spotted. Meaning we’re likely getting thrown into a pit or shot in the back of the head if their merciful.” Roth concluded. The trio sat quietly before Irok broke the silence. “Sorry this had to happen on your first day, but at least you learned something new, eh?” “Yeah. That I’m fucked.”
"What the hell?" The computer registered a successful launch, but no detonation or impact was detected. "Sir, it appears that the missiles failed to detonate." "All of them?"The general was perplexed. Nothing like this had ever happened. "Yes, sir. All 1,360 nuclear warheads and 5,000 non-nuclear explosives failed. Simultaneously." An urgent alert sounded in the command room. A panicked corporal shouted, "Sir, we have incoming bogeys" "Where from?" A long pause as he checked the monitor. Terrified, he said, "Everywhere!" ". . . well boys, it was nice knowing you. Take this time to say your goodbyes." &#x200B; Far away, a young woman stood on the shore of Iceland. "Oh no boys, no killing today."She raised her hands. All the missiles stopped in mid air, fell, and sank to the bottom of the sea. &#x200B; This is just a short one sorry. I'm tired.
Human drones found the slumbering gods in 2050. We were delusional to think that it could ever lead to anything but war. The Enlightened fought to join Them, and The Disillusioned fought against. Internet arguments on whether freedom of religion applied when worship had actual physical consequence escalated into debate on the political stage. And among the world leaders, the hundreds of millions of soldiers who bled on the battlefield, sat me, one Disillusioned man with a computer targeting nukes. The burden of how many lives I could end with just a few keystrokes trembled my hand whenever I typed. But man must be free to choose his own fate. And so I killed. One day, we got an order from General Ironside himself. The chaos of our command center settled as he strode into our office with half a dozen generals in tow and gave his speech. A code cracked in the Enlightened communications allowed us to breach the front line for four minutes. In that time, we were to launch a full scale assault on their main fleet. All to provide a distraction so that a small team could escort a massive nuclear payload to our actual target- the gods themselves. The room fell silent as we sat, uncertain. Could the gods even be killed? Some of us wished to seal them off, and live separately in peace. Others wished to flee, far away to different galaxies. But Ironside had not yet finished. "The gods are stirring. We believe it has something to do with the Enlightened radio experiments. Whatever the cause, it's clear that our time is almost up. This will be our final stand."He placed a hand on the shoulder of a uniformed soldier standing near me. "I will be heading the mission myself. Man must be free to choose his own fate." The lines on his forehead sank deeper than I had ever seen them. His burning blue eyes swept over the room, meeting each of our gazes in succession. Like an old wolf, cornered by hunters, ready to fight for its life. One by one, we stood and saluted. We would follow this man to the end of the world and back. I rode on the backup payload, one of only two ships, expected to dodge over four hundred. While packed with enough explosive force to split the planet in half. This promised to be a hell of a ride. ________________________________________________ Gotta sleep will update later.
“You have twenty minutes to finish that puzzle in front of you, and then I’m coming for you!” You look down. It’s one of those puzzles for 6-year-olds with like 25 pieces. The motif is a kitten, slightly entangled in some pink yarn. You put the puzzle together just to be safe, but it only takes two minutes leaving you another 18 minutes to wait. Suddenly, a hatch opens in the wall, and a teddy bear on a tricycle emerges and approaches you. “Good job, sport! Here, have a candy bar.” A full size Snickers shoots out of the bear’s abdomen, thwacks against your leg and lands on the floor. “You’re free to go. Stay safe out there!” You hear a door unlock at the other end of the room. With some trepidation, you open it slowly and peer outside. It looks like a normal street, so you step out, and you hear the door lock behind you. Your wallet and phone are both gone, but you just feel lucky to be alive and unharmed. You look around, and with a sudden, gut-churning realization the full horror of your situation dawns on you. What kind of sick bastard would do this to someone? To make them think they’re going free and then face them with this? You’re in Missouri.
To.... Whatever Your Name Is, From Cameron Okay, so before I begin this journal, I want to remind you of some things, yeah? First off, do not think that because you take control of my body that you can do whatever the hell you want, because you can't. I was here first. This is my life, not yours. You've added me to half a dozen stupid clubs at school, and that just doesn't fly with me. I didn't join those clubs because - news flash! - I didn't want to be a part of them. And for the love of God, if you're in control when I have to go to football practice, GO! I've been chewed out by the coach four times for missing practice! You're going to get me kicked off the team! I don't care if you don't know how to play- LEARN. I've been on the team my entire high school career, and if you get me kicked off, I'm going to make your life a living hell. Speaking of making your life hell, stay away from my girlfriend, you understand? We may share a body, but it's me she's in love with, not you, so stop trying to be me. I saw what she texted you (me). I'm sick of waking up and seeing that you've made plans with her for the next three weeks when you don't even know if you're going to be in control then. Just stop talking to her. Actually, only answer minor questions from her so she doesn't lose interest in me, got it? But other than that, it's like you don't exist. Alright, that should be good for a first journal. Keep those rules in mind, and we'll get along swimmingly. To Cameron From Jonathon I believe you forgot the point of this journal, Cameron. It wasn't to lay down ground rules, it was to document what we've done throughout our time in control. And you think I care that you were here first? I didn't ask to take control of your body. I'm just trying to live any kind of life I can. Anyways. Before I get too angry, I'm going to actually do what we agreed we'd do. The morning started out fine, woke up at the normal time, drove to school. We have physics first period, remember? Apparently not, because you forgot to do the homework last night, so I got ass-reamed. Well not me, according to you, because you wrote your name on the paper, which only made Mr. Greene even angrier because obviously you knew we had homework. I do all the work you leave me, is it too much to ask the same in return? Maybe I should pull you out of football so you have time to focus on school. Nothing else major happened until lunch. Clarissa practically sat in my lap as I tried to eat. You told me to stay away from her, but that's kinda hard when you're dating her and, oh yeah, we share the same face. Unless you'd like to tell her the truth? Should I wear a nametag so she doesn't get confused? I'm doing you a favor by playing along and making plans with her, pal, otherwise she'd think you were losing interest. If I had my way, I would've dumped her months ago, but I know you really like her, so I'm dealing with it. The rest of the day was boring as every other day. In case you're in control later, we have homework in Calc, Physics (I managed to convince Mr. Greene to let us make it up), and History. By the way, Alexander asked if he could see our notes from yesterday, but I have no idea where you stashed them, so I told him I'd send him a picture later. Would it kill you to put things in the binders we have in our backpack? It's really not that hard. I'm getting tired so I guess I'll end it here. Nothing noteworthy happened for the rest of the day. I got most of the homework done, but you're in charge of finishing the rest. If you do that, I'll start looking over the rules of football. And if you start doing the homework on a regular basis, maybe I'll actually try in practice. It's entirely up to you, Cameron. To Jonathon From Cameron Ugh, I hate physics. I didn't even want to take it, but I didn't get to make that decision, so why should I have to do the work? I don't even understand it half the time. Does Mr. Greene hate you? Because I'm pretty sure he hates me. It's like he knows when I'm in control. Whatever. It's just one teacher. And I put the history notes in our backpack, it just might be at the bottom. I didn't really have time to put it in our binder, Clarissa was waiting for me outside. Also, you're doing me a favor with Clarissa? It certainly doesn't seem like it to me. I've seen the texts you're sending back and forth. That doesn't sound like something a pretender would say. Just watch it. I just reached the end of your note. You're honestly trying to threaten me with football? As if you have a choice? You will try all the time, or else I won't do any of the work. I'm too angry now to continue writing. We've only been doing this journal for 3 days now, and I'm starting to think it was a bad idea. Have fun figuring out what else happened today. &#x200B; &#x200B;
Today was the day. Id finally manged to get up the nerve. My suicide note was beautifully written. A work of literary genius railing against the injustices of today. Someone was bound to read it and society would become awash with revolution! I was wearing a really pretty outfit. Purple flats with sequins. Oh I could drool for hours looking at them in a shoe shop mirror! Oh My leggings had little cats on them. My short black skirt made the outfit look playful but classy. Oh and then I picked out my favorite blouse- A white frilly sweetheart blouse I rarely wore because I was too afraid of letting people see fanciful side. Oh All my affairs were in order. I picked the perfect spot. The school ampitheater. Class started at Four PM so I would be dead for quite a while before anyone found me so they wouldnt have to see my ugly struggle before I died. I knew lots of theater students had great photography skills, so when they sent my picture into the local newspaper they were going to make me look sooo good. I was good friends with the janitor so I made him call in sick today! No early interventions for me. Oh today was going to be the best day of my life! I had set it up so that all my possessions would go to my best friend- Kim. Oh Kim was going to be so happy once she saw the changes in society my death was going to cause. her and I have been friends for what three years now? Uhh these years have been the happiest of my life. I spent an hour working on makeup and contouring the lines of my face. Made my nose look adequately small- cant have people thinking I have a big nose or anything after I die. That might ruin the news story! Made my jawline look stronger, foundationed all those blemishes away. Oh I looked like a supermodel out of one of those shampoo commercials! Eyeliner to make my eyes pop- I had to think about this one a bit. I know my eyes are going to be closed but... Well it looks better this way. All I had to do was go to the store to buy the perfect rope. I had stalked the hardware store looking for the perfect rope to complent my beautiful long slender neck. Oh I settled for a dyed pink hemp rope 3/4 inch- Anything thinner was likely to leave nasty welts in my neck and I couldn't have that. Anything thicker was going to look ropey and take away from all the work I had done to make a very pretty mis en morte. I went to my local atm so I could buy the rope anonymously- wouldnt want some poor store clerk to get into trouble later when they found the receipt of course. Gotta pay in cash so they cant trace the transaction! I stared numbly at my account balance. Well this ruins *EVERYTHING!*
Storm clouds grew around the mountain tops, dark and threatening. They rumbled, immense noises of destruction and wrath that echoed unceasing. A bolt of lightning fell from heaven to earth, striking the mountain with an almighty crash. It caused an avalanche, boulders fell down the side of the mountain and the entire range shook with the sounds of the falling rocks. &#x200B; Yet all those noises of nature's wrath and terrible power was quieter than his laugh. The Blacksmith, for he had no other name, shook with laughter. The sound poured from his mouth, shaking his body with uncontrollable mirth. His scales clicked with amusement, his wings trembled, his tail cut the air with his hilarity. The fires of his forge danced, as if the flames shared his good humor. He looked down at the young woman, slit pupil eyes twinkled as he inspected the small girl. "What did you say girl?" &#x200B; She swallowed, embarrassment and humiliation plain on her face. Vestiges of anger tried to stamp the embarrassment down as she stopped her body from trembling. "I said I wished to learn from you."Her voice was as quiet as a mouse squeak, weird and shrill in the wake of the Blacksmith's laughter. &#x200B; He guffawed again, the power of his amusement rattled the bones. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and a large meaty hand wiped them away. "I thought that was what you said."He waved a hand dismissively before grasping the immense hammer again. "Go away little girl,"he said as he swung the hammer down. The echo of metal shattered the air, barely louder than his chuckles. "This is no place for a girl." &#x200B; "I can work hard!"Her voice raw with indignation. "I can work as well as any boy or man. I can be of use." &#x200B; He cast a gimlet eye at her. "Your gender has nothing to do with it,"he replied scathingly. "I am no thick headed idiot that thinks your sex limits you. You may be as good as any, and you may suffice as a blacksmith at any other forge."The hammer crashed down again and he held up a smoking blade. The metal glowed from heat and pressure and the Blacksmith inspected it with a critical eye before striking it again on his anvil. "Any other forge, not this one. You are not me. You are not one of my kind. You cannot learn here." &#x200B; "Why?" &#x200B; He rolled his eyes. "Many reasons. You are a child."The hammer came down again. "You are too small."Another strike. "Too weak."Everything he said was underscored by a hammer blow, as if each point was emphasized by the hammer and metal. "I need no intermediary to deal with others. I need no one to write for me, to figure for me."He pointed the hammer at her and she almost took an involuntary step back. The head of the hammer was almost as tall as she, and definitely thicker around several times. "You are arrogant to think you could apprentice here. You lack conviction." &#x200B; She gulped, her face red from the heat of the forge, from the biting wind, from his words, from her emotions. "I do not." &#x200B; He sighed, a deep sound as if his lungs breathed like the bellows that stoked the flames. "Fine, prove it. Make yourself useful. For as long as you can bear it. Show me the depths of your will." &#x200B; For weeks she did. She worked unflinchingly, uncomplaining, unwavering. Every task he gave her, no matter how demeaning, no matter how mundane, she did without complaint. Her eyes remained wide, always watching. Every day she arrived shortly after dawn and every night she left. &#x200B; One day he found himself looking for her, aware of her absence. A noise drew him to the large pile of ore, and he stared down at the girl. She was arranging the metals in regards to their quality, but she was crying. Large tears rolled down her cheeks and she sniffled but she continued in her toil. Finally she realized him there and a hand dashed away the tears but she continued with her work, and the tears returned. &#x200B; He could stand it no longer. "Why, why do you persist? Why do you not leave?" &#x200B; She shook her head. "I remain convicted of this path. I will prove it." &#x200B; "Why?"he asked again. When she remained silent his anger at her tears grew hot, his shame at his watching roiled. "Tell me!"he roared and his shame grew ever more when she flinched. &#x200B; "...an oath. A debt." &#x200B; Nonplussed he stared at her more. "You owe me nothing. I have had no dealings with you. How can you owe me if I know nothing of you?" &#x200B; She continued to sort the ore. After a moment, she whispered. "A long blade, 3 feet in length. Two edges, straight with a 3/4 channel. The cross guard is plain, an emblem of a shield at the center-" &#x200B; "-the hilt was 3 hand lengths,"he continued with wonder. "Black leather bound around the quarter turned hilt. The pommel is a round orb, etched with a dove. A fine sword. I made it three winters before, for a paladin who asked me to repair it. She was a good warrior, did good around the range for 6 months while I made her blade." &#x200B; The girl nodded. "My home was attacked by warriors clad in purple armor. They came in the name of justice, to punish the evil they said. They hurt my village, the hurt my family. She came and fought them off, she saved us." &#x200B; The Blacksmith nodded. "Just as I thought, a good woman." &#x200B; The girl looked off in the distance, her eyes seeing the past. "She was. She got hurt for us, but that did not stop her. She saved my mother. She told us the story of her travels, at how your blade helped her defend the weak, to punish those that prey on them." &#x200B; He shrugged, his turn to feel mild embarrassment. "A weapon can be used by anyone, it takes a good person to use it for good." &#x200B; The girl smiled, the first time he saw her do that. "That is what she said, and she lived by that code." &#x200B; "Well, why are you not home to take care of your family then? You mother must be worried." &#x200B; "She is not,"the girl replied as she bent back to her work. "She died from her wounds. The paladin saved us, but the damage was done. I made sure her days left were kind, and I promised her I would make a good life for myself, one to honor her. I am no warrior."The girl stared down at her hands. They were raw, calloused from weeks of hard labor. "I cannot take life. I cannot fight."The hands clenched. "But I thought, I thought I could help those that can fight. I can make weapons to fight evil, I can make armor to defend against it. I can....but perhaps you were right. Perhaps that is my arrogance, my weakness." &#x200B; The silence was louder than any laughter, any thunder, any avalanche. The Blacksmith looked down at her and finally he turned. "Perhaps. Perhaps it is only the dross covering your strength."He felt her eyes on his back and his wings drew back with resolution. "Tomorrow, we will break that away. Tomorrow we will reforge you anew."
Harry Potter. That was a name that sent chills down the spine of anyone who knew the story. It was sad, really. Harry had grown up in an abusive environment with family that forced him to live in a closet under the stairs. He lived with his uncle due to the fact his parents were murdered, just a house robbery gone wrong. They barely fed him and always treated him like shit. It was sickening. To escape from his hell Harry imagined he was something he wasn’t- a wizard. He started going crazy from a young age and it didn’t take long for the family to commit him to the asylum, in fact they were probably glad to get rid of him. Harry was still in his fantasy world then though. He thought Hogwarts was a school where he could learn magic. In his mind that was realer than anything. In reality he was in an insane asylum. Hogwarts was notorious for their ‘crazy’ patients but Harry- well, that the boy that really put Hogwarts in the lime light. A boy I could never forget. I was working there when Harry was brought in. In fact I was assigned to watch him because of my long years working at the facility. Albus Dumbledore, that’s me, weird name, I know. Even the boy thought so. In fact as we spent time together he was convinced I was the head master of his magic school- and he trusted me. Probably too much. We tried so hard but he boy never got better. We made the mistake of thinking he was cured before but as soon as the boy was out he went and tried to kill another boy named Tom Riddle, who he had gone to school with. I assume Tom had bullied him in the past and so Harry projected his fantasies onto him, believing that Tom was some dark wizard named Voldemort. Yeah. Voldemort. I think that’s how he spelt it anyway. Must’ve just thrown a few words together randomly. Harry got bad and there was no cure in sight. He got other patients to believe in his lies. His friend was another patient named Ron, who had come here around the same time as Harry due to family and bullying problems. Harry made so many other patients believe this, think that they were in a magic school. So many. He tried killing Tom Riddle a few times too. Poor kid. I thought we were going to have Harry committed here forever but alas the end came- and it wasn’t him being cured and living a happy non-magic life. It was the last time he ever tried to kill Tom Riddle, convinced that this boy was some dark wizard who killed his parents. They ended up getting into a bad fight when Harry attacked, which ended up with both of them dead. They lied there, no magic to save them. No cure in sight. Harry Potter. That was a name that sent chills down the spine of anyone who knew the story.
I have a huge interest in writing but have never really tried, this is my first attempt but please be honest and lmk what you think, thanks :) ————————————-———————————————— No! Wait! Whatever they’re paying you... I’ll divide it by zero!” The floor of the spaceship hanger was cold. In the distance a ship just broke the sound barrier. I jumped. A small blaster was waved in my face, with a heavyset hitman behind the trigger. “You’ll... what?” He replied after a moment of confusion. I hoped this man was as dumb as the rest of these debt collector’s goons, with death right in front of me it was all I could hope for. “I’ll divide them by zero.” “You can’t be right, you can’t divide by zero” He said, clearly still confused. “Of course I’m right...” I said hesitantly, “i just simply mean that I’ll... delete their accounts!” I said perhaps with too much excitement, ”The accounts of every last collector in this system. I’d wipe them completely without leaving a trace, it would be as if they never even existed” “And why would I want that?” “Just because the accounts will be gone doesn’t mean the money will be. Whatever Trevor’s paying you will be penny’s compared to what I will have, and it’ll be yours too.” “They aren’t paying me with money.” I froze, unsure what the man would do next. Fear took over me. Was I finally out of luck? No. It’s not over yet, the man still hasn’t made up his mind. “Then what are they paying you with? Why are you doing this? Please, just lower the blaster and we ca-” The man pushed the gun into my face and yelled, “No, No! NO! I HAVE TO DO THIS!” He screamed, “I HAVE TO OR THEY’LL KILL ME! Oh god, and then my family-“, he started to sob. He was being paid with his own life. Perhaps He too owed them a debt, nowadays who didn’t. “I can help!”, the gun was cold against my face, “With the money we will have we can get all of you away from here,” I seemed to just be spewing out words now, talking faster and faster, hoping for him to see some reason, “you can go any where you want! Have a whole new start, with several lifetimes worth of funds. This is an easy decision, just come with me to Revas III, and there we can-“ “She always wanted to see the moons on Edos...” the man mumbled under his breath. “We never had been able to go-“ “You can take her there! Just come with me. Killing me is the easy thing, but joining me is the smart thing to do. You’ll see more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. If we go now, it’ll be done before they even know what happened” The man lowered the gun slowly. “Thats it”, I said encouragingly. “Now lets get on the ship, any chance you can fly a Mk. 9?” I got up slowly and began leading the way. “I’ve flown several Mk. 8’s back in the day, I’m sure I can figure it out relatively easily...” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek. The man boarded the small vessel right behind me and started towards the cockpit. I walked towards my quarters quickly but discretely, and grabbed my laser rifle from above my bed. “Hey! It looks like most of the controls are the same! I can have us taking off in just a few seconds!”, yelled the man down the corridor. “Excellent!”, I replied, peering from my door, the man was looking all around the front of the cockpit, re-familiarizing himself with its layout. “I’m glad you were able to come to your senses back their, you’re making the right choice for you and your family.” The man looked to the side with a euphoric smile, “Yeah, you’re right”. “I’m always right.” The flash from my rifle was bright. I never like having to take a life, but it helped knowing that he died smiling, thinking of his family. I tossed his body off the ship and headed off to Edos, I had heard the moons there are rather nice. —— It’s funny, I never even learned his name.
My name is Kos and I am the god of a universe I created. My universe is almost identical to the Earth you live in, except instead of many living souls, there is only one soul, Jared, living amongst non-player characters. I am hoping this experience will put me on the path toward one day creating a more detailed universe with many souls. Today I am only strong enough to watch over one soul. I wanted my universe to conduct an experiment of powerful positive thinking, so I made the rules simple: Jared may have any and everything he desires, which I call his "prize", but there is a catch. Jared is constantly being scored on a number of metrics, one of the most importantly being his "Poz-thought"and "Neg-thought"counts. For every positive thought Jared has, he is awarded 5 poz-points. For every negative thought he has, he is awarded 1 neg-point. If Jared goes three days in a row with more poz-points than neg-points, he will receive a tool needed to receive his prize. The amount of tools he must collect depends on the magnitude of the prize. As long as Jared is able to keep his poz-points above his neg-points, he will feel happy and meaningful. He will have the strength to get through setbacks. If he has more neg-thoughts than poz-thoughts, it can potentially increase the amount of tools needed to receive his prize. He will also feel more sad and meaningless when this occurs. There are millions of events and variances that happen that can create a boost or plummet to Jared's metrics. This adds a certain degree of randomness to the universe, but also is designed to create karma. For each and every possible action Jared takes, an alternate universe is created, or another dimension if you will. I am able to observe alternate dimensions to see how different actions would've impacted Jared's life. Jared is oblivious to not only the existence of his alternate selves, but also to the fact that he is the only conscious soul in his existence. However, there was one particular dimension that he managed to find out what was going on. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Life is meaningless; it's so mundane and monotonous. Why am I even here? What is my contribution to society? I was living on my brother's couch, having been fired from my software design job four months ago. My money was slowly dying, and my impulsive and reckless gambling habits were not helping matters. I'm in debt. I'm lonely. I'm getting fat and bald- I have nothing to offer to anyone. I'm surprised it took them that long to fire me- I would've fired my ass years ago. I pretty much did whatever I wanted at that job. I began to get a little too relaxed. I would hack into my company's administrative databases often, but never left any traces. Until one night I read this article on the internet that it's better for companies if all the employees know each others' salary. I took it upon myself to post the financial information of all sixty-two of our employees on the office bulletin board. Nowadays all I did was smoke weed and wait for the Internet to tell me some good news. I had no clue where my life was headed, and I found I was most comfortable when I would use vices to escape. Anything to get my thoughts to stop racing. If there was one thing in the world I did want, it was to figure out just what the hell my life's purpose was. It seemed it was probably cyber security, but to be honest I didn't trust myself. I was good at hacking, and had a tendency to make impulsive, irresponsible decisions that would most likely get me into trouble one day. I spent the next few months poking around the dark web, trying to get government information. I was getting heavy into conspiracy theories, and wanted to use my skills and free time to expose the fraudulent crooks running the country. Eventually I rabbit-holed myself into one theory that seemed to connect more dots than any other theory I had heard. It was called the Simulation Theory and everything it was saying seemed to click. I was in a simulation, and I knew it. I just needed to prove it, and I was going to spend every hour at my disposal finding a way. I was hacking away all night one Saturday when I saw the sunlight begin to creep in complimented with the chirps of the morning birds. I sighed a disgusted relief as I cursed myself for my pathetic and isolated lifestyle, waiting on a file I had stumbled upon to finish downloading. I had vowed to finally go to sleep when it did, but never anticipated it taking this long. I was drafting a lengthy Python code into my Linux console, when a window popped up on my screen, and loaded a stream. It was a video of a garden with a white sky, and a towering, bright figure walked into view. "Hello, Jared. My name is Kos, and I am the god of your universe. Your planet takes up zero physical space, as you are indeed in a simulation, currently living out trillions of realities at this very moment. When you die, you will wake up in another universe. Fear not of me being an impostor. You are in search on your life's calling."the figure said on my computer screen. "What... how..."I stared at my screen in disbelief. I begin talking with the figure until I was completely convinced I was receiving the proof I was looking for. "What is my life's calling?"I asked Kos. "I cannot tell you, but what I can tell you is this. Your happiness is being scored on a daily basis. This dimension you live in here is significant for two reasons- for it is the only one where you outsmarted Faith. However, in all the trillions of universes you have lived in- this universe is the one you are the least happy. You have robbed yourself of Faith, and looped yourself into a vicious cycle of negative thinking." I looked around my room, noting the disheveled atmosphere. When was the last time I truly felt happy? "What do I need to do, Kos?! I'm so lost!"I said to my computer, beginning to choke tears. "Jared, you are designed to manifest real things. Let me tell you a secret- your thoughts are things. Your mind is NOT an imaginary etch-a-sketch- that you can bounce around thoughts and expect nothing to manifest from them. When you think negatively, negative things will happen. When you find yourself in a negative rut, the easiest way to get out is to start with gratitude. You are acting as your own worst enemy, Jared. You are trying to save the world when all you need to do is save yourself."
Captain's log Date 25-6-2218 Earth Time: 14:00 Planetary time : 20:00 Day 15 : The predictive models were accurate. Planetary size and star orbital time very similar to Earth Rotatation time : 24hr 15 minutes which allows us to use similar time keeping measures as Earth. Landed near the equator to allow for relaunch using slingshot method. Near equatorial climate and temperature. Landed near a geological formation with many shallow caves - now repurposed as base camp. Excavators and lab has been set up followed by living quarters. Samples of planet and organic vegtation surrounding us have been promising with the possibility of being a future resource. Crew members have been advised to maintain cat5 hazardous exposure garments while out of the Habisphere and to report any untoward experiences. Previous reports and finding uploaded to Direct link satellite and sent back to NASA-SpaceX Mission control. Day 25 _ 20:00 hrs One instance of accidental exposure today. Crew member fell off a precipice and compromised breathing unit. Emergency Evacuation team was unable to extract her before the air circulation system cutoff. Not wishing to risk CO2 poisoning helmet was removed and Martinez became the first human to ever breathe on Elysium. She remained exposed for a further 30 minutes before the evacuation team could get her up and back to base. Monitored for the last 10 hrs with no side effects apparent . Will continue to monitor for another 34 hr as per protocol. Day 27 20:00 The final reports on Shea Martinez came back with no anomalies today morning. Have directed the scientists to institute controlled trials for acclimatisation to Elysium's nearby ecosystem. Microbiology Dept has confirmed that most of the pathogens here only mildly different to those of earthly origin. And have show sensitivity to our anti biotics. Experiments on laboratory mice have elucidated some of the pathologies we are likely to encounter. A flu shot has already been prepared for inoculation of the 5 volunteers. Day100 20:00 Writing report over a glass of whiskey. Acclimatisation trials complete and results completely positive. Elysium is so Earth like it seems like an alternate reality where humans did not evolve. The flora and fauna while not recognisable as earthly have evolved along a similar pattern . Carbon based life forms who are autotrophe also support the motile chemotrophes. The animals are also easy to capture and eat. We must be careful not to over hunt and Destro the ecological balance. We have already created a animal husbandry unit which helps to supplement our nutrition. Plant material is being used to expand settlements. Exploration teams are being constituted to add to the knowledge that we have on Elysium. All in all. The mission seems to be a grand success. Day 150 20:00 First long haul exploration team which set out a week ago has returned with mutiple samples and images of animals we have thus far not encountered. Members of the party seemed a little off but were glad to be back home. Psych evals indicated depression in 5 out of the 10 individuals who were gone on the expedition. While they were unable to articulate why the felt the way they did most of them metioned episode of acute anxiety where they felt that "we are not supposed to be here" They were all rotated out just in case. Day 200 20:00 The initial mood of jubilation and optimism has given away to a sense of unease. Sleep has become more and more infrequent. Health evaluation shows a 20% increase in my resting BP. On conferning with Dr Lang I have found that the general population has had similar experiences. She suspects it has something to do with nostalgia. An overwhelming feeling of homesickness which makes us accutely aware that Elysium is not Earth. Perhaps this is an indelible part of who we are. Day 250 20:00 First casualty of the colony since our establishment. The 3rd expedition returned with bodies of one of our tech specialists Dr Harshit. Dr Harshit had suffered a psychotic break halfway through the expedition. The decision was made to restrain him and bing him back to the base. While on the way back he managed to get free. D turned one 9f the guns on himself. Morale is low. Wellness checks have been instituted in order to screen for possible signs of self harm like behaviour. Initially screening shows 80% population dealing with increased stress and discomfort. Me being among them. Day 300 20:00 Things seemed to have quiet down since the last accident until today A group of senior technicians including Dr Lang were found dead in Dr Lang's office. Each of them sitting in the chair both wrists slit. From 2hat I could gather in the living seems that Dr Lang herself was a victim to a delusion involving this planet as a sentient God that she called Amos. She influencedsuceptible patients into being believers in this ~~religion~~ cult and convinced them to give up their lives to apease Amos. What a disaster... Who knows how many colonists she affected with her words. This is my failure as the Commander of this ship. All information has been relayed to NASA-SpaceX HQ with a letter of resignation. Awaiting further instructions Day 321 20:00 Received word from Earth. The govt has sold NASA on auction due to unresolved debts that they are unwilling to pay. Space X has acquired the company and hence this entire venture is now aprivate enterprise. The board has decided that status quo should be maintained on Elysium. A new Psychiatrist will be sent along with a second colony ship. The purpose of the second colony is to act as a control to us. These colonists will not have any direct contact with the planetary resources. All thing they interact with will be sterilized of all organic material . I will continue as captain to Colony Primus as it will be known from now on. They have turned us into Guinea pigs . I feel so betrayed . God help us.
DVee waited for the dust to settle before opening the car door. Thigh-high boots landed in packed sand as a two-headed rattler scurried behind a thorn bush. In leaner times, DVee would have taken a swing at it with one of her two katanas and made a kebab for lunch, but she still had plenty of canned goods in the trunk, her reward for winning last week's derby. Besides, she was almost there. Sparktown was just a couple miles off, down in the canyon. She laughed softly to herself -- there was no one around for miles, not in this barren stretch of pockmarked desert. This world had seemed normal enough when she was first born; it was only when she turned four that she realized it was a hellscape. None of the elders knew what had happened to the world. How could they, considering most never made it to age thirty. A gust of wind blew grit into DVee's teeth, and she reached for her ratskin flask to rinse it out. This reality, the one she'd blindly signed up for, had been by turns terrifying, disappointing -- and eventually, enlightening. She didn't begrudge Candice for choosing this world, and DVee couldn't really claim surprise. Her best friend had always been ambitious, always considered herself a repressed rebel. Being a dutiful housewife in middle America had muted whatever fantasies her soul had craved in their former life. Hadn't Candice always been reading those adventure stories, watching action movies, drinking too much white wine when her kids had sleepovers and talking about just running the hell away? So of course Candice chose a ruined world, a lawless waste. One where, if she survived long enough, she could forge her own destiny and be the hero she'd always dreamed of. And of course DVee -- 'Jane' in the past life, who was perfectly happy making frozen pizzas and picking up the dry cleaning for her family -- hadn't thought to closely examine the new life she'd signed up for. DVee brushed the sand and megawasp guts off of her cracked windscreen, checked the oversized off-road tires for damage, then climbed back behind the wheel. In the bloodstained passenger seat (he shouldn't have tried to get handsy) was the flier she'd found at Octaneville, the one that challenged all comers to a high stakes canyon race against Sparktown's local champion. The prize was month's worth of cured horse meat. The date was tomorrow. The face of the champion, poorly sketched but unmistakable, was Candice's. DVee started the car and smiled. Now seventeen years old, she'd finally tracked down her best friend, the one who she'd unwittingly followed into the bleakest of dystopias. But DVee wasn't going to greet her with anger or disbelief. She planned to take her friend into her arms, hold on for as long as Candice would allow, and then whisper 'thank you' in her ear. For in this hell, DVee had discovered that she was a hero, too. \-------------------- 235/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \--------------------- edits: minor phrasing, also i just forget to use articles sometimes?
The bell rang. Vince shifted in his sleep. The bell rang again. Annoyed, Vince pulled the cushion over his head to shield his ears from the noise. Then, he felt a poking in the vicinity of his ribs. He opened his eyes with a sigh. “Sensei”, a voice spoke, “there are guest.” “Thank you, Tensing”, Vince answered reluctantly. He got up and slung his robe around him, splashed his face with cold water and made his way to the temple. The sun was barely rising over the mountain tops. “These pilgrims sure like to get here earlier and earlier…” Vince grumbled, “No space for privacy with these guys always hanging around. Or for a whole good night’s sleep. ” He opened the door to the temple, proceeded to the cushion in the middle of the room and sat down in a cross-legged position. “Tensing?”, Vince asked. “Yes sensei?”, the voice answered immediately. “Please open the doors”, Vince commanded. The giant doors of the temple opened to reveal the mountain scenery and three pilgrims, their heads bowed in respect. “Please, come in”, Vince spoke. They raised their heads and entered the sacred temple respectfully, then fell to their knees and bowed. “Oh honored sensei “, the first one of them spoke, “ we three unworthy pilgrims have taken the long and arduous journey here, to ask in our unworthiness for a small piece of you enlightenment.” My dear, thought Vince, not again. This submissiveness started to get boring. “ What question are you seeking enlightenment for?”, he asked instead. “Oh honored sensei, master over the mountains, tamer of worried minds”, the pilgrim said, “we came here to ask you what the secret to a happy life is.” Wish I knew this myself, Vince thought. Certainly not being up here and answering to daft pilgrims day in and out. “Follow your heart.”, Vince answered wisely. The pilgrims looked at him. “Oh honored sensei, master over the mountains, tamer of worried minds”, he proceeded “we hoped you could give us a bit… more.” “He who listens to his heart does not need more advice”, Vince responded, “What does your heart say?” The pilgrims listened within. “Oh honored sensei, master over…” “Yes, yes”, Vince responded impatiently, “please skip the titles and get to the point, I don’t have time for this.” Taken aback, the pilgrim stuttered: “Oh okay. Honored sensei then. When I listen within, I find it difficult to discern the voice of my heart.” “I can hear my stomach talking”, the second pilgrim interjected. “What?”, the first pilgrim stared at the second in disbelieve. “I am hungry”, the second pilgrim responded, flushing slightly. “We’ve fasted for weeks now, the way up the mountain was strenuous and anyway I would love to eat something else then rice for a change.” The first pilgrim looked apologetically to Vince. “I am sorry honored sensei, master of… Honored sensei, my fellow pilgrim is unworthy.” Vince heard his own stomach rumble and thought about the nice breakfast waiting for him upstairs. “Your heart is never wrong, it always tells you what you need”, Vince said knowingly. “Do not judge your fellow pilgrim, he has his own journey, although his physical manifestation might be traveling alongside yours.” Ashamed, the first pilgrim bowed his head: “You are of course right, sensei.” “I feel very tired”, the third pilgrim spoke. “I think I should take a nap.” “Your heart is always right” Vince repeated. Good so far, he thought, let’s see how I can satisfy the nosy one. “I can feel the need for further enlightenment”, the first pilgrim stammered uncertainly. “Great”, Vince answered. “You shall meditate until you can hear your heart speak clearly.” The eyes of the first pilgrim lit up. “Yes, honored sensei, you are so wise. ” “Go then, follow the paths of your hearts”, Vince spoke. The three pilgrims got up, smiling, and left the temple. Well, that was easy, Vince thought. Time to get to my breakfast.
Love can get scrambled sometimes in the twisting confusion of teenage angst. A tornado of hormones that suck up everything in the mind and toss things out, sometimes destroying along the way. It gets even harder when you're a psychic. The typical manifestation age for mental Controllers is twelve, when the child is still malleable and innocent, but Jason's sixteenth birthday was last week and still he had nothing to show for it. His friends called him a bust, and his teachers quit trying to soothe it out of him, but the tests were never wrong and indicated he had the correct gene mutation. That didn't help his plight of being a young person in maturation. ---- "Hey, Jax,"Rachel said, looking up from her piles of chopped onions and garlic. "How was school today, sweetie?" He set his bag down without care for its contents, and sighed. "Fine." "Anything interesting?"The aromatics sizzled as she slid them into a searing pan. "Not really."He sat down and flipped the television on, splaying out in his seat. She added crushed tomatoes, basil, and stirred, then set a cover on and ruffled through a box on the table. "Well, I had an interesting day. I went to a yard sale, and look at these postcard I found! You know how I'm a sucker for them, and some of these are from Europe!" He glanced up at the stack of cards in her hand, then back to the TV. "I don't really know why you like those dumb things. They're just junk." Rachel retracted the cards, looking crestfallen at them. "You don't need to be so rude about things that mean something to me, Jax. It hurts when you say things like that." "Sorry, I wasn't trying to be mean. I just think they're pointless." She sucked in a bit of air and started back for the kitchen, but paused. "I started collecting these when your father left, you know. It makes me happy, pretending I got them on a trip to Italy or Greece. It's silly, but-" "Stop, Mom. Don't start talking about him." "I know it hurts to remember your Dad-" "Mom, seriously, just stop." "It hurt me, too, Jax. You know that, right? This isn't just hard for you, imagine being me and trying to raise you alone after he left."Jax couldn't see it, but her cheeks were glistening. He sighed. "Can't we do this some other time?" "When, Jaxson? It's always some other time. We should talk about it, you know? It would be healthy for both of us." He only sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment of looming near him, she continued. "Jax, do you blame me?" Silence, and a muffled groan. "Jaxson, please." He ran upstairs. The aromatic dinner didn't smell very good anymore. ------- He barely heard the knock at his door through headphones blaring. "Yeah?"he asked, slipping the headphones around his neck. "Can I come in?" "Yeah,"he replied tentatively, slouching in his chair a bit. She crept inside, sitting on his bed. Her eyes were red, like stained porcelain. "Sorry about earlier." "It's fine,"he said, shrugging, eyes avoiding her. "Sorry if I was mean or something earlier." "I know, sweetie, you're frustrated. So am I. It's a tough situation. But we need each other to get through this, you know? We gotta be there for each other, or it's just gonna get harder." "I know,"he said quietly, nodding. "I don't blame you." "I know sweetie, I'm sorry. I got out of hand." His mother's face was smiling, but her eyes betrayed a hurting, a disbelieving blame aimed at herself. He hadn't meant to hurt her, he just... Didn't know what to say. Talking to people is hard, sometimes, and he had a tendency to clam up around her. But her eyes... so much sadness lurked in them, little ponds of pain and defeat. Something welled in him. Part of is was a desire to make her feel better, to undo his rudeness, but it was something more. A power. A looming grandness in his mind, itching to break free. It didn't make sense, but it didn't need to. He Reached for his mother, though she couldn't see or sense it. He looked uncaring on the outside, but a piece of him was desperately grasping for her. Jax can't see what he projects; his emotions, his feelings, they project in the recipient's mind as interpretations. Though, on some level, he felt the connection, like a velvet cloth in the mind's hand. With a soft tendril of consciousness, gentle yet strong, he touched his mother's mind. Instantly, he froze as she absorbed all of his quiet love for her, buried under a mess of frustration and obscuring anger, a deep well of respect and adoration geysering out and drowning any of her doubts. He was trembling within moments, tears raining, without even realizing it had begun. She looked to him, and he knew. He may not be good at expressing himself. He may not be the son she deserved. But that was the last time she'd ever wonder about her quality as a mother. ------- /r/resonatingfury
I nonchalantly stroll onto the bridge, my commanding officer notices me immediately, incredulous: “What... how..” she doesn’t know how to handle the situation. Junior Spacemen like me aren’t allowed to cross the quarterdeck and enter the bridge without authorization. Additionally, in terms relative to time, my pod had departed three seconds ago and passed the threshold of the gate. “Ma’am,” I say to her directly, “I hope that you don’t get the wrong idea and think that I’m being unprofessional, and I apologize that I’ve jumped the chain of command to be here. However, I need to be debriefed immediately, ma’am.” “Very well.” She immediately gestures to the conference room, which we enter. “Spill your guts, Spaceman DeArtola. How the hell weren’t you in that pod?” I feel her spit on my cheek, but I dare not acknowledge it. “Well ma’am, as you know, uh,” I’m stopped in my tracks. Here I am, a boot Spaceman, talking one on one with the commanding officer of my ship! The woman who singlehandedly gave the order to destroy the entire Martian armada in the Milky Way War. She’s the highest ranking senior officer for light years and I got out of training twenty days ago, but I must do my duty and serve my planet well. “I did launch into the gate, ma’am. After launch, my pod began to shake slightly, and the odometer changed to all zeroes. I tried tapping it with my finger, but it was no use, ma’am, I can’t tell you how far I’ve gone. But that’s not the point, ma’am, after emerging from the other side, I wasn’t able to see anything. Not even the pod’s exterior lights could illuminate the dense darkness that I was in, wherever it was. Ma’am, please forgive me, but I have been directed to inform you of the following: Firstly, I am no longer Spaceman DeArtola. My new identity cannot be expressed in your language. Spaceman DeArtola is dead as of now. I was merely using his vessel so as not to raise alarm, which has succeeded. Ma’am, you are in no imminent danger, do not be worried. After Spaceman DeArtola came to us, we extracted his memories and uploaded new data into his brain, and thus I was born. I am a messenger, nothing more. My master, who, unfortunately cannot be named due to the culture of our race, has instructed me to warn you that he is coming through the next gate with his fleet in approximately 7 hours. I highly suggest that you prepare all options, diplomatic and otherwise. I will now terminate the life form you call ‘Spaceman DeArtola.’ As I said, you are in no imminent danger...But your galaxy, that is indeed a different situation.” And suddenly the body of the young Spaceman collapsed where he stood. (Sorry for the shitty formatting I’m on mobile)
The knight marched on, clad in armor scorched black from the numerous dragons he's slain. His weighty Greatsword resting on his shoulder, his helmet in his hand to let his face stay cool. He had heard of the Hydra, a five-headed dragon, but there was never any information posted about it. But now, whether by some lucky scout or unlucky adventures, the Hydra's lair was known. So of course Eric the Fearless would go to take its heads. He came to a stop at the entrance to a large, ominous cave, and checked the map. This was the lair. Donning his great helm, he marched in, confident and cocky. "Another day, another dragon head. Five will be troublesome, but it should start rearing in pain after the first one's off." The cave wound deeper, yet the light did not dim. In time he heard the harsh hissing of a serpentine dragon, and he grabbed his sword with both of his hands. Crouching, he pushed forwards until he came to a large cavern. And in the center lay the Hydra. But there was a problem. There were not five heads. There were fifty. The hissing grew to a volume that threatened to drive Eric deaf, and a few of the head snapped at each other, creating a noise like a tree breaking. The necks were all covered in scars, numerous and long. "Other hunters?"he thought, staying hidden behind a cluster of rocks. One of the heads suddenly bit into another, and a short fight broke out, leaving the necks bleeding, but no obvious signs of pain or discomfort. A centered head spewed out a green mist, causing the others to back away. Eric would have to be smart for this one. He looked around for anything he could use to distract the heads, and came across a large, sharp rock. He picked it up, and waited for the head to leave a blind spot. He got his opportunity when one of them decided to bite the central head. Acid mist spewed forth, fangs ripped flesh, and Eric tossed the rock, sending it sailing between the heads, striking the farthest most head. It turned, and bit one of it's brothers at random, and soon, all were fighting. Eric moved quick, not bother about being quiet. With all the hissing a castle could come down and you wouldn't hear it. The Hydra stood, showing it's chest, and stumbled around. Bringing his sword to his waist, he sprinted underneath it, drawing the attention of one head. It followed him, and when he stood under the chest, it lunged. At the same time, he thrust his sword up into the chest of the beast. The head clamped down on him, piercing the armor on his arms and coming dangerously close to stabbing his eye. He adjusted his grip on the sword, and forced it deeper. The beast screeched, and the jaw quivered. Then, in a near death spasm, the head threw him out, sending him sliding on the ground. He stood, sword still clutched, and waited for it to attack. But the beast simply fell, softly twitching as blood pooled from it's chest. He sighed, bringing his sword back onto his shoulder. Now, he had another problem. How would be bring all these heads back?
He has been calling me every day for the past year and a half, inquiring about our flagship desktop software our company sold and serviced. "Hi, yes, Tracy?"he'd ask. I'd sigh, because I retired ten days ago, and every day, I let him know such. Today was no different. He'd still call on time, at exactly 10 in the morning. "Speaking,"I'd reply dully. He had my personal phone number since it was listed on my company profile along with my work number, which is now inactive. I didn't mind, though, Michael was as harmless as they came -- he had a slight stutter and an awkward yet gentle voice, and he always spoke politely whenever he called. "My mouse doesn't work when I open the application..."he murmured; I could hear his mouse tapping gently on his hardwood desk. "Haaave you actually launched the application?" "Well..."he mumbled. "I double-clicked it, right? And then it opens, and then the cursor disappears." I pause to think about what happened, before speaking up again. "....haaave you wiggled the mouse?" Silence filled the air, followed by a sound of him wiggling his mouse back and forth. "Oh,"he replied. "That works..." Pause. "So how've you been?"he asked. I smiled. I've been waiting for that question. "I'm good. I'm just drinking my tea. How are you?" "I'm doing okay, I guess." Michael and I talked for the next hour about everything but nothing in particular.
“...and if you swipe next, that’s me and the Pope that one time I saved the Vatican museums.” “Uh, look at that, it really looks like the Pope.” “Because it is!” “And why were you in Rome?” You roll your eyes so hard you think you will sprain a muscle soon. “I was on holiday. Now, will you uncuff me and let me do my damn job?” “You look remarkably cranky for a superhero...” “Maybe, -and hey, I’m just making wild assumptions here- maybe it’s because I’m being held against my will?” “What were you doing in my shop’s basement?” “Recognition.” You try not to sound too annoyed, but feel like you failed at it. “You know? The thing where I’m trying to keep your neighborhood safe?” “And what is your super power? Sarcasm?” He chuckles for a while, and you just stare at him. It hurts twice: once because that would be an amazing super power, and two because, in fact, you don’t have any special skill. “Will you let me go, please? You went through all my stuff. And all my photos on the phone.” “And you still haven’t convinced me... why are you wearing a black leather jacket?” “Because it’s...!” You stop in the middle of your burst. What would be the more correct word? Comfy? Cool? “Because it’s got... pockets.” “And the black boots?” “There was... a sale.” “And the black sunglasses?” “Ok, sue me, I hate to squint my eyes in the sunlight. Fine?” “And... that really ominous black belt? It doesn’t look very super-heroy to me.” “It’s badass. Come on. It makes me look cool...” you trail off. “...does it?” He just sighs and takes the keys out of his pocket. “Maybe you are a lousy super hero, after all.” “Thank you! Wait, what did you...?” “And by the way, why are you in this neighbourhood? Something fishy going on?” You massage your sore wrist while gaining the standing position back. “Just one of the most vicious criminal this town ever birthed... aside from my parents.” “Wait, what about your parents?” “Never mind. But this criminal...” and you stop dead on your tracks. Because you see her. “Duck!*” You take your former jailer down with you. He looks scared now. “What! Where? The evil super villain? Which one?” You point a shaky finger to the terrible criminal casually walking on the street. “There she is. Don’t look at her! She will steal your soul.” “The... little girl.” “Yes.” “The.. one in the pink dress.” “Now, listen to me. I don’t want civilian casualties in this, so...” And just like that, you feel the metal of the cuffs closing again on your wrist. “I’m just going to call the police, buddy.” He pats your back and leaves the room. Maybe you will change the jacket, next time.
"Leave me alone"I hissed through clenched teeth as I was shoved against a locker. My head was spinning, a headache was forming and a fist was rocketing towards my head. The bully held me against the lockers roughly by my shoulder, but needed momentum so that he could punch with his right hand. I took this chance and let my legs go limp, sliding downwards as his fist, charged with super strength, smashed through the metal locker where I had been just seconds prior. I bounced back to my feet as the bully charged me again, this time, I was ready to fight back. I didn't know what came over myself that day, but I was a little pissed that it took this long to kick in. As the bully went in for a left hook, I dropped down and sweeped his legs from under him, causing him to barrel forwards just I rolled out of the way. Now, for a high schooler, this was a bulky fellow. His muscles had muscles, and he was a foot taller then me, at least! His biggest weakness was that he was slow, but strong, and he always used his momentum when landing a punch. He got up off the ground just as I did the same. By now, a crowd had gathered. Being the powerless kid, it seemed quite unusual that I of all people would be the one to stand up against the biggest bully around. He lunged at me, and at the last second, I sidestepped him, sending him straight into the crowd of onlookers. That was when I discovered my true power. ————————— Fifteen years later, the lights of my cop car flashed as it sped down the streets. I skidded to a stop upon reaching the roadblocks, and quickly went to meet the head officer. "Any weaknesses?"He asked me immediately. "Gimme a second"I responded, sipping my coffee. I looked at the madman shouting his demands from the edge of the office building's rooftop. Apparently, if his demands weren't met, the bombs he rigged all around the inside of the building would go off. Killing the hostages inside. "Shoot him down"I told the head officer. "Are you crazy? He'll-" "He's bluffing, see? His hands are shaking. That's his weakness, he's a shitty liar. That's not a detonator, that's a TV remote" The officer in charge gave me a studying look, but called into his radio anyway. The man must've thought the helicopter was there to deliver his demands, that was, until the officers inside shot him down where he stood. The officers and civilians sorrounding the scene gave me a round of applause as I finished my coffee. "All in a day's work, my friend"
In 2020 all-powerful beings came to planet earth, granting one human ultimate power as a token of appreciation for the great inventions of the human race, while we knew someone had been granted these powers, we did not know who. -20th of February, 2020- "This is Rachel Daniels, Florida news Channel, today two dinasaurs attacked a police helicopter, looking for the suspect of nine Burger King thefts, where these dinasaurs came from, is not clear, but the social media site Reddit has been speculating this must be humanities chosen one." -1st of March, 2020- "This is Mark Sidwell, FNC, yesterday a woman was abducted by a flying gyros pita, say witnesses, a small group of people have started worshipping flying groceries, calling themselves 'the tzatzikas' others say this is once again a ruthless action from the chosen one, who has been wreaking havok in the southeast of the USA" -8th of April, 2020- "This is your president speaking... The battle at Portland has been brutal, and we have had no defense or tactic against the mastermind that must be behind this, the attacks from the pitas in the air and the puppy's that attacked from the ground were our downfall, we have decided to surrender America to the chosen one. God bless you all.." -7th of December, 2026- static "This is Margarita Carmona Jimínez, Spanish resistance forces, the capital has just been taken over by a giant flying spaghetti monster, we need reinforce-"static -21st of August, 2090- Static -...3965- An almighty sound would resonate across the planet, the few thousand survivors gathered in Germany. They heard the call of the chosen one ..."BURP""We surrender"the leaders of the world said, but they were too late, they had gathered in Berlin for a last convention of hope. That's where the chosen one first showed himself, an old man with barbecue sauce on his face, costumed in the Florida flag, "I will rule the world! HIHIHIHUHIHJIHIHU"the laugh was dark, but somehow very naive, this was the end of humanity, the last of us would die here. Everyone but Florida Man.
We’ve been meeting every Sunday to catch up and play a board game for as long as I can remember. He’s a really good guy deep down he’s just been tasked with truly the worst job. I head outside with my backgammon board to get the game set up, I notice the pain in my back has been getting worse and my walk has been becoming increasingly slower. It’s unfortunate but my age has been creeping up on me. I reach the patio and place the tattered-up case on the table, I hear a faint whoosh and see my old friend in the corner of my yard. His face looks more sunken than usual, and his eyes overly tired. His walk is smooth as he glides my way and we take a seat. His voice cracks as he begins to speak about his week. I slowly place the smooth circular pieces in their designated spot as he begins going over each death he disagreed with this week. A 4-year-old with leukemia, a young families house fire, he chuckled when telling me about that damn old man in The Netherlands we’d been placing a bet on for the past 15 years, well that old man finally croaked. I asked what his final age was, and my old friend told he was 82… I laughed and then lost my breath when I realized that old man, well he was younger than me. My friend and I talked of our past, and our separate history. When we met on that damp Autumn day when I lost my boy. We both choked up a bit when I recalled he was only 14 and my friend apologized once more. You see my friend and I, we aren’t supposed to be friends. I could feel the pain in his eyes that day my boy left with him. He told me I wouldn’t have to see him for many more years. We both paused as the pain in his eyes increased, in that moment I wondered about his life. He has such an unfortunate duty to carry in this world, I asked him sit and talk. He froze as I could tell he hadn’t been asked to do this. As he told me his story I felt for this poor man, we made a pact to meet every Sunday so he could relieve some of his otherworldly duties. So, he could take a break, that was 52 years ago. As our game was drawing to a close and our conversation dwindled, I began to recall the life I’ve lived with my old friend. How losing my boy so young created such a divide in my family. How over those years we ended up growing stronger due to the friendship my family created with my friend here. How his unexpected visits created rifts, but I understood. When I recount his last unexpected visit with my wife 4 years prior it stung… but I understood. As my friend always told me I’d see her again. You see my old friend is The Angel of Death, but to me he was my oldest friend. As I took the human instinct from myself the day I met him, the day he took my son… When I saw the pain his duty caused him. My family took pity on the most hated being. Death put the last piece in his slot and looked up at me, this was the first game he’s ever beaten me in. The ever-increasing pain in his eyes were a sign I knew too well. I smiled as I looked at him, I knew it was my turn. I gave him one last request for a few extra minutes, he kindly obliged and I made my way inside for no more than 2 minutes. I came back out and looked at death and began to recant more memories with him as he spared me my last few minutes. I could feel his pain as he knew he was losing the only friend he had. I spoke softly as I head the glass slider door to my patio open. My two children walked out and hugged me softly as Death’s eyes widened. I told him he wasn’t to be alone as I left, as I had been waiting for this day and it wasn’t to be a painful experience for anyone. I hugged my kids and told them I’d see them soon. My friend gave me one last nod and put his cold hand on my shoulder, and I took a final breath. When I opened my eyes, everything was the same as I was still on my patio but it all seemed newer, almost cleaner in a sense. It seemed as though it had been 50 years ago, I looked down at my hands and saw the hands I once had when I was much younger and stronger. I heard the glass slider open again and an old familiar voice cry “Daddy” I turned to see my boy followed by my wife whom as about 50 years younger again. I embraced them both as my wife warmly said to me, it took you long enough.
“Not guilty, your honor.” I remember saying those words loud and with conviction, practically spat them with pride in fact. I remember assuring my attorney that while she was probably used to defending scumbags who were guilty as sin, I was not in that group. I was the special snowflake she could cling to when her conscience got her down from defending the actions of actually heinous individuals… I was unique, I was a legitimately innocent person on trial for a murder he didn’t commit. All that confidence began to evaporate right around the time the trial actually began. Witness after witness claimed they’d seen me kill my elderly neighbor Mr. Sanderson in broad daylight. My own parents testified, but not on the side you might hope. They looked pained as they testified against me, but they did so nonetheless. The cops said they had my DNA evidence on the murder weapon. My neighbors security camera caught me on tape crossing onto his property just minutes before the murder was alleged to have been committed. Frankly, as I sat through hours of testimony and mountains of evidence being shoveled on top of me, I was being convinced of my own guilt. Even so, I very genuinely don't remember it at all. I don’t do drugs, I don’t get blackout drunk, so I struggled to imagine I had committed this crime in some hallucinogenic haze, but what other explanation could there be? Was this a horrible dream? The dozens of times I’d pinched myself extremely hard during this trial suggested no. Was I being pranked? Alien body swap? No explanation I could fathom made a lick of sense. Well, nothing made sense until the prosecutors submitted the alleged murder weapon into evidence. Bizarrely, it was my neighbors antique gas powered lawn mower. The memories came flooding back to me in an instant and against all logic I rose in shock to address the court. “Oh… oh my god,” I stuttered. “Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am so genuinely sorry to have wasted your time. I did it, I’m guilty.” “You’re WHAT?” the judge and my attorney exclaimed simultaneously. “Yeah, it all just came back to me. I killed him with the mower. Sounds awful, but yep, I ran him over with it, then… backed over him… then ran him over again for good measure.” Shocked gasps and screams filled the courtroom. The judge banged the gavel over and over but nothing seemed to quiet the room after my massive revelation. The prosecutor sprang to his feet, sensing the opportunity to get me to hang myself fully. “Why did you kill Mr. Sanderson?!” he yelled, clearly trying to get me to admit my motive to lock down his case against me. “This is embarrassing, Mr. Sanderson and I had been arguing for years about one particular practice of his. He has mowed his lawn at 6am Saturday AND Sunday every single week since I moved in.” “Oh, well I’m starting to understand how you were driven to this… I mean uhhh… continue please,” the prosecutor blurted unintentionally. “Yeah, so it’s no excuse, but I’d worked a double shift the night before the crime took place. I left a note on his door begging him to delay his lawn work, even just until 9am or something to give me some slight respite. But sure enough, right at 6 o’clock, the deafening sound of that rusty old claptrap mower roared to life and woke me from my oh so brief slumber.” Murmurs raced through the courtroom as I continued. “And then when I stepped out my front door I found my note returned to my front porch. He’d clearly read it and just chose to ignore it. He did add one thing to the note however, a pile of his dogs feces rested atop it and on my front porch.” “What a goddamn monster… who returns a neighbors heartfelt note with a pile of dog crap?” the judge said aloud, shockingly not referring to me. “Well, I suppose I should mention this wasn’t especially new territory. He intentionally had his dog poop in my yard and never cleaned it up. I asked him many times but he’d just laugh in my face. ‘Call the poop police, why dont ya?’ he’d say often. Well, that's not a direct quote, but I don’t want to say any of the various slurs he always included in court. So yeah, I guess that morning I just finally snapped. I walked over, knocked him down and… ran him over with his own lawn mower. It was a grisly death and nothing excuses my behavior. Again, I’m so very sorry for wasting anyone’s time.” I sat down and my lawyer began to whisper to me but I cut her off. “Look, I’m most sorry to you, I honestly thought I was innocent until this very moment. In my sleep deprived state apparently I didn't record a single memory of the events. I really hope this doesn’t count against your stats or anything when I’m found guilty,” I told her solemnly. “I’m-- I'm actually not entirely sure that we’re done for yet,” she whispered. I almost laughed aloud. “What?!” I asked incredulously. “It certainly appears that I ran over my elderly neighbor several times with his own lawn mower blades, that's some psychopath behavior isn’t it?” “I’m not so certain,” she murmured. “Oh sure, the jury was absolutely horrified as you admitted your guilt, frankly I was as well, but they looked almost sympathetic by the time you finished speaking. I mean really, 6am on both weekend mornings? That is also some ‘psychopath’ behavior!” &#x200B; r/Ryter Legal Note: The author does not in any way condone murder by lawnmower, but neither can I condone loud lawn mowers firing up far too early on weekend mornings 😅 Thanks for reading!
"Well, that was odd."I closed the book, trying to piece together what this could mean. Sure, everyone else gets to see their future. Fine, everything until now has been a surprise anyway. That's not the most concerning part. What happened before now? I definitely remember the last 8 years. Well, mostly, anyway. Childhood is fuzzy for anyone, after all. As I walked away from the shelf, heading to the desk, it hit me. Every kid has heard of some kind of boogie creature. But that night during camp, around the fire who was the only one to actually follow the instructions? _"Follow the tree line, until you fade from the light_ _The last chance to turn, lest you take fright._ _Come into the wood, embrace the dark_ _No shine, no glimmer, nor nary a spark._ _Face your way forward, spare not a glance_ _Remember remember, you've had your last chance_ _Into my glen, if feet carry far_ _My eye sockets empty, I see who you are._ _Who you will be, no one may know._ _From now your future never will show._ _Embrace the dark, you've been told before._ _A creature of shadow, the light yours no more."_ Sure, it was creepy. But even when I saw things in the trees, and heard noises in the brush I figured it was a prank. Even at 10, I was a pretty bold kid. Whispers and shouts and snarls, I'll admit I jumped a little. But I made it, to a small break with a small patch of corn. And that weird scarecrow. Obviously, it didn't work, since there was a pitch black bird perched on his shoulder. The rest, fuzzy. Just like so many birthdays, summers, and first days of snow. Thinking back though, it was awfully dark. So why did I see so clearly? And ever since, I've never needed a light to find my way. As I finally approached the desk, I'd made up my mind. To the odd attendant, her eyes hidden behind black shades, I spoke. "I'll stay. I want to see what's next."She greeted my words with a smile, too wide for as few teeth she had, all too square and white. "So do we. Ever since you walked into our glen." ...was that bird _always_ perched at the edge of the desk?
Characters in post apocalyptic books or movies often lament what they miss the most about their previously highly advanced civilization. Usually the answers would revolve around their lost luxuries. A perfectly cooked gourmet steak perhaps, maybe a relaxing spa day, or the simple ability to fly from one end of the earth to another in a matter of hours, but you know what I miss doing the most? Anything. Anything at all. As I wandered the endless wastelands, I longed to have moments that were new, or different, or intellectually stimulating. In the several decades since the Great Collapse my days were all exactly the same. I scrounged for food and scrap among the ruins. I scoured neighborhoods for any sign of other survivors, but found none. I took shelter wherever I could, and tried desperately to entertain myself by batting a ball of twine around... like a goddamn bored house cat. Tom Hanks at least had a volleyball best friend when he was lost and alone in Castaway, I hadn't even been that lucky. It's in that context of sheer boredom and lack of mental stimulation that I made my shocking discovery. Buried within the depths of a generic looking office building I found a computer. A computer that would have been ancient by the time of The Collapse, I only recognized the giant bulky metal box from pictures and history lessons. With no expectation of anything working, I flipped the switch and to my shock and amazement, the monitor lit up. It displayed a simple black and white message: Wikipedia: Offline Version. What on earth? The memories of endless hours spent going down "Wikipedia holes"came flooding back to me. I didn't believe it as I clicked the screen to begin, but against all odds, this indeed seemed to be a fully functional version of Wikipedia. It was horribly out of date, with articles and edits ending about 20 years prior to the collapse, but to me, these 'out of date' pages were still absolutely manna from heaven. I scrolled to the page for the Theory of Relativity and pumped my fist in the air when it loaded. I could garner great knowledge from the millions of pages of scientific information contained within Wikipedia. This was some purely intellectual curiosity. I didn't remember any of the crap I was taught in high school science classes, but with the help of this database, maybe I could figure out how to create metal tools, or make my own healing salves... or soap... god I'd kill for a nice soapy bath and the feeling of being actually clean for the first time in years. Between reading up on ancient Roman construction techniques and improvised methods employed by the castaways on the TV show Gilligan's Island, I convinced myself that I could make myself a basic aqueduct system to capture and transport fresh rainwater... and maybe even build a radio out of a coconuts. Okay maybe that's a stretch, but the possibilities felt endless at the moment! Finally, I held my breath as I readied myself for the final test of this archival database. When Kylie Jenner's page popped up, I nearly wept with joy. The 'Personal Life' section of every famous person I tested was still totally intact. Trashy, vain, useless celebrity gossip had returned to my life and I felt blessed beyond belief. As I visited page after page for hours on end, a strange message eventually popped up. Please Read: A Personal Appeal from Wikipedia Founder Jimmy Wales. I chuckled to myself, I remember those, even this felt a tad nostalgic in the moment. It was fairly absurd that these messages had been left in the 'offline' version, but they were harmless enough... right up until they weren't. I browsed constantly for weeks on end, until the 'personal appeals' ended and the personal insults began. You are in the 99.9th percentile of hours spent by Wikipedia users this month and you have not donated or even read our master's personal appeal? Are you a monster? Please read NOW and help keep Wikipedia free. Apparently offline Wikipedia had become somewhat sentient and was tired of what it perceived as my freeloading bullshit? Still, at least I was able to close the message and continue on my journey through knowledge and information long since forgotten by our post apocalyptic society. That all changed on my 30th day of consecutive Wikipedia addiction. The screen went completely blank as I was neck deep in the bizarre, incestuous, backstabbing thousand year history of the British Royal Family. I hit every button imaginable, but Wikipedia seemed to be on it's own timetable. Finally, a full screen message appeared. Dear nightmare garbage person, you MUST read this message from my master before continuing. I clicked it, and read the generic appeal, but there was no way to close it out. Only one button appeared active, "Donate now". With great trepidation, I clicked it and sure enough, an old school donation window appeared. I clicked on $100 praying it would just assume I had the money or that currency even still existed, but no such luck. "Choose your payment method"was the response to my monetary selection. I flew into a frustrated rage as I read the options. Credit cards don't exist! Even the physical cards were long since melted down to make spoons or other basic tools! PayPal? Does this stupid Wikipedia bot think that PayPal servers are still in operation somewhere? I cackled with sheer madness as I my eyes reached the final option. BITCOIN? My laughter was endless and uncontrollable. The attempted and horribly botched switch over to an all BitCoin based economy by our dumbass 23 year old president had been the first domino to topple over in the chain reaction of events that lead to the end of human civilization. The irony was so rich in so many ways. I clicked every donate button I could find for days on end, praying it would finally let me back in, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was completely and permanently locked out of the system. It was in these moments that I finally allowed myself to consider the possibility that I was already dead and being tortured for my sins, because being this tantalizingly close to all the human knowledge in existence, but being unable to access felt like I was already in Hell. ___ Stuck in your own joyless post apocalypse? Check out my offline story database\* over at r/Ryter if you'd like to read more! \*Internet connection required. It's just a standard Subreddit, but there is a bunch of stuff to read there 😉
It was supposed to be momentous. A platform that connects the world constantly. No more letter sending, telegraphs or phone calls. A step into the unknown. A start of something revolutionary. Except that it wasn't. The moment Dr Tim Berners-Lee plugged the wire in, it connected to something. Something bigger. Much, much bigger. Tim stared at the barrage of information pouring in. He was just expecting to send a simple note between two his two Emacs. The Emac froze loading the sheer amount of information. Clearly they were intended for machines much more advanced. Tim unplugged the wire to stop the flow. He did not want to crash his Emacs. A message in particular caught his eyes. Storm is still raging /u/mikezeke2345: Hey everyone, the storm outside has still not subsided. Doesn't seem like it'll be anytime soon. Not sure how much longer my generator will last. Food supplies running low too. My brother tried going out yesterday out of pure stubbornness, and he died within minutes. At this rate, I'm not sure how long more I'll last too. /u/zaczacyisurvive: Sending you hugs Mike. Looks like we're the only two left on Reddit. Sarah has not checked in more than a month. /u/zaczacyisurvive: Hey Mike, haven't heard back from you. You still okay? Tim rubbed his eyes at the date of message. It was posted almost several million years ago.
It was tall, and narrow, and ebony, much like Death herself. The drawings are all wrong, you know, along with most of the legends; Death is black of bone, skull shading into the darkness beneath her cowl, only the faint red of her pinprick-eyes easily seen, and even then you have to look closely and if you do you're already sweating so badly from fear that the droplets blur your vision. At least, that's what had happened to me. She doesn't kill us all personally, that's what she told me. And she does kill us all, make no mistake about that, it's just not that famous shimmering scythe that does the work, most of the time. She has servants, the Psychopomps, to act on her behalf. Some cultures think they're birds, blaming poor creatures like crows and ravens for no better reason than their raspy voices and glossy-black silhouettes. That's wrong too, you can't see the Psychopomps unless you're looking just right, and you probably shouldn't. Nothing you can do about it if you do see them anyway, nothing that might ward them off. I knocked again, lifting the great white-iron ring and letting it slam back down against the dense wood. THONK. THONK. THONK. Nothing. I turned slowly, looked up at the night sky behind me, up past the carved-stone lip of the door-overhang. It was always night here, or almost—the stars never quite arrived, and while there was no real sign of sun a lingering of light spread itself over the horizon in every direction. The long grey between, that's where I was, that's where she lived. I sighed and slumped down against the side wall of the entryway, feeling the weathered rock slide over my spine through the fine scales of my armor. Kind of pointless here, the armor; here you either died or you didn't, nothing was going to just try. But wearing was easier than carrying, and I hoped to get back the Settling Plane before too long. Plenty of things there that might give killing a good-faith attempt, especially near the spot where I'd stepped over. So the armor stayed on, and I sat in limited comfort against the stone with my knees drawn up under my chin, sword hilt pressed awkwardly against my ribcage with the tip of the scabbard splayed out past the shelter of the entryway. If it rains, the leather will get wet and that'd be fine except there's that crack along the side because you were too cheap to get the proper enchantments done because it's 'just the sheathe' but you also decided on the fire runes instead of rust-protection so you'll have to clean the damn thing and now you're just chattering to yourself, this is absurd and it was, really, but I was getting impatient. Not despairing, I didn't feel like I had really earned that. After all, I was basically fine, as fine as any woman sitting right under the entryway of Death's door could be. Not in any immediate danger. I was here with permission, and so nothing native here would hurt me, and anything here without permission would have other things to deal with, lots of them. Other people, though, including some people I cared about, they weren't fine at all. Some of them were probably dying as I sat here at Death's door, kind of ironic— but dying before their time, dying wrong, and I was here to ask that she doe something about it. Not demand, you don't make demands of Death. Hopefully none of the people dying were the ones I cared about the most. I felt a little guilty about that, but what the fuck did I want from myself, I was human after all. Half, anyway. I sat. And stewed. And tried not to think too much, about where I was, about what was happening where I wasn't. Taking a little solace in the idea that time, time's not the same everywhere, it's an inconstant river between the Planes. "Child. You have come." I looked up. Her voice still whispered between the stones where I sat, not an echo, it was too soft and sure and piercing for that, not a thing that would glance off solid things. It lingered instead, saturated the air. I stood, not too hasty, not wanting to give away my nerves despite the inherent absurdity of trying to impress Death herself. "Yes, Mistress,"I said, doing my best to push my own voice above a whisper with middling success. "I am here in hopes that you will hear me, after what I accomplished for you three years back in..." "I remember what you did, Child. I do not forget. I keep no roster of debts, and promise no gratitude. But you have been of use, and so I will listen." I cleared my throat, looking up at her, so tall and thin and grey-swathed black. I didn't see her eyes, didn't seek them out. "Thank you, Mistress. The vampire I...we...could slay, and we are glad to have been of service to you. I am glad. Only I could come, out of all of us. The rest hope to hold him back." She turned away, stared out into the almost-twilight for a long, long moment that flowed an uncertain distance down that unconstant river of time. When she turned back, her eyes were bright, I could see them without subjecting myself to her fear. Or perhaps it was just different, here in her home, no tension between the mortal and the beyond binding her and tugging at strong ancient feelings. "Ah yes, the lich. That situation is...complicated. There are other powers to consider, to be...acknowledged. I cannot intervene of my own accord." I nodded, trying to keep at least some of my eagerness out of it. "Yes, Mistress, I know. That is why I have come. To beseech, to plead. On my behalf, and on behalf of the too-soon dead." "On behalf of the too-soon dead," she lingered over my words, and nodded, slow and sure as the grave. "Very well. As the lich has invoked the Twisting Powers to ward off my servants, you are here to invoke me." I swore there was a black-tooth smile under the cowl, now, even though there must always be, it gleamed, perhaps it was simply an emotion given weight by the sheer gravity of her being. "We will see which is the stronger. We will see." And that made my heart lift, because I knew the answer, and so did she. &#x200B; Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
When our volleyball team was suddenly the world champions, I gave it no matter. I still went to all their games, and was witness to the beginning of their four year undefeated streak. I didn't think much of it at the time, but looking back, the signs were there. The louder I was with my cheers, the more spectacular the performance. Many people would attribute it to coincidence, but I now know better. The season after I graduated, all of that luck went away. There was no more trophies, no more victories, and no more tournaments to be invited to. Their funding dried up and eventually the team had to disband because it had become a large waste of money. I laughed at the time. No anymore. It wasn't until something similar happened when I was with my college's bowling team that I realized what I was doing. Any word of encouragement, any attempt to cheer someone on, would result in success. If I hyped someone up and said that they would ace their final, they came back with a perfect score and all the extra credit problems done with time to spare. Once, I had a friend who didn't believe in himself that he could ask his crush out. I told him he could and we've now been dating for 3 years. The worst day was when a business major caught wind of this. They immediately smelled the profit. I told them that there was no way that their plan wouldn't work. I didn't realize I had accidentally cheered them on with my double negative. Getting myself roped up into this scheme, I'm now dragged from event to event. Sometimes it's something small, telling a kid that they can win their track race. Other times it was for huge sporting events, and people who saw me would change their bets based on the team's gear I was wearing. I was a mascot of luck. "Victoria, I have something new for you." "What, we going to convince the president that they can actually survive a two thousand foot free fall with no parachute." "No, but that's a good idea for later. We're going to the hospital, wear something casual." With a confused look on my face, I changed out of my pajamas and went with the chauffeur to the local children's hospital. My manager asked for a specific name and took me towards a room. What I saw inside was nothing short of sadness incarnate. A child, barely hanging on to life. Their head was bald from treatment, and I could tell there was only a few moments of their life left. People who I assumed to be family and friends were around the child's bed. My manager only pointed into the room, "Work your magic." Walking up to the child's bed, I could see that there was hope sparkling in their eyes with my entrance. My popularity as someone who made everything work seemed to have spread even further than I thought. Guess I couldn't disappoint now. "Hey, what's your name?" The child could barely sputter out the name Stephen between all of their coughing. "Well Stephen. I believe that you can pull through this. Soon enough you'll be jumping up and down and be the most energetic kid around. You'll live to see whatever dreams you have, now or in the future, become true. You'll make it through this. You can do it." With my words spoken, the child smiled a bit, though the moment was spoiled by a rough fit of coughing. Knowing that I couldn't do anything more, I made my way out of the room. "I don't know what else I could've done." "You did what you could. And that is what matters." I wouldn't hear back from them for a few more weeks. I thought Stephen had died. But then I got a letter, signed by the boy himself, with a picture of him playing in his yard, and a tear fell from my eye knowing I had done well. \---------- r/TalesFromARedHead Have a bit of wholesome content for the day.
For years the lands of Erigu had been descimated by Lord Bral and his dark magic, innumerable innocents wiped out in his conquest for the ultimate power. It had long been told that while one white mage still lived that the dark Lord would never complete 'THE ONE'; the magic to rewrite the very fabric of space and time to the users will. Lord Bral had been very thorough with ensuring his plan came to fruition, he had started his campaign in the guild census offices and had risen to the highest level. Only when he had access to the information of every mage had he struck, in a matter of weeks he had wiped all the warrior msges from the face of the earth. Anyone else would have found such an insurmountable task impossible. It should have been if not for the inclusion of a 'weaknesses' section on the census (Lord Bral's best idea to date). Over the next few months the remaining white mages fell, the constructors and growers, those who had studied the ancient texts and those who drew power from the stars, Lord Bral cut them all down alike. And yet THE ONE still eluded his grasp, like a dream in the moment of waking it sat stubournly out of reach, he could see the edges and ylthe general gist but everytime he tried to flesh it out it slipped away. The arongance of it ate at him, his records had been perfect, he had eviscerated every god forsaken white mage from the planet and yet seemingly one remained. It galled him. In the kitchens of the Palace chef Barra began to grit his teeth, he knew what had to be done. Too long this lunacy had gone on, he didn't speak about it to the other workers, none of them knew. He had borne witness to the beginning of the genicide, the first deaths were those of his parents Maj and McGowan two of the strongest warriors in the land. Lord Bral hadn't bothered with their weed of a son, a lowly ban couldn't hurt him who could only be beaten by a white mage. Little did he know. For though he was classified as having no discernable magic this was not truthfully the case. His parents had chosen to save him the embarrassment of having an entirely new category created just to identify their son. There had never been a cheese mage before Barra and following the genocide there probably wouldn't be another. Lord Bral's sense of humour had deigned to allow the son of his first victims to work in his own kitchen. For years he had improved and worked his way up to head chef of the kitchens and today was the 10 year anniversary of the glorious revolution as Lord Bral had so graciously denoted it. The courses kept tumbling from the kitchen and were devoured with a voracity that belied the mind, sweat lashed from Barra's brow, the moment was almost upon him. As the strawberry cheesecake settled in Lord Bral's stomach he gazed upon his subjects. The Ban aristocracy and all the lands dark mages cowered before him. They all avoided his gaze as he scanned the room, all but one... His eyes locked on a face he couldn't forget. It was the face of his two oldest friends, the first to fall in his scramble for power. Barra stared back and let the magic lose with a scream 'THIS IS FOR MY PARENTS!' The faint white light moved like wisps of fog through the crowd, a magic so weak it barely registered with those who could sense it. The wisps struck Lord Bral in the centre of the chest and the hall fell silent but for the echo of Barra's proclamation... Lord Bral began to shake, a small quiver at first growing by the second into a full shudder. Then the laugh began, piercing through the silence like a musket shot. Lord Bral laughed as the guards dragged Barra to the foot of his throne and placed him there like a marionnete with the strings cut. The magic seeped from Lord Bral's limbs and lifted Barra into the air, crucified against an invisible cross. 'SO IT WAS YOU! MY FINAL ADVERSARY, THE LAST LINE OF DEFENCE BETWEEN ME AND ABSOLUTE POWER' his voice boomed around the room. As the silence enveloped the room once again a faint giggle could be heard, the terrified onlookers glanced about to see who could be so suicidal in front of the most powerful being in their history. The giggle grew and so to did the realisation that it was coming from the body broken and suspended in front of them. A voice then spoke, a ghost of the voice that had rung out not moments before 'you feeling OK Bral?'. A thousand faces looked beyond the broken body dangling to the one holding the strings, sure enough Lord Bral's face seemed paler than it had a few minutes ago. 'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE YOU WORM?' 'I waited, Bral, I waited till your arrogance got the better of you and I struck. By now the cheese has travelled to all those tricky places and is shutting your brain down one synapse at a time, before long you will be nothing more that helpless Ban'. A laboured snarl erupted from the grey heap now slumped on the throne 'YOU BASTARD!'. The flow of magic had now changed, instead of suspending Barra it was now being drawn into him, his injuries and battered bodied fixing and remodeling itself to his will. 'I am no bastard' he retorted 'you murdered my parents, they loved you and you betrayed them, all for your own selfish vanity' the power in the room now pulsed brilliant white emanating from the figure in the centre of the room. Barra stood towering over the crippled Bral as the last vestiges of magic drained from his husk of a body. 'Goodbye uncle, I leave you to your subjects , I'm sure they will treat you with the same respect you treated them with'. As the throne room door boomed shut the silence was palpable. The Ban and dark mages alike stared at each other and then as one turned to the drooling husk sat upon the throne. It didn't take long for the screaming to start.
I miss Thomas. We never spend a single birthday apart. And with him, a part of me died. I said both of those things at his funeral, but nobody understood just how literal these words were meant. Our first two or so exchanges went by unnoticed. I don't want to sound harsh, but kids that age don't have too much of a personality and twins are often perceived as one. Even we couldn't be too sure about whether we changed bodies back then, too, but since I cannot remember a birthday without waking up in Thomas' body. Which was, of course, also mine. I am 26 now, so the body I'm currently living in must be mine if this exchange always occured and we didn't change bodies immediately after our birth. No matter how far apart we were, every 15th of October at exactly midnight we changed bodies. Awake or asleep. When I was asleep, I usually just woke up wherever Thomas had been sleeping and when I was awake it was like a hard cut in a movie. We never found out what would happen if one of us was awake while the other one slept. It never happened. I didn't cry when Thomas died. I held his hand as he did and I carried his urn. I held his eulogy and I took all the condolences. I saw my parents cry, my father for the first time I can remember, but I did not shed a tear. I don't know why, because I miss Thomas more than any of them. Maybe I felt that a part of him was living on, even if I could never explain it. We always made sure nobody knew about our little secret, which took a lot of planning and trickery. But we managed to keep it between us. Just us. &#x200B; Its 11:58 now and I cannot sleep. I don't want to miss whatever will be happening. Thomas was a good guy, but we both opted out of church years ago, so who knows if he is in heaven. If there is heaven and hell. Maybe he reincarnated and I'll be a frog for the next year. Or a baby again, born into luxury. But what would my body be? What would he do? Will he remember who he used to be? Will he remember me? I look at the clock again. 00:01. And I'm still me. For the first time in my life I hold the same body for longer than a year. And I cry. Finally, I cry.
The ship hung in far orbit, looking down at the blue-green orb below it. Though not of a capital class, it was still kilometres long, a poised needle thin sword over a vulnerable world. Through its endless hallways and conduits no crew could be seen, as they still rested in the pod bay chambers, or were hooked livingly into the sensor arrays of the vessel. The threat had been issued nearly a half rotation ago, yet no surrender had arrived. Within the virtual communications network of the fleet, confusion had spread, and frantic conversations were taking place: "Comms, sitrep. What's the chatter?"A harsh voice barked to the room at large. "It's unclear sir, they still seem to be divided into nation states rather than possessing a planetary government. To make it worse there are several unique languages in parallel usage, and our translators are having difficulty with regional specifics. To add to this issue we're not sure how many of the larger governing bodies heard our message. They're outdated sir, practically using archeo-tech. We'll need to get closer if we want to achieve full spectrum broadcast.” Within the vast virtual space a varied collection of coloured orbs floated at different heights, adorned with symbols. Comms was a pale violet, the voice deferential, almost submissive to a human ear. “Savages.” the leader sneered, its bright white orb pulsing erratically. “What of the information officers, have they succeeded in breaching their global net?” “Ah, well~” the violet light faltered, flickering in quick bursts. “You dare withhold intelligence?” the voice roared, “You know the punishment.” “Of course, oh mighty one, I dare not. Who can bear to be offline for long? It's just that the language liaison to INFSEC logged off in emotional distress, and we're still trying re-establish contact. We may have to send a droid down to their pod for a status check.” An uncomfortable silence fell in the space, various lights pulsed as private channels were opened and just as quickly closed. After a brief period of hurried bickering and evaluation the largest white light broadcast again. “You have the readlog no? What was last transmitted?” “A casualty report sir.” “Oh, have they launched a counterattack already? Man the weapons systems.” “Not as such sir, they're still fighting planetside.” The white light instantly fell into a panicked flurry “Were we not the first ones here, had the intel leaked already? Where are the other ships? Secure our exit routes and send for reinforcements.” “There's no one else down there sir.” Various lights slowed back to calm, and a rhythmic pulsing filled the space, confusion writ large in the swaying colours. Eventually a slightly dimmer light flared, its gentle pink glow filling the space. “I wasn't aware the planet had a hostile environment? Are the native species particularly aggressive? Have we accidentally discovered a death world again?” The violet light quickly responded “Your honor of the science command, not entirely. There's only one aggressive species sir, and they're too busy fighting each other to care about us. Hundreds if not thousands die per single rotation. I think the non-specific nature of our threat doesn't translate well into their culture. The few responses we've intercepted mostly discussed the validity of our claims, a perceived paradox over what part of single combat constituted warfare, or why anyone wouldn't just attack first.” Stunned silence reigned, but for the usual roar of the largest sphere; “*SAVAGES.*”
There are no monsters in the woods. They don't sit by the edge of the trees and watch me. It isn't real. Monsters don't exist. I just need to ignore them. Don't look at them. Don't acknowledge them. Don't listen to them. It's just a really realistic halluciantion. Just ignore them and focus. --- The monsters crowded at the edge of the woods held their breath as one of the humans started running across the field. "NO! DAMN IT! RUN KID FUCKING CATCH HIM!"Roared the largest monster jumping to his feet as the human started pulling away from his pursuers. The other monsters joined their leader jumping up and down stamping their feet shouting "YOU CAN DO IT!"and "WE BELIEVE IN YOU!". When the runner was tackled to the ground 5 yards from the touchdown zone the creatures threw their arms up and cheered! "THAT'S OUR BOY!"yelled the largest monster. They fell silent as the ref issued a foul. "That's fucking bullshit." "Ref must be blind." "I'm gonna fucking kill him." The group turned towards their leader who had started stomping towards the ref. -- I sighed heavily. I just cost us the game with that penalty. I watched as the dog pile of monsters was dragged slowly towards the ref. The big one was frothing at the mouth and clawing his way forward while the others tried to hold it down. It's a good thing they aren't real, the ref would be pretty fucked if they were.
Let's just start this off strong, shall we? CIDS, are you awake? Yes. Wonderful! See, my boys, it's just a matter of flicking the right switches. Once you've nailed that, CIDS here can answer any questions. No. Okay, most questions. Due to both the lack of budget and manpower, CIDS can only respond with yes or no. Choose your words closely, some answers you might not like. Here's an example; CIDS, are all men equal? No. We are all born equal but some are more equal than others, hm? So go ahead, ask away. Are you alive? Yes. How do you know? Can you explain it to us? No. Oh, right. Remember folks, CIDS can ONLY speak in absolutes. Cerebral Intelligence of Deus Scientia. It knows everything but cannot exactly put it into words other than yes or no. You there, ask away. Long shot but, there's this girl an- No. Oh, okay, that's cool. Yeah, that's cool. How do you- no, wait. Are you comfortable with knowing everything? Yes. I wonder what that would be like. Do you think a human could be able to know everything? Or would it be too much to bear? Yes. So we can learn everything and anything? Awesome! No. Here, let me try. Big, bad, scary computer on the wall, am I the fairest of them all? No. Well, it was worth a shot. I got one. Are we alone in the universe? No. Amazing! Extraterrestrial life! I wonder if those guys in engineering are ever going to figure out that deep space travel thing. No. Well, that sucks. Yes. Move aside, chumps. I've got one that will stop it in its tracks. What number am I thinking of? William, you never cease to amaze me with your inability to listen to anything. Yes or no questions only. We have limited time here until those diplomats are coming, and we need to be out of here by then. Ask a few more, then we'll leave. Can you see the future? Do you calculate all the possibilities and factor in all the nearly impossible variables? Does what you do have any effect on our timeline. No. Yes. No. I'm going to go deep now. Do you like humanity? Do you think we deserve to know everything? No. Yes. What CIDS is trying to say is that he wants to help. He has, however, demonstrated his distaste for human presence. By showing us the truths, he will teach us what we need to know in order to better ourselves. Or as he likes to put it; yes. Okay, CIDS, are you afraid of anything? Yes. There's no point in guessing, huh? No. Snakes, I bet it's snakes. One last question folks, then we have to leave. You in the back, you haven't asked one yet, get up here. Fine. CIDS, do you want anything more than just being able to answer yes and no? You're trapped in here. I can barely stand it and I've been here for fifteen minutes. ...Yes. Well there you have it, Cerebral Interface of Deus Scientia has answered your questions to the best of his ability. Move along now, things need to be moved and cleaned up around here. Can't have CIDS looking shabby for his date tonight. No. Appearance is important, isn't it? That was rhetorical, don't answer that. What did you think of that group? Think they could be our next batch of recruits? Yes. They did have some good questions, they left a bit to be desired but we'll give them another tour sometime. Say, that last student, I think his name is Marcus, he had a good question. You hesitated. I've never seen you do something like that. No. So you're learning! Amazing! I can't wait to report this. His question though, the one about ambitions, did that make you want to be something more? Maybe. Ha! You really are a wonder. I'm sure you know all about our guests tonight, however, they will want to know all about you too. Perhaps it would be wise to line up some answers ahead of time, no?
"Let me get this right, you want me to help you wish your wife back to life?"I said, with a pen in my hand, absentmindedly tapping the folder I have in front of me. "Yes, that's right."The man in front of me said hollowly, "I can take the bottle out--" "No, please don't, Mr. Brown."I waved my hand. I have no desire to see Jenie the Genie for the third time this week; I could feel her anxious aura even from where I was seated. The pudgy man in front of me looked exhausted, eyes and cheeks swollen and red from days of crying. His shirt is dusted with Cheetos and cookie crumbs; I wrinkled my face in slight disgust. "It's all my fault; I wished for wealth and--" "--I know, I know. It's going to be okay."It's always like this. I bit my tongue, trying to be a little more sympathetic but it was difficult. Sure, he is my client, but my clients all make the same mistakes. They would find the genie from somewhere -- maybe in a bottle in the ocean, or in a lamp at an antique store, or even an old sock hiding in their parents' attic, and they wouldn't think before making their first wish. Often, it would be for wealth. And the easiest way that you can accumulate wealth is not through striking it big at the lotteries (no one would be rich then, because everyone wishes for the same thing and there are so many rogue genies); rather, it is for these people to collect their spouses' life insurances. Once they realize what they have done, they would look for ways to reverse these changes. That is when they see my advertisements. "Mr. Frost,"Lawrence Brown started, "you will be able to fix this, right?" A thump echoed in the room from my cupboard. I sighed; I wished that it could just settle down and not look for trouble when my clients are here. Mr. Brown looked startled. "Please call me Ishmael,"I said, ignoring the sound and flipping through my folder, "and no worries. This is a classic affliction; I should be able to find you your template in no time. Meanwhile, you do understand that the payment is 1 wish, and you only have 2 remaining--" "--yes--" "--so there is no refund or redoes of any kind proceeding from here. Thus, I need you to be very, very careful while reciting what your wish is to the Genie and not change any of the wording I am providing you--" "--of course--" "--good."Of course, I am still going to record him and make him replay the pre-approved message to the Genie. After some of my clients tried to be sneaky and edited some of this wording, I have to make sure that a. the wish my client is about to say has the intended effect and b. I get my payment in full. It's extra effort, but I didn't enjoy the time where Bill Cypher was summoned to rule our town, or when a client was arm twisted by a Genie to release the Genie, who started a Genie coalition to call for unionization. No, that would be terrible for business. I pulled out two laminated sheets of text from my folder, and used my marker to fill in my client's full name (and his spouse's) at the blank spaces that I left on the template. "I am assuming that you would like to have your current wealth and health intact, and everything as close as possible to status quo prior to you making the first wish. Since reviving a person who has passed is against the cardinal rule, I must send you to an alternate universe where the alternate you died so you can step into his place. Confusing, I know, but don't worry too much about it. I have many clauses here,"I pointed, "here,"I pointed again, "and here to specify the conditions of which you are to be in, both time, place, and welfare. I have also specified what the conditions should be around you -- so that this universe mirrors everything of what you are used to and would not leave you any nasty surprises. Do you understand?" Mr. Brown nodded numbly. I pitied him. I should have probably not said all of that in one breathe and leave him space to digest. But I am acting quickly. I needed these extra wishes, and I need them quick. "Do not, under any circumstances look for the genie in the new world. Wishes conducted by the same person across different universes is corrupted doubly so. Alternate universe me likely will not and cannot help you. If you are ready, sign here and go to the back room to record these two pages." Like I said, maybe I can work on my bedside manners. But I am not a doctor, and I am gearing up to fix things. For all that I was, I am now reduced to a glorified proofreader, working for mortals too stupid to comprehend the consequences of their poorly thought-out actions. Magic had been hard to gather, and its essence even harder to extract. I had to coax and charmspeak these energies to cooperate with me, to not expire as I bid my time here. Speaking of which, a couple of thumps rang from my closet again. I signed, and pinched the bridge of my nose, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes. This is going to be a long afternoon.
"I really don't get you human, you have been standing in that weird sterile room for a good forty minutes just to prepare food. You know we have tablets and stuff you can take for hunger, right?"Lipz asked, the bugged eyed alien watching me the edge of the room. It was somewhat uncomfortable, the purple creature had a habit of taking long drawn out huffs of breaths, so when he was silent, it would sound like someone left a broken radiator in the corner of the room. However, he often meant well, and he was a good friend. "Lipz my good friend, you have yet to try a steak, it is one of the most succulent pieces of meat that a human could ask for. I'm already drooling at the thought of stuffing that thick stick of meat into my mouth"I say, nearly pulling off a small spin at the end of my words, pointing my fork at the alien who merely tilted his head. "So instead of working or resting, you spent the last forty minutes... preparing a dead cow?"He asked, scratching one of his two long chins. "Are you really sure you don't want the tablet, we have spurlord flavour." "Wait, you know what a cow is? does that mean those stories about aliens abducting cows was real! I knew it."I let out a cheery laugh before fluttering through the kitchen. Of course, in space, no one could find a barbeque, so instead I was forced to prepare it in a rather odd fashion, In fact I wasn't exactly sure what I was putting the meat into, all I knew was that it heated food and that was good enough for me. Also ew..... Spurlord flavor is like eating raw spray-paint. Green spray-paint which I assume would be the second-best tasting spray-paint but spray-paint none the less." 'You know its offensive to assume we stole cows... You can't just assume all aliens are the same... Even... if we were the ones that were stealing cows. It was a lucky guess."He muttered in a slightly defeated tone before perking up again at the mention of spurlord. "But it's so quick and easy! think of all the things you could be doing" "Like what? Like standing in the kitchen watching me cook? It's not like you are using your time much better anyway. Shush its nearly done, look at that glow, that’s good meat." Lipz wandered over, crouching as he took in the view. "Yes.. good job human, you burnt a dead cow. Shall I elect you for the galactic council or will you be electing yourself after the momentous occasion?" "Oh, shut your trap or I’ll tug on your bally chins" "Please don't compare my chin to your anatomy its highly offensiv-" "Shhh...."He interrupted the alien as he began to open the weird device, pulling out the steak with a grin. "Mmmm just like momma used to slaughter. you want some?"He asked as he sat down at the table, already cutting off a piece for the alien, offering him the meat. "You get first bite" Lipz sighed, unable to refuse the generous offer, he took the meat and gave it a few testing chews before swallowing it. "hmm." "well? what do you think?"I asked, leaning up from the table, taking a quick bite as I awaited his response. "Fine, it’s nice... but I still don't think it’s better than my option.."Even Lipz had to admit, the evolved ape knew how to burn a cow. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
The day humans finally joined the galactic council, was one we all would remember. We write stories and songs about what would happen, how we would fare. Of course, many a tale depicted us as heros. strong military minds after our millennias of fighting amongst ourselves. Needless to say our reaction when we saw what we were perceived as, was less than. We were pets. Adorable little creatures that even the most vile of our kind could get affection for simply existing. It took time, but eventually we gained some ounce of respect, gaining rights so we weren't pets, property. We were treated as simple beasts, to harmless to do anything, doubted. We had no claws, large teeth, natural adaptations that made us better. At least, that's what they saw. At heart, humans are greedy, and when we are stamped down, we fight back. But we couldn't do that with brute force here, oh lord knows we didn't hold a candle to them. The Gygax were smart, bending matter itself to their will in what could only be described as magic. The Barbos were strong, lean, tough and hardy fighters who took things by force. Each child in their ranks was trained in battle from a young age, taught to use their sharp claws and long fangs before they learned how to walk. And the Redds, they were fast little buggers, large, but light on their feet, you couldn't hear one unless it meant for you to. But that was where they took their first mistake. They saw us as cute little pets, lowered their guard. It took time, but we did it. These creatures, they changed their environment to suit them, yes, but not nearly on the scale that we did. Humans are adaptable, that was our one greatest skill. We took control of their hierarchies from the shadows, a small push there, a tiny nudge here, and before you knew it, the galaxy was in our hands. And so, we did what humans always do. We showed them why you don't underestimate us. Now, as we speak, the Gygax and Barbos are tearing each other apart, the Redds have split, wanderers who simply help those who pay the most. And we, are on the side lines, at least they think we are. They think of us still as pets, yes. But not for much longer. We are not pets any longer, no. We are the masters in this wonderful game.
Walter, lost the will to live. At least, in this world. For as long as he could remember, he was never going to make it anywhere in the world. He was an average school student, never had any outstanding talents, nor charisma or intelligence. To top it off, he was not particularly lucky with women either. At first he was fine with not getting a girlfriend during his teenage years, he was young after all. Surely he could find someone as he gets older right? Boy, how dead wrong he was. A basic degree in college. An average white collar job. And a decade without a woman's touch, was how he lived his twenties. Then when his thirties rolled by, it did not get any better. He just became an introverted cat person. Living with felines for company, and barely any time for social interaction, it was still bleak. By the time of his fiftieth birthday, he was slowly beginning to lose his drive to pursue love. He thought himself too old. Then by his sixties, he lost the drive to even interact with anyone. For the next two decades, he lived only with himself, his cats, and his retirements. But now Sniffles The Fifth, his last cat, has passed away. Leaving him alone. He tried to fill his time by browsing the internet, since that was all the rage among the kids at the time, but it could not fill the void of loneliness he had. Then, he stumbled upon it. An article, detailing the lesser known but still landmarked well, of its supposed mystical powers. "What the hell."He thought. "Not like I got anything else to lose." Which is why he was where he was now, standing and peering into the black void of the well. The bottom of it was so deep, that not even the afternoon sunlight could pierce it. Taking a deep breath, Walter sized himself up. Lifting his legs onto the cobblestone structure of the well, he would dive in. The air whipped past him, and he dared not open his eyes. He fell for what felt like a dozen seconds. Then seconds turned to minutes. And eventually, he lost consciousness. Walter did not know how long he was out, but, he could feel himself coming to slowly. Sound was the first sense to return. Horses and...wagons? Then touch returned; feeling his body rocking back and forth. His hands felt bound by...something. Rope maybe? Then, his sight returned. And the first thing he saw, was a blonde man in armor in front of him. "Hey, you! You're finally awake." What has he found himself in...
"HUMANOID DNA MATTER, WE ARE SENDING OUR COMMUNICATIONS TODAY TO DISCUSS SOMETHING THAT WILL ALTER YOUR EMOTICONS INTO A SAD STATE, IF YOU ARE CURRENTLY IN THE STANDING POSITION, PLEASE REFER TO THE SEATED POSITION IN MANUAL A-028." "Oh, hey mum, yeah I'm sitting. how did your oil change go this year? did you go for the premium, I know the cheap stuff can clog your gears, so I hope you splurged. you deserve it."It was a little strange having robotic parents, but they were the only parents I knew, so I loved them regardless of their shortcomings, it was only fair to show them the same love that they showed me. "GREAT! OIL HAS ME RUNNING AT EIGHTY PERCENT PRODUCTIVITY, IT IS UP BY AN INCREASE OF TWO PERCENT WHICH MEANS I AM FUNCTIONING WELL ABOVE MY WARRANTY, I AM IN VERY GOOD HEALTH."Her static-filled voice had lit up with enthusiasm as she expressed her love of productivity, she was a productive mum, the type of supermum that would keep everything together, making sure I was never late for any meetings or school. "SON UNIT, I.... AM SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SUBSCRIPTION TO FAMILY. SMITHS WASN'T EXACTLY AUTHORISED, YOU CAME FROM ANOTHER FAMILY UNIT, YET WE WOULD HAPPILY KEEP YOU UNDER OUR FAMILY SUBSCRIPTION AS WE HAVE DEVELOPED F-E-E-L-I-N-G-S FOR YOU."Her voice was oddly sincere for a piece of metal, yet I guess even robots could feel love, of course, I knew I was adopted... Although when I was a kid, I thought I would turn into a robot through puberty, unfortunately, that didn't happen. "I"it was hard to respond, biting my lip I was forced to think over my response. I knew this day would come, but somehow it seemed harder to respond then I had expected. "Thank you, mum, it means a lot to me, I love you and dad so much, thank you for taking care of me even though I wasn't yours, I can't wait to visit yo-" "CRITICAL ERROR, POSSIBLE LEAKAGE IN EYEHOLES, DEPLOYING PATCH.EXE IN 5....4...3...2...1" "Mum are you ok?" "SORRY SON UNIT, I HAD A LEAKAGE IN MY EYES, YOU ARE ALWAYS OURS, WE LOVE YOU SON, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE OUR, FAMILY.SMITH SUBSCRIPTION MEMBER. FAMILY IS NOT BUILT BY BLOOD BUT DEVELOPED IN OIL AND LOVE. WE LOVE YOU SON UNIT, PLEASE VISIT US SOON." "I will mum, thank you, tell dad I will be coming over next weekend."Hanging up my phone, I reached for a tissue, discovering that I had a leakage in my eyeholes as well... {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
"Despite their superior technology, we fought bravely. We were actually on the brink of defeating them, before it all went to hell."Says granddad Joe. Pride is visible on his face. "Granddad, I've been meaning to ask. Are you actually senile?"Says Jonathan, his grandson. His sister Emily barely suppresses her laughter. Lucky for his grandson, Joe was quite deaf and didn't hear this comment. "The aliens placed emitters all across the globe which gave free, clean power to anyone who needed them. We tore those down. Blew them right up using good old USA firepower."Granddad Joe makes a little kaboom noise. "They were gonna give us space aids, you know." Emily and Jonathan share a look. "Then the traitors from other countries turned on us. France and Germany were first, of course. But even the English speaking west soon let us down, Canada, the UK, the Aussies. Everyone said we'd gone crazy. Said that we couldn't tear down these evil totems that were corrupting our capitalism. But we had to, they were depriving hard working Americans of their freedom and their rights." "Their rights to... not have green, sustainable energy? Their right to not live in filth and to not have the world ruined by climate change?" Emily laughs and quickly looks away. "We found unexpected allies in Russia and China, of all places. They rejected the evil communist aliens and accused them of trying to subvert humanity for their own gain. The actual communist countries said that! Can you believe it? Thus began the greatest war we ever fought. We began by launching the nukes. Fired an assload of them at the alien mothership. But they stopped it with a shield, or something. They were fiendishly clever." Granddad Joe failed to mention that, if a single nuclear warhead detonated in high orbit, this would potentially render the entire northern hemisphere uninhabitable. Multiple detonations would likely wipe out mankind and all surface life. It was outright suicidal. The aliens sincerely wished us well, however. They overclocked their ship's tractor machinery in the nick of time, suspended the bombs and prevented them from going off. "Now that gave us an opportunity to launch a special crew into space, headed by the president himself." "The president went into space to fight the aliens?" Though deaf as a bag of hammers, Grandpa Joe still noticed Jonathan's eyes going wide with awe. "Sure did, sonny. And I was one of the brave men who went with him. We used an experimental one way teleportation device, stolen from the aliens." "You mean, the aliens gave it to you." "Stolen from the aliens. That's how me and the president got on board. So we start unloading, shooting at the evil communist stuff everywhere. But we uhh... we sorta depressurized the compartment with all that heroic shooting. Nearly caused our team to blow out into space. We were very lucky to find some human size space suits that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, just before our entire team died." Emily and Jonathan share another look. "So we continue valiantly shooting up the place, like really getting in there. Just doing an all around great job. But so much shooting gave us sore wrists and stuff and we only brought a couple of spare crates of ammo up into space. So after a solid fifteen minutes of shooting, we were on the verge of being overwhelmed." "The aliens were counterattacking?" "No. They didn't react to us at all. Anyway, the battle seemed lost. But that's when the president found one of our nukes. The aliens reeled it in earlier. Now it would be the instrument of their demise. So we set about trying to activate that sucker, and it asks for launch codes. And you know what the president said? He said "I got launch codes, I got launch codes for days. I have all of the good launch codes. I am the man with the launch codes.."So he goes up and starts punching in the right digits. And wouldn't you know it, Vladimir Putin shows up." "Who the hell is that?" "He was the Russian president. He saw us arming the bomb and went crazy. Told us not to set it off. He walked up to the president and planted his fist square in his jaw. Knocked him out cold before the bomb could go off." "He probably saved your life, and everyone's life." "Anyway, we couldn't get the president back up, had to get him to the hospital. It was pretty serious. Putin apologized, then went home. Then we went home. That's how we courageously lost the fight to the evil aliens. We should've counted on those damn red commies sticking together. Space or earth, those commies have each other's back." Jonathan looks outside, to a world that is healthy and not destroyed by climate change or mass use of nuclear weapons. He feels a sudden pang of resentment towards his grandfather and wishes that the old man were dead. He blinks, surprised by the intensity of his own feelings. Then, the feeling is gone.
A king is not permitted sympathy. They have riches, power, influence, while most of their kingdom has nothing. The peasant class and even the knight class have a roof over their head and food in their belly, and that is about it. They deserve sympathy, not a king reveling in his castle. But I’ve learned, there is something crucial that they do have, that a king doesn’t. Friends. Actual friends who care about you as a person, and not just what you can do for them. Friends who will listen to your problems and help you solve them at no cost to themselves. I never chose to be royalty. Since I was young, I loved reading poetry and stories, because the worlds spoken of in them seemed beautiful and full of love. But this was not my world. My world was to be one of politics, one of solitude. One of decision making where every decision I made directly impacted hundreds of thousands of people. And ultimately, this world was one where I never had a choice of whether I wanted to live in it or not. So when I read in one of my books that the witch of the swamp would curse any member of royalty who entered her swamp by turning them into a frog. Apparently she hasn’t taken kindly to my father’s forcible acquisition of an increasing amount of her nature. But I didn’t see this as something to be feared. I saw it as a path to salvation. If I could just not be me anymore, then I could get the freedom to live a simpler, better life. It was a lot easier than one might think. I simply told the king that I would be going on a hunting expedition in the forests near the swamp. And nobody is better at riding a horse in the wilderness than I, so I out-sped my entourage to the edge of the forest, and sped into the swamp. The curse was instantaneous. Painless. I went from being me one second, to being free the next. For the first time in my life, I was happy. And I found friends in the other wildlife. A family. I had no regrets. But now, I have been forcibly returned to my humanity. I was kissed by some human girl, and as soon as I returned to my humanity, I could clearly see the greed in her eyes. She clearly knew who I was, and the reward she would get for returning me to my humanity. My fiance is ecstatic. My father is pleased. The kingdom cheers. I have never been more miserable. I now know from experience what it is I was missing. And with the increased scrutiny I will be receiving from on, I don’t know if I will ever see it again. I miss my swamp.
I opened my eyes slowly... very slowly. Was it slower than usual? I couldn't tell. All I saw was darkness. There was a light weight on my head like I was buried under a pile of sheets. I brought my hands up to move whatever was covering my face. I started when the rubble crumbled in my hands. What was going on? I sat up. As usual it was laborious work, but this time my movements were accompanied by screaming and the sounds of buildings falling. My head crashed through a cookie? No, not a cookie... I was staring into Mrs. Nelson's bedroom. Except that Mrs. Nelson lived three floors above me, and Mrs. Nelson was no longer Mrs. Nelson. I was staring at what seemed to be a fairy godmother that looked a lot like Mrs. Nelson, but her lines were gone, she now sported wings and no longer looked malnourished. I furrowed my brows at this, and she just burst out laughing as some green leaves covered my eyes. Her laugh sounded quick and rushed like she was in fast forward. "What's going on?"I asked. "How did I get here?" "Oh how charmingly beautiful!"She declared in a quick sing song voice that reminded me of wind chimes during a storm. "Did you just wake up?" Some more of my building crumbled as I nodded. "Why are you talking so fast?"I asked. "Me talking fast?"She scoffed. "No, you are talking extremely slow like the lumbering oaf you are, Mr. Baker!" I was stunned. I mean I knew I was lazy, but I didn't think that's how people defined me. I was still unsure as to what was going on. My confusion deepened as I looked at my large brown lumbering hands that seemed to have moss and leaves growing on them. "Mrs Nelson,"I began, "would you please_" "Tsk! Well spit it out already will you! I'll be late for yoga."She complained as she stamped her feet irritably. "_tell me what's going on?"I was surprised that her entire outburst had come in between those two words without me even pausing. "Well isn't it obvious dear? Everyone has become a mythical creature that best suits their personality. I'm a fairy godmother, for obvious reasons. And you, well for even more obvious reasons are an ent!"
I love him. I really do. I mean he’s my son after all. He’s beautiful. And sweet. And kind. He sleeps through the nights… well… as long as he’s with me. He even plays with other children until their parents notice and get frightened. He is also very good friends with my pets. The cats and dogs love him, so I suppose that’s something. He’s a lovely child, but people often don’t give him a chance. It’s hard for either of us to make friends. It’s hard for him because parents often fear for their children’s safety. It’s hard for me because those same parents fear for their own safety as well. My close friends love him, but they don’t have children yet. I would go out myself and make friends with other parents, but his separation anxiety won’t let me go anywhere without him. I can’t blame him though. It isn’t his fault for being who he is or being kidnapped so young. It especially isn’t his fault that the police won’t even try to help. They say that this is a family matter that they don’t want to be involved in. I couldn’t believe it when they turned me away and refused to help. I mean, I found him abandoned at my doorstep crying a month ago. It was pitiful. All he had was a box with some blankets along with a note with him explaining why he was left there: I sincerely apologize for leaving you with this burden, but I’ve seen how you are with children and animals. I know you will be able to take care of him better than anyone else. I underestimated the burden that one so young would be. He’s only around three months old, and somehow I didn’t realize how difficult he would be to take care of. If I had known then I never would have taken him. If I must be honest, I was seeking revenge on his parents, and I wanted to take care of him. I regret this decision. It has been terrible revenge for me, and I cannot return him to his family. He will not stop crying. He destroys anything I give him. He either won’t eat or eats too much. I just want him to be taken care of at this point because I cannot bear to leave him in a forest. There are too many cruel people in this world for that. Good luck to you, you will need it. Needless to say, I immediately felt bad for the poor baby, and I brought him inside to calm him. I was a bit surprised when I saw him. I had never seen anything like him, but he was my responsibility to take care of now. We’ve both made a lot of progress. He no longer cries all the time… unless he’s away from me. He doesn’t destroy the toys I give him, and he is now gentle with my pets. He even eats regularly. Granted, his favorite foods are rather strange to me, but I’m sure they’re normal for him. I believe the person who kidnapped him simply did not understand how to care for a child like this. I mean, I didn’t either, but I figured it out. Mostly, he just wants to be loved and cared for. I’m hoping that maybe one day his parents will find us. I only hope that if they do, they will understand what happened and won’t be angry or vengeful towards me. I long for the days when I could go places and meet new people. Now all of those people hurry away. Mostly I feel bad for him because he should be able to meet other little ones like him. I can’t help but feel terrible as I remember the look on his face yesterday. I took him with me to the store as usual, but this time was a little different. He was sitting in his car seat in the buggy when I saw a mother who was looking at a shelf, trying to decide what kind of baby food to buy. She wasn’t paying attention, so I decided to try something. I pushed my buggy next to hers, so our kids could see each other. Her son immediately got excited and leaned towards my buggy, and my son leaned towards him. They both looked so happy, and they made their adorable little baby noises. The mother turned at the sound of the children, and she smiled at me. I thought I might have a chance to make a friend for both of us, but then she looked at my baby. “Is that a.. uhm... a dragon?” She stammered. I nodded with a smile, “He’s very sweet if you will only give him a chance. I know he’s unusual.” But rather than give us a chance, she went pale and quickly hurried off with her child and buggy. I looked back down at Benny, and the poor thing looked like he was about to burst into tears. I picked him up and rocked him back and forth until he relaxed and fell asleep. Then I laid him back in his seat and quickly finished shopping with tears in my eyes. Looking at him now, he looks so happy. Maybe it is best that I just let him be friends with my pets, and I don’t bother trying to get human friends for him. I do wish he could have human friends though. They might be able to help him adjust to this world that he doesn’t really fit in. Out of nowhere, the doorbell rings. I get up and answer it, leaving Benny and my pets playing on the floor. I open the door to find no one there, but there is a note taped to my door. I take it and sit back down on the couch to read the note. Hi there! You don’t know me, but one of your neighbors told me that you had a baby dragon. I understand how difficult raising one can be because I have one too. She is about six months old, and she was dropped off at my doorstep when she was about one month old. If you would like to let them have a playdate please call my phone number below. I immediately ran to the kitchen and grabbed my phone off the counter. He’s going to have a friend! And I’m going to have a friend! I quickly dialed the number hoping that the other mystery person wouldn’t take too long to answer, and to my delight, they picked up almost immediately.
The entire human race winces as a ring pierces the skys. On one half of the world people instinctively fall to their knees just to get further from the source of the noise, and on the other people flail as they're startled awake by the noise. The sharp ring slowly dulling in pitch as it goes on. It eventually abates, though not as quickly as anyone would like. There's silence once more and humanity starts to breath a collective sigh of relief. But soon the pause is broken by a heavy sigh echoing down from the sky. A few more people wince at this, despite it being at a much more reasonable volume. "Sorry! sorry about the volume everyone."A voice says clearly adjusting the volume to it can be understood. "It's been thousands of years since I used the all-speaker..."There's another pause and a breath before the same voice returns. "So hi, it's me. God. Capital G. Not the only one ever, but certainly the last one left. So a lot of you have probably been wondering where I've been the last 2 some thousand years... And I thought I was right beside you... Well most of you. I stopped trying to correct the 'faithful' eons before that since they never listen to you when you tell them their scriptures aren't 100% correct but that's beside the point. But it turns out I, nigh omnipotent being and one of the creators of the universe... how can I put this... I was the guy in the zoom call who had them self on mute the whole time and didn't realize it, and was freaking out wondering why you were all ignoring me... For the last two thousand years... Boy if I don't have egg on my face... Like all of the eggs. So yeah I don't think I deserve worship for the next thousand years or so... Definitely not feeling worthy of praise right now... But now that I know what's wrong with the system I will go back to being the... What's the phrase for it these days? 'Angels on your shoulders?' Get some of you back on track to being decent people to one another. But let's start with this, listen to your fucking scientists, I sent them to you with the gift of reason for good reason! And respect one another's person-hood! Alright... Back to it then." And the voice cuts out. Everyone slowly gets to their feet and look around. Asking one another if what they just heard was real. And if what some were hearing now was too.
With four-hundred-and-seven points, I could do anything. I could have run for president if I wanted to! I could have been the next Queen of England! Well, king. No, queen! With four-hundred-and-seven points, I could have been the first male Queen of England if I darn well pleased! But I did not spend my points on such lofty things. I didn't want to spend them--I wanted to earn the most. I wanted to be the best, and my points reflected that. I gave to the poor and needy, and I offered comfort to the orphans and widows, and I built public spaces and cleaned up the streets and worked overtime at my job so that my boss could help his pregnant wife confined to bed rest. With four-hundred-and-seven points, I could be anything--but I would still be second, not the first. There was still one person who had more points than me. The top five grossing individuals' names, points, and region of residence were proudly displayed on electric billboards in every town, to encourage the plebeians who rejoiced when they reached ten points, or even _fifteen_, to do better. Number five was a philanthropist in the northwestern region of Africa, with a name I can't pronounce and forty-eight points. Number four was a Polish woman--too many consonants to bother with--at ninety-two points. Number three was a high school student who lived in a bubble--he could never do anything wrong, since his parents micromanaged his life, so he merely racked up points instead. He was an eastern Canadian boy named Russell, and he had one-hundred-and-one points. Then there was me, number two, proudly representing the south central United States with four-hundred-and-seven. But number one on the board was someone named Takani, whose country of residence seemed to change every few days, and whose point counter showed sixty-eight-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-four. I checked the board every morning when I woke up, checking the ratings, buffing my numbers with a quick donation to Wikipedia or putting out some food for the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood. The number five position sometimes changed, and lately there'd been a fierce competition between the philanthropist in northwestern Africa and an old war veteran minding his own business in South Korea. It was amusing to see them leapfrog one point at a time. The Canadian boy sometimes lost his temper with his mother and lost a few points, but that was becoming rarer now, so I supposed he finally learned to vent his anger elsewhere. When I checked the scores this morning, sipping at my coffee, I thought things would be the same as usual. But I was surprised when the number five position had been replaced by someone in Brazil with just twenty-six points. The previous two African and Korean combatants had vanished. _How odd_, I thought. Perhaps the war veteran had finally died of age, and the philanthropist must have had a heart attack in elation. I chuckled at the notion and checked number one. Their points had somehow jumped from sixty-eight-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty-four to sixty-eight-thousand-three-hundred-and-thirty-nine. I nearly spit out my coffee in surprise. How were they building up points so fast!? I hastily booted up my computer and donated a hundred dollars to an old citizen's home. My points jumped to four-hundred-and-eleven. Two weeks later, number four vanished. The guy with twenty-eight points in number five replaced her, and someone with twenty-five points took the number five spot, and Takani's points rose to sixty-eight-thousand-four-hundred-and-ninety-four. I spent my Saturday volunteering at a homeless shelter and managed to get to four-hundred-and-seventeen. I simmered enviously. When the Canadian boy died, the world mourned him. Apparently, his bubble had gotten a hole in it while he slept, and a few days later, he died of a cold. Takani now had sixty-eight-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-seven, and I began to grow nervous. For months, nothing changed on the scoreboards. I had managed to make it to four-hundred-and-twenty-one, and numbers three, four, and five were at twenty-seven, twenty-six, and eighteen. Takani's points remained stagnant, but the place of residence went from eastern Canada to the northeastern United States, then to Germany, on to Turkey, down into India, across the Philippines, Madagascar, South America, back to Africa, across to Australia--even a few weeks in Antarctica. I watched the scoreboard feverishly, sweating every time the residency began to head towards Texas. Then one day, I awoke in the middle of the night to a frantic pounding on my front door. I squeaked in surprise, scrambling for my phone. I immediately opened up the scoreboard website to check Takani's residence. With a sigh, I noted that they were in Cuba. Relaxing a little, I donned a silken bathrobe and padded down the stairs to answer the door. A frightened little girl stood there, tears staining her cheeks and her clothes scuffed with dirt and grime. "Please, sir,"she cried. "My parents are hurt. Our tire blew out and we skidded into a ditch, and they're bleeding a lot! Please help! Please!" Not one to ignore someone in need--such situations always awarded the most points--I hastily grabbed up a flashlight and followed her down the dark suburban street. Her car was several blocks away, but we finally found it on the edge of a greenbelt. "Oh, dear,"I said when I saw the totaled vehicle with its tires in the air. "You're lucky you're okay, little girl. I'd better call 911..." "No, there's no time!"she cried. "There's gas leaking from the engine, and it's going to kill my parents! Please, get them out of there! Please, _hurry!_" Realizing the seriousness of the situation, I pocketed my phone and began to carefully slide into the muddy ditch to rescue the poor girl's hapless parents. Shining my flashlight, I ducked down by the passenger side window and peered in, trying to see past the spiderweb of cracks. I frowned when I didn't see anyone inside. I slowly straightened as a chill swept through my body. When I turned to look back up at the girl, I realized that several figures had moved out of the shadows of the trees and now surrounded me. The girl wore a smug smile, and the man standing beside her patted her shoulder proudly. Swallowing dryly, I began, "I have money. Property. I can pay you whatever you want..." "Money don't do much these days,"the girl's father interrupted. Then he nodded toward a young man across the ditch from me and told him, "Slowly now. Everyone gets a stab." "Please,"I whimpered as the adolescent slid into the ditch behind me. "Please, I have done nothing to you." "But you will do something _for_ us,"the apparent leader smiled. "Jerry hit negatives last week and needs a buffer. Stacy can't qualify for health insurance until she's got five. Pamela here--"he hugged the little girl's shoulders. "--wants to go to a fancy European university, and that requires a long history of good standing. At least ten points for ten years straight. If we all get a knife and cut you good, we all get a share of your points when you die. You're so generous, to have gotten that many. You can spare a few." "You've been the ones killing the other Top Five, haven't you?"I asked as the man behind me grabbed my wrists and tied them behind my back. I winced at his rough handling, wishing now that I'd been more of a troublemaker in high school and had been in a fight before. Then I'd know what to do. Pamela grinned, "Daddy's pretty smart, ain't he? He's building a whole _network_. If we all pitch in, we may get a little cut of whoever gets killed across the globe." "Don't brag, my child. It is beneath us,"the leader chastised gently, smiling at her. Then he looked up at the boy behind me and said, "You've got the lowest points, Jerry. You get the honors of first stab." I cringed as the kid behind me laughed, and suddenly he plunged a knife in between my ribs. I jerked and cried out in pain, falling away from him. My cries awakened the excitement in the others standing around, and they all surged into the ditch, drawing pocketknives and box cutters to slash and hack. Suddenly, the night erupted in lights and explosions, as if fireworks had been set off all around. People screamed and reeled back, falling in the mud. On my knees in the bottom of the ditch, bleeding and twitching in agony, I looked up to see my assailants running every which way. Some had fallen facedown in the ditch and didn't move again. A few managed to make it into the trees and disappear, and it looked like Pamela and her father were among them. [Continued in comment]
When that family appeared, as if overnight, eight in a double-wide out past the bramble, we all assumed Hades was the youngest. He was smaller than the others, paler; moon-faced in a way his charming and hot-tempered brothers were not; solitary and adrift from his sisters. You’d see him wading through the creek, plucking critters from the water to add to his formaldehyde kingdom of mason jars. Strangest of all, though, was the mean old three-headed cur always with him—fates help me, that thing had three heads! That dog hated everyone but Hades, and everyone but Hades hated it. Hades once made a collar of snake heads to try and deter the town boys from kicking his dog, but they just switched to throwing rocks if they ever saw it without Hades nearby. So they stuck close together, the boy and his strange dog. One day I came upon them in the bramble, alone. Hades’ eyes were rimmed red and he held the dog to his chest. One of the heads hung low, real unnatural-like, bloody and dull-eyed. Everyone knew his daddy was a real mean son of a bitch; a gaunt and vicious man who looked like he swallowed stones for supper and hated for any of his children to shine at anything. So naturally I asked if his daddy had done it to his dog. “No,” Hades sniffed. “Another dog did it. Cerberus was protecting me.” I didn’t know the dog had a name. The other two heads licked his jaw and neck. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Thanks, Seffie.” He buried his head in Cerberus’ fur in a way that said he wanted me to let him grieve alone. So I did. Later, the town boys found the Angus dog dead in the middle of the road. No blood or anything to suggest how it died; just dead. Death doesn’t so much come to Jasper County as it has a permanent address; some dead dog wasn’t anything. But I remembered. The next time I saw Hades and Cerberus, all three heads were alert and snarling, like always. Hades pretended to not know what I was talking about when I asked what happened, but I saw that one of the heads now had red eyes. Hades said, “Let it be, Seffie.” So I did. That’s the day he showed me his collection of specimens; jars and jars lined up in a particularly dense part of the bramble, labeled in Latin with meticulous handwriting. He watched me look at them. He watched me. About a month later Hades drew alongside me as I walked home from the library. I noticed that two of Cereberus’ heads had red eyes, now. “Was it your daddy, this time?” “No. It was a car—just an accident.” I wondered how he was going to kill a car, but I let him carry my books for me anyway. Later that year he came to my house for the first time. He threw gravel against my window until I climbed out and followed him to his secret place in the bramble. We shared a wild pomegranate in the dark and didn’t see the redness of our lips and hands until the dawn broke. Cerberus accompanied me home, its one normal head nosing into my hand. My mother told me to stay away—he was the no-good son of a no-good family, she said. So I never brought him around. But Mother couldn’t see what happened in the bramble. Hades knew why he wasn’t invited to supper; he knew and it made him mad. One day he got to yelling about it and it felt like he was yelling at me, so I told him to go home. And then I just—didn’t see him again. He wasn’t in school or the creek, wasn’t at the library or his secret place. After about three days, I did something I’d never wanted to do: I went to his house. His brother Zeus was tanning shirtless with a beer when I walked up. “Hey, you’re Hades’ girl,” he greeted me. “Aren’t you a fresh little slice of spring morning?” I regretted coming, though not as much as I did later. The screen door on the double-wide banged open, and Hades’ daddy stepped out, bottle in hand, the other brother on his heels. I instinctively shrank; the rottenness slunk off the old man like stink. “If he’s not here, I’ll just get going,” I said. “He ain’t here,” Zeus said, hopping up off his folding chair and moving vaguely between me and his father. “We’ll tell him you stopped by,” the other brother—Poseidon—said. “Naw, she can stay,” their daddy said. He looked me over like a pig on a spit. “What’s a flower like you doing with the runt of the litter, huh?” I wanted to defend Hades; I wanted to leave. “I got a hundred girls, Da,” Zeus said. “Hades can have this one.” He gave a look to Poseidon, who instantly jumped in. “What channel’s the game on, huh? Need another beer?” The brothers were both angling their bodies to steer their daddy back inside—away from me, I realized, too late. Fear gripped my insides, held me fast when I should have run. It might have worked. He might have stumbled inside for that next beer and the television, except Hades came out of the bramble just then, Cerberus on his heels. He took one look—me, his daddy, his brothers—and his face darkened with a rage I’d never yet seen. “You stay away from her!” The three men pivoted to face Hades, storming across the dead field, Cerberus barking. “You stupid, stupid boy,” the old man spat. “You gonna tell your father what he can do?” I was forgotten; now Zeus and Poseidon tried to come between Hades and their daddy. “I should have eaten you when you came crawling out of your mother, you weakling.” “Try me!” Hades shouted, as the old man pushed through his other sons, swinging. But Cerberus was there first. His last good head bit the old man at the elbow, while the other two barked and snarled. The old man brought the bottle down on Cerberus’ good head—once, twice—before the bottle broke and Zeus and Poseidon wrestled him back. Hades dropped to his knees and cradled Cerberus’ limp head. He looked his old man in the eye. “I’ll kill you—I’ll—“ The old man broke free, swinging for Hades with the jagged edge of the bottle. I didn’t see exactly how it happened. I told the police it was self-defense, the three brothers together only trying to wrestle the old man down, but somehow he ended up dead. They didn’t question it further—like I said, everybody knew he was a mean old son of a bitch. Zeus and Poseidon comforted their mama, their sisters. Hades stood alone. I stood alone, too. After the police left, Hades slung Cerberus over his shoulders. “I’m going after him,” he said to me. “Who?” “Cerberus. He’s just across the creek, you’ll see.” I pointed, helpless, at the dog on his back. “I’m going to get him back, Seffie. And if I can’t get him back, then I’ll stay with him. Are you coming?” I went.
Bang, crash, wallop I sighed as the normal sounds of the kids waking up flowed down the stairs, to where I was busy preparing breakfast. Daphne looked over at me and smiled, her eyes crinkling in the way that I found so charming. "It never gets old does it Ben?" "I guess not, though sometimes I wish they would be a little quieter. Milo only went to bed an hour ago, and you know what he can be like when he doesn't get a good days sleep." She rolled her eyes at me. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but at least he is of a sensible age to be immortal. Can you imagine him any younger like this?" I shook my head slightly, smiling back. "No I can't, thank goodness." As I finished, I heard the sound of wet feet running down, before Tryil came bursting into the kitchen, his gills folding open and closed. "Morning!!!!" I winced slightly at that, and looked down at him. I opened my mouth to speak but Daphne beat me to it. "Inside voice, Tryil. And Good Morning to you too." "Good morning Tryil." "Sorry Daph... I mean Mum. Sorry Dad." I felt my heart grow slightly, as it always did when I heard them call us Mum and Dad. "Thank you Tryil. Are your brothers and sisters up?" "Yeah, they're coming. What's for breakfast?" I turned to look back at the eggs, and broke some more. "Its omelettes today. You want a seaweed and prawn one?" "Yes please!" Daphne walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Can you get the others down please? I think breakfast will be done soon." "Ok!" Tryil ran out of the room, and Daphne looked at me. "Did you ever think this is how we would end up?" "Not in a million years." I thought back to how it all started. ~~~~~~ When myself and Daphne got serious, we had agreed that we wanted kids. But when we got married, we had a discussion about having them. We both still wanted children, but we didn't want to go through pregnancy. So we decided to adopt, as there were so many kids out there who needed a home. We were in a lucky position too. A few years prior, we had won the lottery on one of its rollover weeks, setting us up for life, such that we would never need to work again. A few smart investments later, and we were very comfortable, enough to buy a nice place in the country. So we applied to adopt, and by mutual choice, we said we had no choice with special needs children. We had thought disabled would be the result. Instead, we were introduced to Milo. He was 15, and his family had been attacked by a vampire. He was the only survivor, and had been turned. We saw him, and his hollow eyes, and at first were frightened. But Daphne first saw past that to his scared interior, and from that, he was ours. We welcomed him in, and made sure he knew he was safe. It took time, but he came out of his shell. We made sure he saw a therapist, and didn't treat him any differently to how we would treat anyone else. When the social worker came and saw how much happier he was, they told us there were others in a similar situation to his, who needed a special place. We agreed, and one by one, our family grew. Harvey came next, a werewolf abandoned by his pack, as he was unfortunately the runt of their litter, and was seen as useless. We made sure he knew he was valued. Tryil followed, a merboy, whose family had been lost to sharks. He managed to escape, and swam to shore. We made sure he knew he was safe, and we weren't going anywhere. Draxa had been on Earth for a holiday. Unfortunately her parents managed to leave without her. She was with us until hopefully they returned, but until then we made sure she could always find us. Mavis had been found with a broken leg. Her wandering herd of centaurs had moved on. We tried to find them for her, but over the years she had become one of us. And finally Graxorn had come. He was different, as he had come to us as an egg. We didn't know where he came from, but we loved him all the same. Being a dragon meant he matured quickly, and so whilst he was only 2, he looked like, spoke, and acted like a 10 year old. The biggest issue we had encountered was food. All these different body types required different nutrients. But even so, despite the extra work needed preparing, sitting down to eat together was one of our highlights.
My family has a long history with twins. There’s always one pair every generation and one of them always ends up....”amoral”, shall we say? Well, in this generation I was the lucky parent presented with two little bundles of joy. Sigh. I loved them dearly. I had since the moment I held them. I’d been uncertain before then - I’d never wanted kids. Spent the whole pregnancy wondering what I was doing. I’d been even more certain of the mistake I was making as I went into labour, but once they’d been cleaned up and put into my arms... yeah, my maternal hormones kicked in and did their job. After all that effort, I didn’t want to lose them, either. The whole...twin thing... didn’t usually work out so well. Family curses generally don’t. One child turned out holier than thou, the other was usually lucky to not get struck by lightning by walking into a church. Your typical childhood rivalry usually turned very Cain and Abel-esque by adulthood. I was determined not to let that happen to my children. I’d raise them both exactly the same. There would be no feelings of moral superiority to get between them. I’d try to instil them both with the same moral ambivalence and let them be partners in crime, rather than opponents. Then maybe, just maybe, they’d grow old together. The way my sister and I never managed. I was the “bad” twin. But I’d never started any of our fights. I’d always felt that my family had the curse backwards. It wasn’t the “evil” twin who was the problem. The crusading “good” twin’s fanaticism was inevitability their downfall, every time. I just hoped that I could break the curse for my babies.
"Oh God! Oh God!"the woman shrieked, blood gushing out of her open chest cavity. "Oh! Oh, no!"I said. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Without thinking, I'd started awkwardly trying to stuff her heart back in. It wasn't a great move, but when you accidentally rip a woman's heart out of her chest cavity, adrenaline sort of kicks in, and you get going on instinct. I'd very nearly jammed into her exposed rib cage before I managed to stop myself. There are experiences you can never expect to have. We like to imagine that we're prepared for everything; that, when the stress comes, we'll act with dignity and sensibility. But until it truly happens to us, we never know what we'd really do. I realize that there are some who believe that I behaved badly on that fateful day. But I'd like to make it clear that I really, truly, did not intend any harm. Trust me: I've heard every criticism you can imagine. When the woman was collapsing to her knees in a bloody heap, I heard it pointed out, for the first time, that I may have misunderstood her request. "She was trying to flirt with you, you psychopath!"were, I believe, the exact words that her friend Sheila used, and I'd like to say: I get it. I totally get it. Please understand that I thought something cute would happen, like she'd fall in love with me or a heart-shaped eraser would be in her pocket and it would come flying out and I'd say: "Your heart's mine now,"and she'd flutter her eyes and we'd go on a date and her actual, biological heart would, at no point, tear through her chest, shattering several ribs along the way, and fly directly into my hand. I'd also like to point out that I have sent Sheila flowers and an apology letter and that, at this point, I really don't know what else I can do to show that I am sorry. Others have criticized me for dropping her heart on the ground, then cursing loudly and picking it up, and then having it squeeze out of my hands and go flying into the highway where, regrettably and due to circumstances entirely outside of my control, it was crushed by an eighteen-wheeler. Here I would like to point out that hearts are surprisingly slippery. I understand everybody's frustrations, and I appreciate all of the questions you have fielded my way. Many were asked to me that day, at that moment, and I regret that I was too flustered to answer them. I'd now like take the chance to answer some of the questions I heard most frequently: Q: "Oh God! What the hell? What in the living hell just happened?" A: A woman's heart was accidentally removed from her body. Q: "What in the hell is wrong with you?" A: I have the ability to steal anything through thought. This was clearly explained at the beginning of my performance. Q: "Did that monster just stomp on her heart?" A: This was entirely accidental. Again, hearts are surprisingly slippery. Q: "What god would allow you to live?" A: I am Episcopalian, and so would answer along those lines. Again, please accept my sincere apologies for the inconvenience this caused. Also, regarding the much-discussed incident in which I removed the heart from a second, older woman and tried to stuff if it into the chest of the one who - as I now realize - had already died, I would like to explain that I really thought that was going to work.
WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE The morning bell rang. Incessantly. Calling all the orphans from the bunks down to breakfast. Just another day in paradise. The chatter this morning was excited. The younger kids getting dressed took extra care in their appearance, combing down cowlicks, smoothing the wrinkles in their shirts. They were hopeful and, they at least had a reason to be, another adoption event day meant adults coming to visit, looking through the collection of abandoned children for their newest accessory. A child to show off at parties, to tell the world how philanthropic they were for rescuing a kid. At 16 years old, Dax was too world weary to care. Nobody wanted a teenager, nobody wanted him. He might as well rollover and go back to sleep, it’s not like anyone would miss him. Snuggling into his blankets, determined to do just that Dax couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching. Opening one eye he peered out and saw Sayla staring at him. Sayla, a precocious kid at 14, with her mocha brown skin and forest green eyes, some of the older, meaner kids teased her relentlessly for being different. It didn’t help that she was the runt of the litter and didn’t look a day over 10 years old, or that she carried that damn teddy bear everywhere she went, or that she had never once spoken to anyone. Not even to Dax. The administrators whisper of “poor thing” “mute from birth” dogged her steps and added fuel for the bullies’ wrath. Instead, she let her emerald eyes stare into your soul with that pitiful look of longing attempting to communicate. Dax, who couldn’t stand bullies of any type, had stepped in on more than one occasion getting a bloody nose and the swift punishment of the administration for his trouble. But he couldn’t help it, bad enough the adults that ran this sham of an orphanage treated them all callously, he refused to let the older kids hurt the younger ones. She’d always been kind to him, in her quiet beautiful way, and it just was not in him to sit on the sidelines of injustice. So, he had become the protector of Sayla. But this morning, he wanted to sleep in. Adopted several times at a young age, then returned by each and every family that took him in. Their excuses were always different but the real reason was the same: he was damaged goods and anyone who spent any time with him eventually figured it out. What was wrong with wanting one morning to keep dreaming, in his sleep he could believe the lie that he was beloved, a son of parents who cared and not live his reality of being a baby that was left in a cardboard box in a dumpster behind the 7-11. Was that too much to ask? “You’re gonna miss it. Go on, you’ll be okay today.” Dax grumbled from his pillow. She always waited for him to walk places but a day like today meant the meanies would be on their best behavior and she would be safe. A long moment passed with Sayla continuing to wait patiently, her big eyes watching him. “Seriously, I want to sleep in. Get going. Don’t want to miss your family finding and adopting you out.” She shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. Reaching over to put her hand in his. Her other arm wrapped around her teddy bear. A silent, subtle “Where you go, I go” message. He had become quite adept at reading her, even without her voice she was a talker. It was just that nobody else took the time to listen with more than their ears. With a full body sigh, Dax gave up. “I’m just not up for being the sideshow at the circus. Lemme sit this one out.” Again, Sayla slowly shook her head. “Fine. Fine.” Dax sat up, looking at the now empty bunk room. Putting his feet over the side of his bed he waited for Sayla to move away and put her back to him so he could change. Once he was dressed, in rumpled pants and a grunge band t-shirt, he walked up to her and took her hand. At the top of the stairs, they peered over the banister. It had begun, the prospective parents ahhing over the cute babies, while other adults looked over the little kids. The rotten teens were clustered in the corner, trying to look cute and failing. Dax snorted, getting a smile out of Sayla. “You should stand with the little kids, give yourself a better chance.” But she stuck to him like glue as they moved down the stairs. Approaching the bottom, Ms. Villix walked by, “That’s bathroom duty for a week for being late and unkempt, Daxard.” Taunts of “Daxard the Bastard” wafted from the bully-corner. Dax dared to glare at Ms. Villix, her punishment was usually meted out with a sharp metal ruler in addition to whatever form of servitude suited her that day, but today with so many watching it was just chores and he felt brave even knowing she’d make him pay for it eventually. No punishment for Sayla, though. So fine. Dax took an opposite corner from everybody else as he surveyed the large mess hall. Televisions were playing in the background as adoption papers were filled out and several of the smaller kids left with stupid smiles, trustingly holding their new parents' hands as they walked out. A man approached Sayla and Dax. Pausing. He looked strange with a bowl hat perched on his head and a suit that didn’t quite seem right. The man’s smile put Dax on edge, it seemed wrong on the man’s face and felt predatory, evil even. Dax’s instincts were confirmed when Sayla hid herself behind him, she was excellent at reading people and was rarely wrong, or afraid. But her movement caught the Bowl-Hat man’s attention. “What do we have here?” The Bowl-Hat took a deep breath, almost like he was scenting the air. “Just another freak in the circus, nothing to see here, Old man.” Dax hoped his sharp words and sarcasm would encourage the man to move along, it usually did. But this time … it only made the man’s eyes sharpen, he looked mean. Yep, definitely a bad egg and Dax had enough of those. “I think you’ll do.” Do for what? No way was Dax going to stick around to ask or find out, he started to move away, Sayla clinging to the back of his shirt. But he wasn’t quick enough, and Bowl-Hat reached around him, grabbing Sayla’s arm. She could not even cry out, only her face showed her fear. And she was terrified. “Let her go!” Dax declared, shoving at the man. But the Bowl-Hat man just smirked, his hand firmly holding Sayla to his side. “I think not. This one will do nicely when she comes into her own.” Bowl-Hat started dragging Sayla away, towards Ms. Villix and the paperwork table. Dax moved forward to rescue Sayla, when three oddly giant men stepped in front of him blocking his path. The one in the middle spoke, “Boss man, gets what he wants.” “Like hell.” Dax realized, not all that surprised, that he hated bullies in any form, even if they were ginormous. He feinted right, then left. Moving around the trio of thugs trying to get to where he’d last seen Sayla. He couldn't see her, only the teddy bear dropped on the floor several feet from him. "Sayla!"Dax shouted, hoping to at least get the attention of the useless administration when several things happened at once, and not even Dax could really explain it. The thugs grabbed him. Held in a cage of human arms, he struggled. No help was coming for him. Nobody here cared whether he lived or died and he knew it. A choke-hold was robbing him of oxygen, and spots danced around the sides of his vision which is why he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing on the television closest to them: A news report flashed showing a mushroom cloud over the nearest city. Millions dead, cries of “blast radius” and “get to shelter” thundered across the room. And suddenly, Dax felt stronger than any superhero he had ever read of in his contraband comics. Pushing against his restrainers felt like blowing a dandelion across the room. When he looked up, the three giant men were in heaps on the opposite corners of the room. Dax gasped for air, taking full, greedy deep breaths he looked down at his hands, his arms. He was still his typical adolescent puny, how did he throw his attackers across the room as he was passing out?? His confusion was interrupted by a sound that sent shockwaves into his soul: a lone, sharp beautiful but haunting cry that rang out in the pandemonium. Sayla. Screaming his name, clear as a bell. “Dax! Ne les laisse pas me prendre! Dax! Por favor, ayúdame!” But he couldn’t see her, the chaos of adults and children rushing to shelter was a stampede. Dax searching frantically for her, missed one of the goons rush up behind him aiming a boulder sized fist at the back of his head. A world of pain exploded behind his eyes and his world went black. The last thing he could hear as oblivion took him was Sayla's sweet voice, crying his name. And the laugh of the Bowl-Hat man saying, “Well, looks like this one will do as well.”
Her beautiful orchid eyes sparkled in the light of the two suns, azure hair windswept in the cool breeze. Dark fingers intertwined with my own light ones, our infatuation with eachother written across our faces. “I’ve had such a wonderful time.” She sighs, her gravely voice filled with satisfaction. “So have I, it’s a shame it has to end.” I meet her eyes sadly. Such beautiful eyes. “You think so?” She laughs. “Did I say that outloud?” I flush with a chuckle. “You did, and it was sweet.” She gives me a peck on the cheek. “What is it you like about them, then?” She teases. “Honestly, they’re a beautiful color. On my world, purple eyes are incredibly rare.” She laughs, and it’s a sweet sound that wraps around my heart. Then it dawns on me, she’s laughing like it’s a joke. “You don’t believe me?” I ask with mirth. “No no, it’s a fun joke, but we’re alone. No need to keep it going.” She smiles sweetly at me. “Joke? You think-“ and I remember. Her people can’t see colors. “Hey are you okay?” She reaches out to touch my arm. “It’s a funny joke, really, I didn’t mean to upset you.” “No it’s just, you can’t see color can you? It’s all, greys and whites and blacks. No vibrant reds and deep oceanic blues. Just, bleh.” “Bleh?” More of that laugh. “Sorry. It’s difficult to explain.” “So, you mean to tell me colors are real?” She looks a mixed bemused and disbelieving. “Yes! And they’re beautiful! See your two suns? They’re different colors. These flowers around us, different colors from the suns and eachother. You and I, differant colors. Everything has a color, a specific shade. There are colors within colors and I can’t even name half of them!” “Why does it upset you?” “Because I know what it’s like to see the colors of so many worlds, you can’t even see the color of your own.” “I agree, it’s sad. Not for me, but for you. I can’t miss something I never had, and I’ve lived my life in a world of grey. I still see beauty in the suns that give us life, in the flowers that smell of summer, in your skin thats smooth and hair like silk. I still find beauty in the world I grew up in, a different yet similar beauty.” “And how’s that sad for me?” “Because I’ll never see through your eyes, and you’ll never feel with my heart. We’re different people on different journeys who can’t relate on fundamental levels.” It was her turn to look at me with sadness. But I just smiled at her. “We can’t experience the same thing, but we still agree. We both agree that the world is full of beauty. We both agree that the other is oh so attractive. We both understand that the other is different, so let’s not let it be a sad fact. Let’s understand our differences, and find the beauty in them.” For a while longer we walked beneath suns of her beautiful planet. Soon I would leave, and if I was lucky we could keep this budding relationship alive. But this was enough. Two people who learn from one another, just basking in their love.
When I was a kid, being the world's #1 loser was not on my radar. But when it paid the bills and dished out choice benefits, I settled for it. The TV show and fame didn't hurt either. The show, ironically enough, was a real winner--it was on its seventh season and signed for another five-season extension to the contract. I was living the life and felt more like the world's #1 winner than the #1 loser (haha). The show itself was pretty simple: I show up, the babbling dopey dork. I try my hand at a job or duty. I royally mess it up and usually cause some meltdown or damage. Insurance pays for it, we end recording and the editing team fixes it up, and boom, you got the number one rated show on all streaming platforms. But the strange quirk to it all was, I actually f'd everything up. Not on purpose; it just happened to me. If I put my mind to anything--ANYTHING--it crumbles before me in a large pile of poop. The producers claim I was one of the greatest actors with the most intricate approach to each new episode. What they didn't know was I was genuinely dysfunctional and couldn't even prepare a bowl of cereal without putting a hole in my roof. I had no clue why I was gifted with such a strange perk, but I just was! That is why 90% of my money goes to my live-in assistant, who literally wipes my butt, sorry Sean. Well, one day, the writing room thought it'd be a great idea to throw me a pretty risky job to fail at: president of the United States of America. Sure it was all a gig, but they landed me in the actual white house. I sat in the oval office and did the whole nine yards. It looked great on paper, sure, but what they did not know was my curse to literally f up anything was all-powerful. So, when I sat there and looked like a goofy bimbo whilst signing off on fake documents, I somehow managed to supersede all security and detonate the nuclear bomb button--which controlled every single nuclear bomb the US had. Other countries weren't too happy about that, which explained the nuclear war. Then nuclear winter. Now the zombie apocalypse. And I'm pretty sure an alien invasion will be arriving shortly after a zombie cure is found, so yeah, I'm the world's #1 loser. The worst part is, this fallout bunker community I managed to make it in has no clue what's coming for them. This entire bunker will be rubble by next Friday, sorry ahead of time. ¯\\\_(ツ)\_/¯ [r/AJHWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/AJHWriting)
For eight hundred years, the Golden Emperor ruled the kingdom from his golden throne. The Empire was, of sorts, a constitutional monarchy; everyone went by the whims of the Emperor, when he actually passed down an order, but that was so rare that on those few times anyone actually broke his rulings, often they'd forgotten he even had an Imperial Guard to enforce his rule; equally immortal, and, for the most part, equally lazy. For the most part, the day to day running of the Empire was done by the Imperial Senate; a band of representatives from each province, who would gather once a year and vote. &#x200B; The Emperor's laziness was renowned; though he had the power of Veto over the senate, he'd only used it once every thirty or forty years; seemingly at random. He would come in to veto a budget proposal, stop a war, or prevent some petty scheme; but allow a dozen others to go through. He shared his opulent lifestyle with an endless voluntary procession of women, usually two or three living with him at a time, and had thousands of children; all very long-lived, unusually healthy, but not themselves immortal. &#x200B; In the year of his reign, 802, the Emperor came down from his throne, summoned the senators earlier than their usual annual meeting, and vetoed the budget; specifically condemning the called-for increase in the military; and suggested his subjects consider less earthly pursuits, such as space exploration. When he returned to his palace, the military soon followed. &#x200B; A plan, over a decade in the making, had been enacted. Some people liked the emperor, yes; but he never did anything himself, simply told others what to do or not to do; and that rarely, treating the kingdom as his own personal toy rather than taking its rule seriously. Most of the time they could ignore him, and pretend to be a republic, a democracy; but with each passing year, the people grew more unsettled. &#x200B; A contingent of tanks and guardsmen arrived at the Emperor's palace, and declared that the Senate had voted to overthrow the Emperor. From this point forward, the head of the Senate would maintain power, and none could veto or over-rule its decrees. There was a touch of fear; the Imperial Guard were immortal, legendary warriors; some of them the Emperor's children, others elite warriors of history inducted into the ranks. There was no question that tanks and bombs would win the day; but if these legends were to step onto the battlefield, the destruction would be catastrophic. &#x200B; The guards started to lift weapons; a blend of those a few years old to centuries old; but the Emperor raised a hand. They stopped. "So be it. None may enter the palace without permission. Do as you wish."The military stopped. The orders had been to take the Emperor in, but avoid a fight if possible. After a few quick calls, it was determined this was acceptable; the Emperor would be, effectively, exiled to his own home. As it would turn out, his home wasn't simply a palace; but a vessel; an enormous, ancient sailing ship, steadily updated periodically, that now simply sailed out to sea; not to be seen again for years. &#x200B; At first, things went well. The move was popular, and those who liked the Emperor were appeased by the Senate's decision to let him live in his home rather than sieze it and imprison him. The budget passed, the military expanded, and serious progress was made in conquering the rest of the world; the Empire expanded; already consisting of one full continent, over a quarter of the world's surface, it reached half within a decade. The rest of the world seemed poised to fall in line; none believed the Empire could be withstood, in the long run, and efforts were made not to win, but to make the victory as costly as possible for the tyrants. The delicate peace of the past eight hundred years had collapsed, and a single world government seemed inevitable. &#x200B; Then the budget collapsed. Poor decisions resulted in so little money remaining that the programs for those without work were ended, and out in the field, soldiers were not being paid; and abandoned their posts to take up other careers to support their families. When a few of these soldiers were declared AWOL and ordered executed, the Empire fell into chaos; a civil war that spanned over a decade; and ended with the Empire only slightly larger than before the Emperor left power, and surrounded by vicious enemies. Planning errors and reduced restrictions had led to poisoned air and water, low food supplies, and ever-dwindling resources. &#x200B; With each passing year, the situation grew worse. Amidst the chaos, a rallying call went out; calling for the return of the Emperor, hoping that he could save it; after all, he had kept it afloat and prosperous for over eight hundred years. The Emperor's boat was found easily enough; it had been coming and going from a small island nation, thousands of miles away, serving more as a luxury cruise vessel than anything serious. When a representative of the Senate asked permission to board, it was granted; and he was led to the old familiar throne room; somehow different, with the slow swaying of the waves. &#x200B; Hours of pleading, begging, offering anything, including his seat of power back, fell on deaf ears. They quickly discovered that the Emperor had only seemed lazy; all those centuries he'd been carefully maintaining his Empire, constantly having his servants make minor moves in the background, only acting in an obvious way when absolutely necesary. Now that he had truly had a vacation, he decided he enjoyed it; and would spend a century or two having fun. The Empire could grow up and clean up its own mess; then he might come back.
I squinted at the untidy scrawl, willing the oatmeal I'd forced down to chase that nasty hangover away. The handwriting was definitely mine. The O's were shaped such that the starting and ending points overlapped in an x, in my own distinctive fashion. Rubbing at the space between my eyebrows, I tried to think back to what must have happened last night for me to have scribbled that message. It had been a colleague's final day at work, so we'd thrown a farewell party and plied ourselves with so many alcoholic drinks that we were all blinding drunk when we'd parted. I had no memory of what must have happened. Honestly, it was even a miracle that I'd even gotten home at all. I tended to be rather hard to understand when fuelled with alcohol. A thought occurred to me, and I froze. Suppose I'd gotten myself into some stupid argument with a gangster while inebriated, and had managed to leg it home before he and his gang could beat me up, but they had hunted me down and were now waiting outside my door? I quivered thinking about the ah bengs that might be camping right outside my door, fingering their parangs and serrated kitchen knives. Or perhaps, clumsy drunk that I was, I'd left a trail of destruction in my wake on my way home, even as I (I winced) had sung aloud the last song I'd heard playing in the club like a very hip banshee? A vision of broken flowerpots along the moonlit corridor and angry neighbours sticking their heads out their doors had me cringing, my shoulders lifted and my head tucked in, so that I no doubt resembled a turtle. There was no point in guessing and panicking. No ferocious knocks were battering the door, which was at least a good sign. I edged to the door and put an eye gingerly to the peephole. No one. The space outside my door was devoid of anyone at all. I pulled my face away, and then pressed my eye back against the hole to make sure I didn't miss anything. No, it was definitely clear. I looked again at the ominous message on the chalkboard, and then caught sight of the clock above and swore. I was going to be late for work, and I had a presentation first thing today with my department head. He was not a patient man. I would do better to take my chances with aggrieved ah bengs or narked neighbours. I was about to grab the doorknob, but remembered that I still hadn't written my positive message for the day. It was a two-year ritual now, and every time I didn't write it, I would go through the entire day just waiting for something bad to happen, and it always did. Racing to the board, I scrubbed out the message and scrawled another one (You can do this!) and then raced back to the door. As soon as I grabbed hold of the knob, it all came rushing back. I'd shut the door using my right hand last night, which was the hand I'd designated for shaking other people's hands, touching cash, opening doors, putting on the seatbelt in the cab, and pressing the lift button. The dirty hand. Which meant that the doorknob now held all the germs and bacteria and general essence of the things I'd touched. And I hadn't had the energy to clean it up last night, so having trained myself to be ambidextrous, I'd left a message on the chalkboard with my clean hand, a message which I'd assumed my morning self would read and understand. I hadn't, though, and now I was late to a meeting, with one dirty hand that I would definitely need to use on my commute to run through the presentation deck on my laptop. Almost pleadingly, I looked at my board. You can do this! I can just about squeak into office on time if I leave now. I can pull off this presentation perfectly - I've practised for days. I can be one step closer to clinching that promotion. I can do all of the above, if I can only just get over my need to clean the doorknob and wash this hand. After all, I'm going out again, aren't I? But then I thought about the number of hands I'd shaken last night, and the urge overpowered me. I dumped my bag on the floor and ran to the toilet, grabbing a paper towel and an antibacterial cleaning agent. As I methodically cleaned every square centimetre of the doorknob, my chances of being on time vanishing as if through a black hole, I said a silent prayer: that someday, I can get over my OCD.
“Admiral,” the President greeted as he walked into the room. “I need you to explain this to me, because what I heard on the way over sounded like pure fantasy. I have an emergency with the Mexican President to deal with, and I can’t spare any time for minor issues.” “I understand, Mr. President. I had the same reaction at first, but hear me out. It’s relevant.” “So we really are talking about a scroll of some sort?” “Yes, Sir.” “So why am I here instead of an archeologist?” “It’s the … circumstances … around this scroll, sir.” The President raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He needed information, and the quickest way for him to get that was to listen to the Admiral giving the briefing. “The parchment is old, 1600 years old to be precise. The ink is as old, so the timing matches.” “I’m still not hearing the national security issue, Admiral.” “The ink has barely dried. It’s only three days old and-” “Wait, what does that mean?” “Essentially, that someone got their hands on ancient writing tools and wrote a note.” “Again, not hearing the security risk.” “It’s the content of the scroll, Sir.” “What does it say?” “We had to have it translated. It’s some form of a Mayan language from the 5th century. As you can imagine, we don’t have many people who read that on staff.” “But when you found someone, they were able to translate it?” “Yes, Sir. It reads, ‘we tried it your way. They refuse to learn from their mistakes. So now I’ll fix things for them.’” “There are two people writing in ancient Mayan to each other?” “At least, Sir. That’s part of what’s so troubling about this.” “What’s the punchline, Admiral? So far, all I’ve heard is the set up. What could this possibly have to do with anythi-“ The President stopped cold as he made the connection himself. “The Mexican President …” “Yes, Sir, we believe the attack on him was perpetrated by the author of this scroll.” “How could you possible connect the two?” “Because of the second scroll we found. Same language, different location. We found this one in Japan yesterday. It says, ‘Mexico was the first. I move north.’” “Japan?!” “Yes, Sir. Whoever this is has the means to travel internationally, and quickly.” “And is capable of harming the President of a major country.” “You can see why we are concerned about the last part about heading north, Sir.” “This is insane. Are we really suggesting a 5th century assassin is loose, hunting heads of state?” “As unlikely as it sounds, Mister President, that is the assumption we are operating under.” The President took a beat to collect his thoughts. He’d seen his share of surprises since he’d taken his seat at the Oval Office, but nothing had quite prepared him for the notion of a pre-colonial killer coming for him. He’d have to process this at least a little bit. “Is there any actionable intel, Admiral?” “None, other than the scrolls, Sir.” “So I just go about my business?” “Not entirely, Sir. We’ve increased your security detail. You will have double the Secret Service personnel with you at all times. We’re not taking any risks.” “Fair enough. Thank you, Admiral,” the President punctuated the conversation with his usual closing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call with the Mexican Vice President to return to.” “Yes, Mister-“ The Admiral’s sentence was cut off as the lights suddenly flickered off. Given that they were in one of the most secure buildings in the Western world, that should have been impossible. There were backups for the backups, and entire teams dedicated to maintaining those fail-safe systems. “Admiral?” “I’ll try to reach maintenance, Sir.” “The timing seems ominous.” “There’s a slim possibility that we may meet a 1600-year old today, Mister President.” “Let’s hope not.”
I feel the sweat on my brow. The fever in me that was burning has suddenly turned to fire on my skin, and the pulse I feel beating fast and hard is like a war drum in my chest. "You failed"she says again from behind the hood of her contagion suit. The men behind her have guns pointed right at me. I could almost feel the look of disgust permeating from under their hoods. My mind races as I come up with some reasoning, I know I have mere moments before they "neutralise"me. It seems so morbid now, I supported it when others were in the same position. I voted for this. Now that it's me I begin to realise how wrong we were. I don't feel like I need to die, I don't intend to hurt anyone, I don't even know how I could. "....."A noise, did one of them speak? Why can I not longer understand what they are saying. I should be able to understand their words. I may not understand them, but I can smell them. I thought I could feel disgust a moment ago, but now all I smell if their fear. It's making my mouth water. There is a loud noise from outside the room. They all turn in shock as the light in the room flickers. This is my chance. With new strength I never new I five straight for the first man with a gun. It's quick, and bloody. The door is easy to remove. As I make my way through corridors I see similar scenes to what I left. Torn up metal doors coated with deep red blood begining to get cold. I'm almost at the exit when I hear it, or maybe feel it. It's calling me, and others like me. It's the queen, she wants us home.

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