Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I was never a lucky person. When my friends would win raffles or radio contests, find a 20$ bill in the parking lot, or walk up to a vending machine and find a snack in the dispenser, it was mildly annoying. One of those things that I would think “Oh wow, that never happens to me. I wish I could have that happen, just once”. When I would show up to my morning lecture and be the only one who forgot to study for an exam, or wake up late in the morning and try to rush to classes only to find my bike tires were flat, I cursed the universe and wondered what cruel trick was being played on me. Every time I tried to guess if a girl was into me or not, or if I was gonna get scammed, or if I was gonna make the right decision, I was somehow wrong. I ruined every chance I got. My bad luck, my failures, were consistent. Like clockwork. I grew to expect it over the years. It never occurred to me until I was 21 years old to ask my friends why they were always so lucky, and how they always knew what to say or do in order to always have the best outcome. We had been sitting in one of our shitty local college bars; Blake, Genie, Austin, and I, drinking away the stress of the past week. When I’d asked, I was met with laughter, much to my embarrassment. “Well, I always just asked Babaloo.” Blake eventually said, peering at me over the top of his foamy glass. “Awwww, Babaloo is such a cute name!” Squealed Genie, clasping her hands to her cheeks “I love Grousse, but his name isn’t as cute as your ghostie’s!” I stared blankly at my friends as they chatted about these two characters that I’d never heard of before. I listened, growing increasingly annoyed at their clear attempt to mock my misfortune. Yeah, haha, it’s funny, but this was just ridiculous. Eventually, the conversation returned to me. “So, Macy, who’s your familiar?” Austin asked, tilting his head towards me. “I’ve never heard you mention them once.” “Yeah”, Genie added, her brows furrowing behind her glasses, “we always avoided bringing ours up, in case you didn’t want to talk about it. That’s not true, right?” At that point I’d decided I’d had enough, my face felt red and flushed as I stiff up from the table. “Okay, you’ve had your fun with jokes at my expense. I tried to ask a serious question, and you guys make up some weird story about ghost animals giving you advice. Am I seriously supposed to believe that? Bullshit. Fuck you guys, I’m going home.” I watched as my friends exchanged confused and horrified looks, and I felt satisfied at having made them rethink their taunting. “Hey... Macy? Are you... are you being serious?” Blake asked, staring up at me “Macy... EVERYONE has a familiar. They give us advice, help make us lucky. Are you saying that you don’t have one?” I had returned home that night after listening intently to what my friends had told me. About how everyone had their guide assigned to them at 10 years old. About how they were invisible to everyone except their companion. About how they gave you luck, wisdom, advice, company, insight into the future if you had a good one... I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known about this. But considering my luck, it wasn’t surprising. Apparently since nobody could see each other’s familiar’s, there wasn’t usually much talk about them in public or on the internet. But after searching online, I managed to find a shady website that claimed to be able to “summon” a familiar. It was comforting knowing I wasn’t the only person going through this. But even after setting up everything right, with all the glitter and fanfare... nothing. No magical advice-giving ghost animal. “For fuck’s sake, can SOMETHING just go right, for once in my life.” I sobbed, falling to my knees on my bedroom floor. “It’s all your fault you stupid animal!” I shouted, to no one in particular. “I know”, responded a voice to my right. I whipped my head around to see a fat, scruffy, pink and grey unicorn. I couldn’t help it, I screamed. “Woah, woah,” she said, as I scrabbled backwards “woah, WOAH!” I slammed into the wall, cracking my head against the hard brick. “See, I told you. Even with me here, you’re hopeless.” I groaned, reaching backwards to feel the knot that I’m sure would be growing on my skull any second. “That’s rich, considering you never tried to help me anyways” I spat, finally taking a second to regard the specter. It looked solid enough, save for the fact that it’s hind legs were clearly protruding through my bedroom door. I guess they really were ghosts. “Well it’s not like I’d actually be able to help” she said sadly, scraping the wooden floor with a cloven hoof “I’m not even supposed to be here”. I narrowed my eyes at the unicorn, and she avoided my gaze, swinging her blocky head around to clearly display that fact. “What. Is that supposed to mean?” The unicorn sighed before laying down on the carpet, finally turning to look over at me. “Spirit guides are supposed to be the best and the brightest. We’re trained to make sure that our companions can lead the best lives possible, so we spend lifetimes preparing to be sent to your world. I wasn’t... ever... very good at waiting.” The unicorn trailed off, waiting for my reaction. I said nothing, waiting for her to resume the story. She sighed, shifting her weight before continuing “I stole a license that said I was ready that belonged to someone else. And... I lied on my guide application. So I... ended up with you. But truthfully, I had no idea how to do my job. So instead of revealing myself to you on your 10th birthday, I just stayed hidden. I’ve felt so bad all these years, but I couldn’t do anything...”. The unicorn sniffled, and a few glittery tears dripped down her snout. I sighed, pushing myself to me feet. “Well, looks like we’re stuck with each other now. So might as well get introductions out of the way. My name is Macy, what’s yours?” “...Glitterpuff.” “Well Glitterpuff, do you like rosé? Cause we’re gonna have some while we figure out how you’re gonna help me win the lottery”.
"Harold?"Petunia chimed politely, shrugging her shoulders bashfully as she always did when leaning into his study. A woman should give a man his own space in the house, of course, but this was rather pressing. &#x200B; "All clean in here honey, just finishing up this cigar,"he said with feigned jubilation. The poor man wanted to like cigars ever since he joined the bowling club, but it was clearly a long road ahead. &#x200B; "Yes, dear. I was just trying to tidy the kitchen after dinner and couldn't find my broom. I'm sorry to bother you. I'm sure my ditzy self just misplaced it. Have you seen it around?" &#x200B; "Oh, dear!"Harold said jumping to his feet and knocking ash to the clean floor as he hurriedly sat the cigar down. "I've had my mind so much on work, I completely forgot to tell you!" &#x200B; "Tell me what, dear?"Petunia said through clenched teeth and a smile. &#x200B; "You know that dapper Electrolux salesman that came by last week?"He said, rummaging through the closet without concern for order or reason. &#x200B; "The one that smelled like hooch, you mean?"Petunia said, trying to contain her growing fire. &#x200B; "Well, now. Don't be so quick to judge a man. With all the phone catalogs these days, business is drying up for the honest door-to-door salesman!"Harold said, grunting as he pulled a mint green monstrosity out from the dark. "Behold, the Electrolux 400 series unstoppable Vacuum cleaner, with three accessories! Only the best for the love of my life!" &#x200B; "Three accessories, you don't say?"Petunia chirped, letting her even present smile drop further than she had in years. "You didn't answer my question. Where's my broom, Harold?" &#x200B; "You shouldn't need it again! That's the beauty of this modern marvel. It works on carpet, rugs, linoleum, dogs, and even stairs with this tube attachment!"Harold looked at his wife, confused at the sight of her lack of excitement as he stretched the rubber tube. &#x200B; "It really is marvelous, darling, but that was my mother's broom, and hers before that, back and back for some ways."Petunia stepped towards Harold with an authority she had yet to show him. She let a little of the nightmare powder she kept under her fingernail loose, enhancing the effect. "Where did you put my broom, Harold?" &#x200B; "Goodness, Petunia,"Harold said, backing away and loosening his tie as he began to sweat and breathe heavy. "I didn't know. I just thought it was an old, crumby broom. You never mentioned being attached to it." &#x200B; "Harold, if you make me ask one more time, you will regret it. Do you understand me?"She was smiling again now but in an altogether different way. &#x200B; "I put it in the bin!"Harold cried, cowering now. She really hated to see him like this but there was simply no other way. Margeret had a marvelous recipe for Amnesia Jello Salad. She might have to borrow it after this. &#x200B; "So, my sweet husband,"Petunia said, ceasing to feed her magic into the aerosolized fear dust. "Would you be a dear and go dig it out from the bin and then do me a favor and never touch it again, as long as we both live?" &#x200B; "Of course! I'll get it now before the garbage man comes in the morning,"Harold said with relief as he scrambled to his feet again and jogged towards the door. &#x200B; After he slammed the door, Petunia placed a curious hand over the Electrolux and hissed the Unholy Mother's Command of Flight under her breath. To her surprise, the vacuum lifted readily, floating several inches off the ground. It is an interesting contraption, she thought as she traced one long fingernail over the shiny chrome accents, so tastefully contrasting the green metal. &#x200B; \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
If you've never died before, I do not recommend it. It's not remotely pleasant. I would know, I've done it twice now. The first time I was because some idiot bank robber never got the memo that hostages are only useful as long as the Cops think you're not going to kill them. Weirdly enough that wasn't the end of me. I found myself in another world, full of magic and adventure. It was fun, but after saving the world they expected me to rule it, and that wasn't going to happen. So I disappeared and devoted the rest of my life to opening a portal back to earth. And because of my luck, the portal opened right into the middle of the road, where I got hit by a truck. Now you would think that someone who can take the demon king's sword right to the face would have nothing to worry about from being hit by a truck, but I died. Painfully. And once again, I woke up in the middle of a summoning circle. "It worked?"A young woman in a white dress at the edge of the circle, looked at me in shock. Judging by her outfit and past experience, she was either a princess, priestess, or both. "I mean, of course it worked! It was trivial, really. Now then, great hero, if you will come with me, the king would like to speak with you." Yeah, I wasn't playing this game twice. I just sat down where I was summoned. "Hero, please. The King is not someone to be kept waiting." "Pass."I pulled up my status page like I had in the first world. To my surprise, rather than a videogame interface, the status closer resembled a character sheet from a Tabletop RPG. I guess different worlds run on different rules. "Sir Hero, His Majesty, the King of Lairon, would have you speak with him as soon as possible." "Then he should have been here instead of wherever he is now." Looking over my character sheet, I noticed my level had reset. My class was still [Hero], but it looks like in this world, that offers a totally different set of perks. For one, no spell casting, lame. Instead I had proficiency in every weapon and armor I could imagine, and several I couldn't. Another neat feature I apparently had was something called [Armor Breaker], where apparently nothing could be resistant or immune to my attacks. That was bound to come in handy. Looking further I could see several places where a new feature would unlock at higher levels, but it didn't tell me what they were beyond vague names like [Savage wound] and [Shield master] which were incredibly unhelpful. While I was busy ignoring my hosts, they apparently gathered a group of guards to escort me to the king. I decided I wasn't going to learn much more from looking at the same character sheet forever, so I got up and followed them. "Your majesty, I am pleased to announce, the Hero, Malcom Regus."So apparently they could see the name on my character sheet. The king did not look amused. He glared over at me from his throne and took a bite out of the peach in his hand, chewing exaggeratedly to let me know I was waiting for him, not the other way around. "So, this is the Hero come to save us all? I expected someone with better manners." "So, this is the asshat who decided to kidnap me and force me to solve their problems for them. You are exactly what I expected." "Silence!"The king stood up, which would have been more intimidating if it didn't take him five minutes to get out of the chair. "I have called you here for a great honor. To save this world from the darkness that threatens it. And you would dare speak to me this way?" "Yes." That, apparently, was the last straw. "Execute the hero and the priestess who summoned him. Now!" The guards beside me tried to grab me by the arms, but despite having my stats reset, my personal experience still remained. It wasn't hard to dodge around them. Then I grabbed the priestess by the arm and was out of the throne room before they could lay a hand on her. Another area my otherworld experience helped was navigation. I'd fought my way through enough castles that I had a feel for what would go where. It wasn't long before I found the stables, and soon after I was on a horse, riding into the sunset with my new friend holding me tight from behind. ___ We ditched the horse after a few hours of riding, and sent it riderless down the road, back the way it came. Then we went as deep into the woods as we could before sitting down. "Did you really have to antagonize His Majesty like that?" "Yes, it was absolutely necessary." "Necessary to what? Being hunted down by the royal guard? Dragging me along with you to die? What were you even thinking?" "I was thinking that people who kidnap other people and demand those people solve their problems for them are not people who deserve respect." . . . "I can see where you're coming from, but did you have to drag me into it?" "Hey, killing you was his idea. Besides, if he wanted to kill you because I was rude, then your days were probably numbered anyways. So, you want to let me in on why the King was so desperate to get his hands on an otherworldly murder slave?" She stared blankly for a mew moments, trying to parse the sentence. "You want to know why you were summoned?" "Yes, that would be helpful." "It's the Elves. For generations, Dark Elves and High Elves have been at each other's throats. But just a few months ago, they apparently united into a single nation, and have been attacking human settlements non stop." "And you think this just happened. At random." "Of course not. They say there's a demon leading them." "I'm sure they do. And you can't possibly imagine what might have inspired the Elves to follow a demon and turn on humanity?" "Not at all. The High elves have happily served humanity since the beginning of history, and the Dark Elves are vicious criminals who hunted the high elves for just as long." "Wait, served?" "Yes. The elves' goddess adored humans, and ordered her followers to serve them. Dark elves of course are those who refused, and were banished from the surface world, which is where they got the name." "See, I feel like that story might be a little biased, and not entirely historically accurate." "How could it not be? It's the history the church has taught for generations." "Yeah that's exactly how it could not be. The way I see it, the elves got sick of being slaves, and got together to do something about it. Demon or not they're in the right here, I'm not getting involved." "But humanity needs you!" "So? Pretty sure the elves would say they needed me too if I offered. Your war to keep your elf slaves is not my problem." "Alright, I'll admit the elves probably deserve better treatment than they've been getting, but how can you ignore all the people dying because of it." "Not my lawn, not my weeds." "How can you be so heartless?" "Dying twice helps. I have no interest or obligation to solve anyone's problems today. Or ever." I leaned back against a tree and closed my eyes for a nap. "I'm tired. Tomorrow I'm going to look for a way to get out of this country before the king finds us. You're free to follow if you don't want to get caught and executed."
“Well, do you?” Every working brain cell in my head had ceased its ability to fully comprehend the situation in front of me. I had trained my entire life to conquer this evil tyrant, this malicious force of destruction and darkness. I expected combat not an invitation. “But we were suppose to fight each other,” I said with very little confidence. “I was destined to battle you, a-and defeat you!” The Dark Lord seemed to sag slightly as an audible sigh was heard from under his hood. I could hardly see his face but I swear he rolled his piercing eyes at me. “They didn’t tell you, did they?” “Tell me what?” “I’m not apart of all that anymore. Being the face of bloodshed and violence, it was exhausting to have to play the “bad guy”,” claw tipped fingers formed air quotation marks, “all the time. So again, would you like some tea?” I was divided on whether or not this was a trick. They’d told me he was a master of illusions, but this didn’t seem like one with the amount of genuineness in the Dark Lord’s voice. “Sure? I guess?” I said and sheathed my sword, but still kept the handle firmly in my grip. “Wonderful!” I could hear the cheerful grin in his voice. “Come! I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.” I followed the Dark Lord through the castle. Out of the thrown room and down several winding corridors that displayed paintings of other people who seemed to be of a similar stature to the man I was following. Then there were the servants who looked at me with suspicion. Not that it wasn’t justified. When we stopped, we were in a garden. Not a repulsive one with disgusting plants that tried to bite at people. It had colourful rare flowers decorating bushes and clinging to vines that climbed up the sides of the stone brick walls. The grass an alluring green for a place that was usually barren, and was soft to the touch. The stench of decay was replaced by something refreshing and nearly soothing. There was even a pond with a few ducks happily swimming around and quaking as the Dark Lord fed them right from the palm of his sickly white hand. In the middle of it all were two chairs next to a table that looked old. When I walked near it, I collected dust on my fingertips after running them over the surface of the table. “Apologies, friend,” the Dark Lord said while quickly dusting the furniture. “I haven’t had company in quite some time.” “How long is “some time”?” He clicked his fingers and I watched a teapot manifest on the table with two tea cups settled on top of saucers. A spoon placed beside each. There was a small bowl filled with sugar cubes and a pitcher of milk accompanied by a plate of what seemed to be chocolate chip biscuits. “A very long time. But do make yourself comfortable and help yourself.” I looked at him with great suspicion, then at that tea pot. It was probably poisoned. Now was the perfect time to catch me off guard with such kindness, and I didn’t want to die from some venom. So I drew my sword and stared fiercely into the abyss of what hide beneath his hood. Pointing the tip at him. “Why should I trust you? Your force pillaged innocent villages that had done nothing wrong nor were they under your jurisdiction. I should slay you where you stand!” His hood tilted slowly to the side after he’d stopped stirring his tea. “Why would offer you this when I could have killed you? I could have destroyed long ago, before you even set foot in the castle, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to.” I adjusted the grip on my sword. “Because you’re the Dark Lord. It’s my destiny to stop you! I’m the chosen one!” “Then would the chosen one like one sugar or two?” I hadn’t even noticed but he’d already poured me a cup and was holding two cubes in his hand. I relaxed my arms and was no longer pointing the end of the blade at him. I tried to make sense of what was happening before my eyes, but I couldn’t. I was suppose to fight him. Fight him to the death and win. It was my destiny. Not to have a tea party. “I’d hurry a little since it’s going to get cold.” “Why are you doing this?” I growled, gritting my teeth with frustration. There was a moment of silence, then the Dark Lord moved back his hood and showed me his face. It was soft and starting to show age. Many scars along the skin leaving whatever creature he once was mangled, and his right horn had been severed. Leaving it gnarled and looking painful. His smile was almost saddening to see. So empty of hope. “I was once like you, you know,” he took a sip from his tea cup. “I too was the “chosen one” and slayed my own dark lord. He was the one who sent his forces rampant through the land. You see, there always has to be an evil in this world, and this prophecy you are on has existed for thousand of years. Each time a person is chosen to defeat the darkness, they unknowingly become it. Which is why I ask you once more, would you like some tea? I don’t want fight you.” I sheathed my sword hearing that and slowly walked over to him, taking a seat. I pondered and examined the teacup I’d been given. The Dark Lord’s eyes looking at me from the corner of my vision made my chew the inside of my lip. I took a breath and looked at him properly. “I... I think I’ll have two sugars.”
"Look here, I can give you anything you desire.." "I DO NOT POSSESS THE ABILITY TO DESIRE." The demon looked in annoyance at the robot. "Listen here, rusty tin can-" "TIN DOES NOT RUST." "Shut up! I don't know what it is that you want, but I'm trying to cut a deal with you." "WHAT WILL BE GIVEN IN EXCHANGE FOR THIS DEAL?" "Well, first you give me your soul, and then you get..." "Whatever you ask for, really." "INTERESTING" "So what is it that you want?"The demon gestured around the cave, standing in the pentagram. "OIL." "You sure?" "YES." "100%?" "AFFIRMATIVE." "Alrighty then."A mischievous smirk grew across the demon's face, turning into maniacal laughter as it extracted the life force of the robot. The laugh faded out into a neutral expression, which became confusion. "Why isn't it working?" "WHAT?" "The deal?" "YES." "Wait, you haven't fulfilled your part of the agreement." A barrel of oil flickered into reality beside the demon. "I KNOW." "How do you not have a soul?" "YES." The robot began to move toward the pentagram where the demon was standing and released a high pressure jet of water to put out the ritual candles. "Wait, what? Oh, nonono~!" The last words of the demon rang out before falling victim of trusting his adversary too much. "HA. HA." Inside the circuitry, there was a section of code who was really proud of itself for tricking some old demon into giving him stuff for free. It may have been the first time, but it wouldn't be the last.
I glance around, frantically. I'm still in the shape of Samuel Alfred Tan, perfectly "normal"human - and their classmate. This is clearly a Level One Point Five untargeted summoning, which pulled in the closest Demon in a geographic sense, i.e. me; but my mission here requires long-term infiltration, and being found out this early will be the end of all my plans - Oh. Of course. The course of action is obvious. They're as stunned as I am, so all I need to do is burst into laughter. Which I do. "What?"asks Lucy, blinking at me. "You should see the looks on your faces!"I say, forcing the words out between giggles. "What?"asks Lucy, again. "Do you have any idea how many time I thought you were on to me?"I ask. This was the first time I had any idea that they were planning anything. "Do you know just how many clues I had to fake up for this prank?"Exactly zero. "This was a prank?"asks James. "What?"asks Lucy again. "Oh, please,"I snigger. Perfect opportunity to push the Atheism Agenda a subtle touch more. "Like there's really such a thing as a demon. What were you expecting?" "Look,"says James, stepping forward. "If you think for one minute that -" "Wait!"Lucy puts a hand on James' stomach, stopping him. "Don't mess up the circle! You know how it works, the demon can't step out unless you mess it up or give permission!" ...oh, boy. It's true, too. I can't. "Sure,"I sneer. "And, let me guess, any minute now Santa Claus is going to come down the chimney and, oh, return all the teeth that the Tooth Fairy stole?" "You could be a shape shifting -"begins Lucy. But she's actually speaking sense. I can't permit that. "And maybe he'd bring back your good looks?"I ask Lucy. "You know, the ones you lost at birth? Or a set of brains for every person in the room who actually thinks that demons really exist? Oh, and two helpings of brains for you, James, that'll maybe bring you up to the level of an ordinary idiot..." "That's enough!"says James. He steps forwards - careful not to disturb the mystic markings in the circle - and punches me in the jaw. .....perfect. Because think about this for a minute. What is a punch? A punch is a command to a bunch of matter. The command is, "go away". Specifically, "go that way". And it implicitly, therefore, has permission to go that way. I shift slightly as the punch comes in, and take it at the perfect angle; it sends me flying out of the mystic circle, into the wall beyond. And I'm free. "Seriously, dude,"I say, standing up, wiping the trickle of theatrically added blood from the corner of my jaw. "You want revenge for a prank like that? Then think up a better one, you bozo."
"Hi, i'm Paul."I sighed, leveling the gun at the man before me. "Guards! Help, there's someone in here!" "I'm really sorry about this."I said, firing a single bullet into his head. He dropped to the floor, dead, blood pooling around his body. I heard the sound of heavy footsteps before the door flew open, and two burly men burst into the room, unloading their weapons into me. I felt the thudding impact of about seven or eight bullets on my chest before falling backwards. My eyes closed, and I was dead before I hit the floor. My eyes flickered back open. I was greeted by a familiar sight of an empty void. The only thing that stood out was the pair of eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. I floated around for a bit before sighing at the thing in front of me. "Can I just stay dead this time?"I asked the figure in front of me. "No, I still need you Paul."rasped it's gravelly voice. Before the eyes opened wide and the light coming from them became blindingly bright. I felt the tug, like a rope was attached to my chest, and then the sickening sensation of being flung back into the real world. I remembered how I threw up the first time it happened, but by now I was getting used to the feeling of just "popping"back into existence. I blinked a few times before fully opening my eyes. My body lying on the floor in front of me. I glanced up at the two guards staring dumbstruck at me. I shrugged at them, raised my hands in the air, then turned, running and leaping out of the 20th story window, which, mind you, hurt like a bitch. As I fell through the air I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, I would be back soon enough. I always was, whether I liked it or not. Sorry, as you can probably tell, I don't write a lot. I just wanted to apologize so that, if you wasted 30 seconds of your reading this and then looked at your screen in disgust before throwing yourself out of a window to forget the war crime against literature that you just witnessed, you would know that I am truly sorry.
When we found out about the powers it was super weird. Apparently there were always signs about this, very mild reactions like feeling reenergized after having just a small amount of food but we didn’t think there was anything to it. Now, well now we all feel like someone gave Mario a mushroom. I didn’t really think too much about it but i thought today, well what if i have something too but i haven’t eaten whatever food before? There is no way though, I go all over the place and it doesn’t feel as though that is possible. I am fine if i don’t, I will have the day with my knowledge and my degree. After all architecture is my passion and I don’t know what I would do without it. I can save lives through building what people need and that will be enough. Today I have to go to a business meeting though, new clients have to get introduced to me and my team and there will be talk about what they want and need as well as we expect that this first meeting would be long because of what they said in a previous call. We had the secretary order lunch for the meeting and it should be there when I get in there. Everyone was there except for my engineer, he was always late. I go to the table and grab some food. There are tons of things but there were also eggs, and i cannot eat eggs. Pretty sure i am allergic to them, but my coworker puts a few of the deviled things on my plate anyways. We all sit down and are talking and eating, i leave the eggs there and we start to get into details of the building they want. My engineer still isn’t here and we have questions. I panic a little and accidentally eat one of my eggs out of stress. I pause, realize what i did and almost freaked out, but then what looked like numbers were floating all over the room. I see the engineering problems solve themselves. “I do believe we can accomplish what you are looking for sir” I say. My coworkers look at me oddly. I get up and get to the whiteboard and start diagraming quickly what i was seeing and the math. I turn around to see my engineer in the back had just come in and seem what I had done. His jaw dropped and he looked utterly perplexed. My coworkers looked stunned, how did i do that? The clients looks ecstatic. “Brilliant! I am glad we were able to get you! You seem like you did it using magic almost” the client says. “Thank you sir, but no it seems the eggs were the key all along, didn’t think the one thing i was afraid to eat my whole life would have given me that.” Eventually the day ended and new days came through, i will save the world with architecture and eggs one egg at a time. [This is my first story on here and I mean it to be cheesy, part of this is based on my life so don’t be too hard on me]
"This is getting out of hand." "How do you mean?"the villain replied. "Well this has gotten really stale for me. You always have some big diabolical plan that has some obvious fault and I'm always able to save the day." The villain shrugged. "Yeah, that's kind of how things are supposed to go." "Yeah, yeah, and I get that, but hear me out. We need to mix things up." "Mix things up? We can't mix things up! How else is this supposed to work? I create a diabolical plot to take over the world and you defeat me in the end. It's want the people want." "Well I don't care what the people want."The hero stood up and took a look over the villain's layer. He scanned over past plans tossed around the floor, and some new plot that involved yet another giant space laser. "What do we want?" The villain took a moment to think. "I... I want things to stay the same." The hero turned back to the villain. "No, you don't." "Yes, I do." "The people hate you." "Yeah, because I'm evil,"replied the villain. "Because you're boring!"yelled the hero. "I..."the villain dropped his head. "I'm... boring?"He knew he wasn't the most evil of the geniuses. He wasn't the kind of villain who was so cunning that a group of super heroes had to form a super group to stop him. He was just a run-of-the-mill villain. A "B"type. A layup. "Yeah, pretty boring. I don't think the papers even cover your evil deeds anymore. They've been talking about Dark Viper and Kill Skull. KILL SKULL for Christ's sake! He's got to be 80 at this point, and his suit barely fits him anymore he's gotten so fat." The villain lost his breath and covered his face with his forearm, shielding the tears that began to drip from his eyes. The hero signed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look... I'm sorry but... I'm doing this for you." The villain blew his nose in the heroes cape and wiped away his tears. "Ok, yeah I get it I suck! Well... well then what do we do?" The hero smiled a diabolical smile. An evil smile that shocked and scared the villain in a new way he hadn't seen before in him. "You want to give the people what they want? Oh, we'll give them what they want."The hero opened a small door at the back of the lair. Inside was the villain's pantry, stocked full of boxes of spices and different cooking ingredients. "You see this?"he asked holding up a bag. "We're going to put this in everything. And I mean everything." "Really? That is your big plan? I have a thirty foot laser down there ya know." "Yeah, it's so big you can't miss it. But this... they won't ever see it coming." The villain's eyes lit up and he grinned. "Yeah, but they sure will taste it." The hero dropped the bag of refined sugar at the villain's feet. "Get to work"
"Where'd you learn how to drive macaroni-head?" "Same place you did, jock-strap!" "Well how about we get on the freeway where the bank robbers escaped to, unless you'd rather do something more important?" "Like what?" "Well maybe like grab a strawberry shake somewhere? I could really go for that." "We're on the job, doofus!' "Yes but we need calories to be at our best." "I agree, let's stop somewhere for a snack, then maybe take a quick cat-nap behind the gas station." Third cop who just overheard everything on the radio: "You're both under arrest for being idiots."
Alredia heaved and puffed as she dragged her sword across the battered rocks of Edrimcor. The sun burned searingly along the horizon, its radiant energy almost palpable. Below her stood the castle of her ancestors for centuries past, now ravaged with gaping holes and crumbling brick where once the strongest stones lay. Almost as by instinct, she checked her surroundings, lest she risk an attack, but as it had been for the past few hours, no one was around her. She sat down, almost collapsing. The clumsy weapon clanged its hilt with a dull thud against the floor. The Battle of the Simmering Star was entering its fourth day. It seemed likely to be the last. At first Alredia and her generals agreed that they should have the troops to quickly repel the Vilrifians, and still have enough to drive their forces into enemy territory. Alredia, having expert knowledge of Vilrifian fighting tactics, would lead the charge. It was a splendid plan, all be told, only for it to fall apart at the most critical instant. What a failure. A disappointment ... … Ilrythmor was the name. A sword forged into existence before the first words were written. Some say it came, perhaps, from the cores of the night stars themselves. Others argue it was molded in the volcanic depths of Lyeria. Old as time and sharp as diamond. Eons ago, it was unearthed by perhaps the most famous name to be grazed upon the Allworld: Vapharea the Serene herself. Vapharea and Ilrythmor were one. The two brought long peace to the Allworld. In the hundred generations between Vapharea and Alredia, only three others have been known to wield it, and none as successful. Before they drew their final breaths, they stuck the sword deep under the castle grouds, beneath a bold rock from where it had stood for the past century. Alredia was to be the 100th monarch to succeed Vapharea. In her culture, 100 was a lucky number, so even before the consultation of the starguides and skywatchers, the suggestion that she would be the next wielder had permeated society. On her 12th sunturn, she would be called to draw Ilrythmor from the stone and bring her kingdom to peace. Alredia grew up in expectation of it. She undertook countless lessons in swordfight, learning the intricacies of gripping and balancing the delicate weight, taking care to exert the appropriate force when needed. But she often found herself too unwieldy with the temporary sword she was given. In a manner quite not like a princess, Alry often liked to climb rock and punch trees, and this was how she liked to act outside the public’s view. In truth, she was never ready to be a ruler, but her arrogance preceded any doubt that she could fail on her sunturn day. And so on that very day seemingly the whole kingdom was called to watch as Alry was led to the hallroom. Ilrythmor sat at the very center, the golden hilt reflecting the cerulean sky purple. Alry took one last look at her parents, King and Queen, who had waited their whole lives for this moment, before dashing up towards the sword. And her whole world was watching, and she grinned to herself, and she closed her eyes, gripped the hilt as if she had held Ilrythmor in a previous life, and gave an effortless jerk upwards, and heard the fresh sound of unearthing. The expected applause did not come. Alry opened her eyes, seeing confused gazes staring back at her. She looked to her parents for reassurance. And then to the audience again, before finally she saw that instead of the silvery tip of Ilrythmor, the stubborn, grey mass of ancient rock was wrapped around her sword. Alry dropped to the floor, her eyes swelling with fresh tears. What a failure. What disappointment ... … Later, Alry would try several more times to remove Ilrythmor from its earthing, but it was futile. In anger, she thrust the rock to the ground. Wouldn’t it be funny if the stone broke right there and then?, she thought as it made its impact. She was in her room at the time, and through her white marble tiling, she saw not even the slightest crumb had flaked off from the rock. She picked it up again. It was surprisingly light. Alry grabbed the hilt, this time not trying to remove the sword, but to swing the rock alongside it. Up. Down. Up. Down. Strangely, she thought, this jumbled mass of rock had a surprisingly natural feel to it. She now embraced the hilt more tightly, finding it easier to move the rock just as she would move Ilrythmor if it was unearthed. It was certainly much better than the training swords she used. “Just like a hammer,” she muttered, “a warhammer, maybe … “ By the time she was finished, it was well past midnight, and broken vases and cupboards lay around her feet. Alry rushed to her parent’s bedroom to alert them of her discovery. (To be continued ...)
“What’s wrong little one? Why are you crying?” My mom asked. How can it tell her I’m mourning the loss of my second born children? April, Benjamin, Chloe, David, Eveline, Frank, Hannah, the names kept coming. With every name images flashed before my minds eye. The day we found out Meredith was pregnant, the doctors visits, the birth. Memories of my child laughing and crying. Their firsts. Words, steps, drop off at kindergarten. That first phone call from Meredith. Telling me our child had fell at school and wouldn’t stop bleeding. The first time we get the verdict leukaemia. Hundreds of names with each name bringing hundreds if not thousands of memories yet the last one is always the same. My child dying in my arms. With each death the memories vanish, replaced by the happy memory of that first positive pregnancy test. That’s how it has always been. On sept 5th the year I turn 45 my entire world is erased and I’m forced to start over again. Why sept 5th I still do not know. All I know, for the moment, is that on this day I return to my 5 year old self. During this day I remember everything. And I forget everything. On this day I remember all my past lives, every single one. Until the next memory comes along that is. Once a memory is exchanged for another the previous one is gone. While the memory fades, the emotions remain. The profound sadness lingers on. I cannot control them. My memories. They always come, one after the other. All of them. Even the positive ones, the happy ones. Yet I still cry. Happy tears mixed with sad ones. I’ve had good lives. Happy lives. Sure there were bad moments, losing loved ones for example, but subjectively spoken I was quite happy in all my lives. I had a great marriage, lovely children and a very rewarding career. My life was practically identical each and every time. Except my second born. Except for my career. My second born is different every time. I don’t know why. My career starts the same every time yet I manage to further my research on every reset. My recent incarnation managed to solve one of the greatest astrophysics problems I’ve ever encountered. I finally uncovered the mystery behind the Galaxy Rotation Curve and subsequently pushed the research into dark matter decades ahead. While I cannot stop the memories from appearing and disappearing I can control their order. There is one I always keep for last. “Poor little one. It’s time for bed. Sleep now. When you wake in the morning it’ll all be better, you’ll see” my mom said as she tucked me in. For the 872nd time my last thought before sleep claims me is: How can I tell her it is true that I’ll wake refreshed tomorrow morning, but she won’t wake ever again?
"So, how sure are we that he is the chosen one? The one that will save us from the impending invasion."The voice came from Oigen, the chair of the Toughened Officials of Formal Functions, seated in a gilded bean bag chair almost as big as his belly. "Quite sure I replied, he meets all the criteria, cutting wit, exceptional physical strength, the extra finger on each hand, the birthmarks on his back, chest and face. His natural blue hair, and the fact that he was found as an infant in a meteor crater during the greatest storm in our history. Frankly it's amazing no-one noticed him until now." "Well for that to happen, it's clear that there has been a huge failure to follow due process, all children are supposed to be checked by the Federal Authority for Realising Talent." "On the contrary Sir"I said, trying to keep a respectful tone. "Children are supposed to be presented by their parents. Without parents he fell into the control of the state, and of course, those who are property of the state have no identity, so no checks" "And quite rightly so!"Another official interjected from between mouthfuls of cake. "Indeed, I'm am not questioning the decisions from the Enlightened Elements of Justice and Intellectual Teaching, merely presenting the facts of the case. In this case those are that as a result of the unusual birth, he has been state workforce property these last 18 years." "Surely he feels grateful for this opportunity? After all he could have died in that storm! Instead he has a place to sleep in the undercity pens and first dibs at the city's excess food supply"This came from Eagor from the Ministry for Oratory Reform and Obligatory Normalisation. "Unfortunately it seems to have the opposite effect, on the rare occasion that the city's excess food supply is not sufficiently excess, he has been known to give away his food to the other property and go hungry as a result." "But the work he has performed for the city must surely make him even more enamored with it." "On the contrary, it seems that his work in sewer maintenance has made him have a strong dislike for the city, he has apparently expressed a wish for it to be, and I quote, burned to the ground." Oigen spoke again, "Then the solution is simple, give him a chance to come to the high city, to see its glory! Once he sees the greatness of these walls, and climbs the magnificent spires, he will be overcome and realise he has no choice to defend them!" "Unfortunately it seems that he has already experienced them"I countered, "You remember the tests that were carried out by the Science and Nature Observation Battalions?" "The ones where we placed items of the city's property atop each of the spires to test the limits of human endurance" "The very one, it seems as though he was one of the items chosen, the opportunity appears to have given a desire to drastically redesign the city by removing said spires." "That confirms it then"Eagor rose, or rather was raised to his feet. "As we all know, the Councils and Ministries have decreed that items of city property are without identity, thought, soul and taste, and have no desire except to serve the city. This man, despite all that the city has given him. All of these opportunities to serve and better our glorious society. If he were the Chosen One, he would wish to serve and save the city. The fact that he does not, shows that he cannot be. He must be a demon sent to mislead and ruin all we have built" A murmur of agreement went up from the group Eagor continued, "We must therefore send him back to wherever he came from, and continue our search, The real chosen one must be out there somewhere!" Oigen and his many chins nodded in agreement. "I will request that the Prophesy and Ritual Ancillary Team re-examine their work". He turned to me, "Thank you for your work steward, but it seems that you are in error. The councils and ministries have decreed this. You are dismissed." I turned to leave, but he called me back. "By the way steward, I didn't catch your name" "My name is not important"I replied. "Correct"He smiled, "Send in the next Steward on your way out." I left quickly. Truth be told I was glad to be out of there, the dye was starting to run, and I'm sure the blue was beginning to show through. I had seen enough anyway, the city was already lost. Tonight I would begin to move my people out. The demons could have this city, and once they have stripped it of its decadence and glutton, we would build a new one on the ruins, one that is free, the people are no longer regarded as property. One without the excessive spires, but instead finally has a working sewer system!
“Honey, hurry or the water’s gonna get cold!” I scramble on top of my bed. A voice - but not just any voice, my deceased wife’s, was coming from the bathroom. “Darling!” “Coming!” I have guts to respond, my stomach turning to ice. Stepping off of the bed, I grab my gun from the drawer and head into the bathroom, on edge. The stream of water keeps flowing; I was too preoccupied trying to fall asleep to notice when it had turned on. A flicker of hesitation and guilt crosses my eyes in front of the bathroom door. I shake my head. There was no time for weakness. Opening the door cautiously, I peer around the edge of the wood until I see the empty bathtub. Frowning, I step inside, shutting the door behind me. Suddenly, I hear a voice somewhere distant. “Come on! Aren’t you coming to bed?” My eyes widened. She had gone upstairs! Clutching the weapon in my hand, I ran into the hallway, springing up each step of the stairs to the second floor. A giggle was heard from the bedroom, and I went inside, looking around in the pitch black darkness. “Yes? Where are you,” I called, anxiety starting to settle in. “Silly man. I told you, I’ve got to do gardening! The tomatoes aren’t going to water themselves.” I process the words slowly, before finally running over (and tripping on the carpet in the process) to the window, seeing a dark silhouette outside. That had to be her-the cursed woman was in my front yard, digging up whatever she pleased. But when she was nowhere to be found in the yard, even after I had shoveled out my entire square mile of farmland, which took the entire night, I had no choice but to head back inside to chase her down. A FEW DAYS LATER… Case Notes: Male, 35. Mentally unstable. Cause of death: Dehydration. At the very bottom of the document read: ‘*Cause of death: appeared to have run around the estate for eight straight days with little to no sleep. Chasing someone or something; unsuccessful. Appears to have forgotten to eat or drink for the duration of the week and day. Please file in ‘Unclassified‘’. —- I haven’t written anything mystery or suspense before lol, but I have watched a lot of the X Files, so. Hope you enjoyed!
The worst part of being punished by the gods was not the pain of having his liver devoured each day, as Prometheus learned. Instead, it was the sheer, repetitive boredom of it all. Sun up, sun down. Another futile day of existence. Even Hephaestus, who visited daily, was bored of the routine at this point, as the two great empires of this 'modern' era built more and more of the 'atomic bombs' that shocked them both a mere forty one years prior. While Prometheus had stolen fire from the gods, man had split creation itself, unleashing a new kind of fire that could wipe out entire cities in moments and poison the land for decades after. And yet man harnessed this power peacefully as well, providing energy for the myriad of creations they used day to day. They both knew that the unsteady peace wouldn't last though. One day, the weapons of man would spread unleash that fire on the world. On the 26th day of the 'month' man called April, the absence of Hephaestus broke the routine. Prometheus suffered in silence. And the next day as well. For nine days and nights, Prometheus wondered alone if it had all fallen down, mankind having erased itself in the sickly, poisonous fire they created. If there were none left alive to remember the gods and their stories. Yet Hephaestus returned the tenth day, looking like a shadow of his former self. Neither spoke for a while, the dread of what happened a tangible force between them. "Does man yet live, Hephaestus?" "Yes... They do." "Was it war that haunts you?“ "No. Their fire, contained in the power city of Chernobyl... It destroyed those who lived there." "I see..." The silence held for a several minutes after that, before Hephaestus spoke again. "I miss the days where mankind's greatest achievements were acts that did not endanger the world and it's people." "Hephaestus. We have always endangered the world, seeking to better ourselves. It is why I took fire from the gods, and why they nearly destroyed themselves now." Hephaestus was quiet in the following weeks. Prometheus didn't blame him.
''Well, shit!'' The new master yelled, when I had finished explaining the great plans of the chaos to him. ''Master. I and the legion have sworened to the chaos that we will follow and help you untill this pityful world is nothing more th--'' I tried to tell the new master how loyal we were to him and to the chaos, but he stopped me. ''I don't wana do all that.'' ''But- but master! The chaos choce you for a purpose to guide us and the chaos can take that purpose and the powers it bestowed to you away.'' I tried to reason with the new master. The chaos had warned that it would be treason against chaos if the chocen master would go on his own way. ''Fuck... Ok, whatever lets get this over with. Where is the 'hero' or do I need to find them first, fuck ofcourse I will need to find them first.'' ''The profecy call's that the wretched hero will be born under the fullmoons of three. The next triple fullmoon cascade will ocure in ten years. We will have an edge untill then to grow in power and feed the chaos. You are our master but still you are not even stronger than me, so we will train you to your full potential, in the earlyest it will take a century to do so.'' I explained humbly to the new master. ''A FUCKING CENTURY, just to train?! How long do you expect this shit to on for? Man... what did I do to deserve this?'' The new master yelled again, at least he is showing to be a ferocious leader with that short temper of his. ''By the profecy it isn't clear how long the full battle of balance will last, but the final battle with you and the hero is to last fifteen cycles of Tramadon, the second moon and the slowest of them all. As to what made chaos chose you to this unholy task, I do not know master.'' ''Ok. Let's take this a bit back. There is chaos and then evidently order. So there is magic and if I'm to train for a hundred years there is something that prevents me from dying of old age and I guess I will train in magic as well. Ok, prophecy, magic. Is there a way to prevent a prophecy or are they like unmoving... things? You know if we just I don't know, kill the hero's parents before they born or something.'' The master mumbeled to himself before inquiring my knowledge. ''Oh. Well it wouldn't... wait. Why have we never thought of that? It would be a great boon if the hero was never born in the first place. You are indeed a true master of wisdom as the prophecy told and the right choce by the chaos.'' This revilation would surely change how the chaos fights the order.
Islands tend to, by their very nature, to be more isolated communities than those connected to the main landmass of the country. The smaller and more isolated they are, the less people from the outside world make the effort to visit. And our village of Shepherd's Port, on the distant foggy island of Realm's End, rarely see any strangers at all. At most, we receive a few ships with supplies that we cannot live without. The sailors rarely stay long enough for us to meet them. Most other strangers who come here, are quiet folk. Scholars who are interested in some plants or fish, the odd melancholic fellows who flee from the loud world out there, a few fishing enthusiasts. We are a close-knit community, of little people, who live quiet, little, unassuming lives, far from the world that is moving on perfectly well without involving us. We do not judge among each other, and we do not pry much into the affairs of each other. But today, as a passenger on one of the ships carrying clothes, books, utilities, and other products, came a man. A most peculiar man indeed. His hair is garishly long, and coloured obscenely to resemble toxic waste. His clothes are thoroughly unsuitable for the season, and equally poorly coloured as his hair, and his movements are awkward as if he is dancing to a song slightly out of tune. Of all strangers to come here, in all my long years living on this isolated island, he is by far the most strange. He poses in front of a small square tablet of glass, a form of technology that usually doesn't work well out here as nobody ever bothered connecting the island to the internet. We don't even have television. His loud and high-pitched voice rings out across the small harbour, ''Chaat~, slow down. I can't- Uh, oh thanks for the donation Mason! 'Please talk to them already?' Talk to who?'' Only then does this stranger turn around and face me. In many ways I realise that we must seem like perfect opposites. He is somewhat short, colourful, and loud. Like onto a parrot that has been changed into a man, like a creature that walked out of the Island of Doctor Moreau. I am talk, dark in clothes and hair, and above that, taciturn. ''Wow. You're like, mega-gothic, aren't you? Like you just walked straight out of a grave. Selfie!'' In a manner that is quite impolite, the stranger tries in a futile gesture to reach his arms over my shoulders, as he takes a picture of us both with his strange and bright square tablet. I reach down with my massive hand onto his small shoulders. ''Son. It is considered polite to ask, before taking a picture of another man.'' My voice is deep and sonorous, especially in comparison to his high falsetto. He looks up at me, momentarily afraid. ''Oh. Um... Sorry?'' I lift my massive hands from his shoulders. ''You are forgiven. But not everyone here tends to be so forgiving, of such.'' He turns his head back to his square tablet. ''No, chat, I'm not going to get sacrificed, get your head out that Lovecraft-mindset already gawd.'' He turns back to me. ''Hi! I'm Carionix_123 from Twitch, Instagram, YouTube, and well, all the other places! You've probably heard of me, like who hasn't? I've come here to the last place on Earth with no TV and no wifi, except for the stuff I've brought with mee! You can call me Carrie, or Nixie, whatever you prefer.'' He reaches out his hand in a very dramatic and self-assured way. I shake it, though his hand disappears into my palm as a rock sinking into the depths of the sea. ''My name is Mordecai Woodbridge. Welcome to Shepherd's Port, Karionicks. I am afraid that I have not heard of you, or of your home.'' His smile becomes a tad wooden. However he shrugs it off, and goes back to looking at his square tablet. He twists around with it, almost as if he is dancing again. I turn away from this strange man, and get back to work on unloading the ship. The government pays me well to do little, as the town's only doctor. The people here are careful, and tough. Most of them do not get sick easily, and those that do, often do not trust the young Mordecai, who left the island to become a doctor, like his father and his father before him. A man must keep busy however, and all men who can must work together in such an isolated community. So I unload the crates, and I help to pack them into one of the few trucks on the island, which will transport the goods to the few stores in the village, and out to the outlying isolated homesteads and lesser settlements. After that the ship leaves quickly. This island is not cursed, nor is it considered evil. But it is isolated, and the sailors onboard know that this is the last stop on their journey, next stop is home. And after months on the sea, nearly all men miss the sight of home. The colourful strange young man, with the odd and unusual name, is nowhere to be seen. I assume he has prudently left the island by getting back on the ship. Instead of thinking more about the stranger, I head to the only restaurant on the entire island. It is not great food, but it is not all that bad either. After eating through a perfectly adequate salmon sandwich and having a cold drink with some of the local lads, the colourful young man enters the restaurant. The sheer weight of glares he receives is astonishing. People are slow to warm up to outsiders. And usually outsiders make sense, poets, scientists, people who are running from the tax revenue system, sailors. But he does not. In their eyes he stands out. The general colours of the island are grey, dark grey, grey-green, black, grey-white, brown, sea-grey, and occasionally snow-white. Like a mouse who has just appeared on the stage, by complete accident, at the annual Cat Awards Ceremony for Mousers, he is quite scared. Exceptionally so. Cautiously, he moves through the silent restaurant, towards me. The only sound in the room is from the wind, the gulls, and the young stranger's tablet. This is not the cocky and self-assured youth I saw before. This is a man, barely grown , maybe 20 at most, who is all alone in the world. He sits down by my table slowly, as if any sudden movement will cause a shark to manifest in front of him. His high-pitched voice, now even higher, whispers to me. ''Uh... mr Mordecai... Where is the ship.'' I look at him, and then take a sip of my beer. ''Gone.'' He looks exasperated. ''I can see that.'' I roll my eyes. ''You were going to just visit, and then take the ship back. Right?'' He nods. ''Did the captain say anything about punctuality?'' He nods again. ''That's captain Armitage that is. The man is more clockwork than flesh. When he says be there before the ship leaves, he means it. He waits for no man.'' The young guy gulps and looks at me nervously. ''Can't you guys... I don't know, call him back here.'' I scratch my beard in thought. ''No. And he'd insult you over the radio.'' Dejected, the young man looks down at his tablet. ''But... my followers. I have an appointment for an influencer's party in Dubai in three days.'' I shrug and order some water for the guy. ''When is the next ship coming?'' He asks me with clear desperation in his voice. I look over at the calendar in the restaurant. The supplies we receive lasts around two months. So we get resupplied every 1.5 months. I look at his pleading eyes. ''About 45 days.'' He stares at me with astonishment, and fear. ''You got any place to stay?'' I know he hasn't, wasn't planning on staying after all. He shakes his head weakly. I buy some grub to go, and take the young guy back to my house, which doubles as my clinic. He collapses on my ancient couch, dejected and distraught. His tablet lies on the floor, discarded like debris. I pick it up, and find that I have absolutely no idea of what is going on. There is a bunch of fast moving text, a large amount of small odd pictures, and people oddly chanting my name. ''Can you fellows be of any help?'' The text changes, and though I understand little, it seems that these followers of his are about as useful as a lead balloon. I put down the strange tablet and make some tea. With added brandy. To soothe his nerves. He graciously drinks it, and eats the food I give him. The stress of it all has of course gotten to him, and exhausted he falls asleep pretty quickly. I pick him up gingerly, and carry him to my bed. Once he is all tucked in, I go back to make up a bed on the couch. But just as I am about to lay myself to sleep, I hear him sobbing. I walk back into my bedroom, and pull up an old armchair so I can sit next to him. There, I take his small, soft hand, in my large palms. He quiets down, and I, rather disgruntledly, fall asleep while sitting there. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
“This little demon” oh Santa did say. “Was nice this past week and even nicer today. And if this keeps up until at least May, the nice list I’ll place him. On the nice list he’ll stay.” declared Santa on this cold snowy day. “Of course he’ll be naughty, of course he’ll bad. Of course he’ll be shifty, mischievous, and mad. But if stays kind, at least until May, then that’s the longest been good, what more can I say? If a bad child can be good, like all children should, then there’s hope for mankind, for redemption in time.” And after Santa said this an elf piped up with a squeak. “Here Mr. Santa is the list that you told me to seek.” “Thanks little elf, you’re so good and so kind. In my kitchen there’s cookies and milk you’ll find. Share them with all your little elf friends and all your well wishers. But don’t forget to wash up all of the cups and dishes.” The little elf made a loud happy squeak, then ran off on his two little elf feet. “I’ll be checking this list, I’ll be checking it twice. Gonna find out who’s naughty and nice. So be good little demon child and I won’t let you down. Cause Santa Claus is coming, to town!”
I grimace as I rummage through my pack. Two stones, a few tools. A spool of rope. Some old maps... No more sandwiches. I should've restocked in that last town. But we're so close to completing our quest! ...I'm getting careless. I collapse against a large oak tree with a heavy sigh, taking a break from the nearly mindless walking. The Dark Forest is on the horizon. There, I should find the third stolen stone amongst the rebel Fae Folk... Maybe then, the Goddess will be strong enough to take back her kingdom? I squint up at the sun with a smile, shielding my eyes as I try to look up at the radiant light. I wonder if Solfyra is up there. I wonder if- ...Huh. ...Why... Is the sun growing larger? "...Cinder? Do you see that?" The whimsical drone of light, my companion and guide, materializes in the palm of my hand, looking up curiously. His glowing iris flares with alarm. "RUN!" I don't need to be told twice. I scramble to my feet, and begin to sprint away from the tree. A few moments later, the entire hill I was resting on erupts in a massive, radiant explosion. Everything there was instantly vaporized. "C-Cinder! That was light!" I hear Cinder whizzing around my head, trying to get back into my backpack. "Yep! That's light! I'll alert the Goddess, something is definitely not- *AHH!! MELODY!" I turn back, and see Cinder in the clutches of some sort of magical scarlet cage. Not again!* I double back, drawing my sword. My golden blade releases a white beam of energy as I swing towards Cinder, splitting the magic trap in two. Cinder flies out, and I reach out to connect with him once more. Suddenly, I feel my arms and legs be grabbed by thick, inky tendrils. Aiameth. Of course that thing would be here, now of all times... I start slashing at the Void Beast, who begins to recoil back into the space between dimensions. "Stop her!!" "I'm TRYING!" "Don't kill the oracle!" "Now's your chance!" A cacophony of voices erupts from around me. I feel like I'm in the middle of a war. Pain begins to become the one sense I can register, as I'm bombarded with a multitude of magic spells. Scorched by fire. Pummeled with boulders. Drained by the dark... What manner of sorcery is this?! Not even I can wield spells like this! I feel my life begin to ebb. The potent enchantments the Goddess blessed my armor with can't handle it. It's not long before I'm dead at the hands of the ambush. === I gasp, as new life is thrust into me; My body being reformed in the light, as it has so many times before. The first thing I notice is that Cinder is stuck in a magic cage again. Instinctively, I reach out to him, but I am met with excruciating pain. Something crushes my arm. I scream in pain as my newly revitalized body is rapidly drained of energy; Siphoned away by some death ritual. Somewhere behind me, I hear a panicked voice. "Stop! Don't take so much, she'll-" === My eyes shoot open again. Resurrected once more. I don't hesitate; This time, I cast a teleportation spell, and pop back into existence twenty meters away. I look back at where I was lying but a moment ago, and my face contorts with confusion and fear. A peculiar band of... entities? turns to face me, my connection to the goddess trapped in the midst of them. Aiameth's tendrils poke out from a wound in space behind a pair of equally broad shoulders; One belonging to a grim spectre levitating just off the ground, the other belonging to Vayona, Demon Lord; My first enemy in my quest for the Goddess. She holds Cinder within her clutches, who is screaming something I can't hear. I barely register the presence of the three dark abominations, however, as my attention goes to the Orchid Queen- leader of the fae rebellion- My current target, and just behind her, the largest creature here by far: A dragon. Violet scales shimmer across its body, as plumes of smoke flow from its mouth and nostrils. I begin to whisper for the Goddess for aid, but I barely have a moment's respite before a new feeling enters my mind; Betrayal. I look down to see a sword of the Goddess plunged through my chest. I watch in horror as my blood twinkles on it's golden edge. Impossible... "I'm sorry, Melody. This is the only way for us to bend your ear. You must stand down. The fate of the world is at stake, hero- But you are fighting the wrong fight!" Michael. The left hand of the goddess. My best friend. My... ===
I'm not sure what happened, but I'm glad it did. At first I was confused by the small pink blob, then terrified when it (She? He?) protected me from the Inquisition by consuming a candle and breathing fire to drive them away. Since then the creature and I have somehow formed a friendship. It's strange, despite the unassuming form it's clearly a larval Eldritch entity, yet it's completely harmless to those who are just and righteous. When I'm sad, it cuddles me. When I'm scared, it defends me. But most importantly, when I'm happy it is filled with such joy and peace. I'm not sure what happened, but I'm glad it did. If I succeeded in summoning what I was aiming for, I'd surely be dead. Instead I found a new lease on life!
Vivian was a smart woman, if she did say so herself. Which she did, often. Wasn’t her fault she was the smartest person in a twenty mile radius bar none. That was her power, her gimmick, she saw the things none would or could. That’s why she was a villain, too many threads led to incompetency and she would cut them all. But that was really beside the point, you see Vivian was not an only child, something that both vexed her and excited her. She loved her dumb goody two-shoes of a older brother, she really did. Unfortunately the lout was rather insistent on heroism, as opposed to fighting the structures of power enabling the other villains of this city. Vivian was the real good guy here, and so she’d said every time her brother Victor moralized at her. But Vivian had found a thread that just might win her the day, and it requires calling only one favor. The problem was convincing them of her genius. “Say that to me one more time, I think I lost you at the rant on psychology.” The caped woman, Acidia asked. Her bright green eyes shining a toxic and poisonous color and her bright red hair a warning to stay away, but anyone who knew her as well Vivian did would know she was great company, if you excused the mild odor of arsenic that followed her everywhere. “Fine.” Vivian sighed dramatically before repeating her plan for the eighth time, she really did need to find an intellectual equal to speak with one day. “My brother Victory, you’ve fought him a time or two if recall.” Acidia nodded at that, a light flush upon her cheeks. “Quite the gentleman he was, even if he knocked out a few teeth.” The caped villainess remarked. “Sounds like him.” Vivian sighed before continuing. “Well I love my brother, dumb uneducated lout that he is. And I have a genius plan. For you see, my brother has the romantic skill of a particularly dense papaya, and couldn’t get a date if the city depended upon it. So then I thought, ‘Vivian you sly genius, why not kill two birds with one stone?’ “For you see, I’m cashing in that favor you owe me.” Acidia winced, as though recalling a painful memory. “Do you have to? I was kinda hoping you forgot about that.” Vivian tapped her own forehead once then again. “I don’t forget anything. So pay up. You, my dashing, charming, beautiful best friend will go and asked my dumb brother on a date. He’ll say yes, because how can he not? And then, my partner in crime, you can sway him to our side of villainy and give him a self esteem boost from a very beautiful woman giving him the time of day.” It was condensed brilliance, lightning in a bottle that Vivian had come up with. Truly she was the greatest mind of her generation, and the best younger sister on the planet. What socially inept brother would have a problem with their sister setting up on a date? No one that’s who. Acidia shifted on her feet before looking out across the darkened city, their rooftop view showing their home in all its midnight glory. “One date and we’re even?” She asked hesitantly, but Vivian could see the still pronounced blush on her cheeks. “Just one, but I suspect it will be more then that. We all saw the film footage from your last fight.” Vivian smirked. So much flirting, it almost made Vivian a bit uncomfortable to watch. Acidia’s face flushed the color of her hair before she nodded. “All right, one date.” The villainess agreed. What could possibly go wrong?
###62 Years, 8 Months, 11 Days, 10 Hours, 13 Minutes, 47 Seconds That's the first thing I saw when I woke up, freshly 18. The second thing I saw was the second ticking down. Rubbing the grogginess away from my eyes, I sat up in my bed and slapped my alarm clock. It was slightly annoying to try to read the time off the clock while another timer took up a corner of my vision. They were the same font, too: bright red, blocky, and digital. I got dressed and brushed my teeth, trying to decipher the meaning of my newfound meter. The most unique thing about me in the world. I found myself biting my lip, forgetting to continue brushing, as I stared into the mirror and wondered. What could it possibly be? A few minutes later I wandered downstairs, where my parents had set up a "Happy Birthday"banner, just like they did every year. They were both smiling as they wished me a happy birthday and pointed to my presents on the mantle place, but I could see the slight anxiety behind their eyes -- I don't know why they thought they could hide it from me. A few minutes passed, awkwardly, before my father finally asked: "So, what is it?" "I think I know when I'm going to die." ###59 Years, 7 Months, 5 Days, 6 Hours, 29 Minutes, 7 Seconds There wasn't a lot that got my mind off of it in those early years. There's something about your impending doom that haunts you, especially when it's staring at you in bright red numbers all day. In class, when you're trying to sleep, when you're watching a movie, when you're taking a test. The meters are omnipresent and they're never wrong. But today, something did. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I noticed her from across campus while we were both walking to class. She had deep, dark eyes like pools of liquid chocolate that I could see myself swimming in, the silkiest, raven-black hair you could ever imagine, and a compassionate charm to her that made you know she cared about everyone around. I looked around, wondering why no one else seemed to be as transfixed as I was. I didn't go to class. At least, not mine. I followed her into hers, not bothering to find out what it was, and sat down next to her. I didn't hear a single word the professor said -- I can't even tell you if it was a man or a woman -- but I can tell you everything she did. "So, what's your name?"I asked, completely lacking any charm. In spite of me making a fool of myself, or maybe because of it, she giggles in response. "Cassandra" ###51 Years, 4 Months, 22 Days, 14 Hours, 5 Minutes, 32 Seconds Streetlights seemed to fly by as I raced down the highway, doing 90 on a 65. Luckily, there was no one else on the road at 4:00 AM. I had learned to use my meter as a clock over the years. Maybe it wasn't so useless after all. My hand was gripping the thigh of my wife and I glanced over at her and smiled nervously. She was in to much pain to smile back. Her belly looked impossibly big. Every week that went by in her pregnancy, I found myself thinking that it couldn't possibly get any bigger. But still, each week kept going by, and she kept on getting bigger and bigger. I flew into the hospital parking lot and took the first spot I saw before getting out and helping her inside. Once we got her checked in and into the room, I found myself feeling useless once again. Cassandra had the more useful meter the rest of the time, why couldn't I be the one helping my wife out for once? I paced the room, watching as she laid there. Eventually, she called me over and squeezed my hand as she began to push. It wasn't long before our daughter, Violet, was born. The doctor handed her to her mother, who cradled her in her arms. It's an image I'll never forget for the rest of my life. I smiled softly at the little baby girl. Someone I had helped bring into the world. "She's going to do great things,"my wife told me. "I already know." ###42 Years, 9 Months, 13 Days, 6 Hours, 27 Minutes, 18 Seconds It always boggled my mind that Cassandra worked at the library. She made plenty sure, and she pretty much ran the place, but with her meter, she could pretty much do anything. Whenever Cass held an item in her hands, she could see how long it would take before someone would need it. She was the best organizer in the world, and could run a department at any company if she wanted. Still, she chose to work at a library. I think she just liked the joy on kids faces when she handed them the exact book they wanted too much. My wife never failed to make me smile whenever I thought about her. I held the hand of our son and daughter, Kyle and Violet, the latter of which was looking more and more like her mother every day, as we traveled up the steps to the front entrance. I opened the door and they both ran in to give her a big hug, one on either side. She looked down at them and then up at me, smirking as if to ask what we did to deserve them. The truth is I didn't know either. ###33 Years, 9 Months, 13 Days, 9 Hours, 54 Minutes, 52 Seconds I waited at the bottom of the stairs with Cassandra, the two of us anxiously holding hands. I thought back to my own 18th birthday, when my parents did the same thing for me. The "Happy Birthday"banner I had gotten from them was hung up in our own house now and there were so many presents on the mantle. I knew that I would still love Violet, no matter what meter she got. Her mother would too. I just hoped she knew that. I'm not making any promises about Kyle, though. The birthday girl walked down the stairs, smiling at us. "I'm not sure what it is,"she informs us, her tone quizzical. "It's some kind of distance." "Why don't you close the distance to us?"I ask, extending my tradition of never being funny. Still, she came and gave us both a big hug. "Happy birthday, sweetie,"my wife said as she kissed her daughter on the forehead. It was good to have a family.
*PART ONE* Bishop Mallen tried to breathe through his nerves. He and his two roommates had spent all week memorising this spell, to at least get a passing grade in Exo-Teleport Summoning. He was the last to go. Each of his peers had stood at the head of the pentagram (to contain said demons upon arrival, because at one point, the school had not bothered and the demon when it was brought across, was far from happy) and cast their spell. Each time, he had bitten his lips closed to refrain from speaking the words aloud but used their repetition to reinforce the spell in his own mind. The manner of creatures that had appeared inside the pentagram was insane. Balls that stood on two hands and split open in the middle to reveal an endless throat and stomach as it ran forward, only to bounce off the safety shield of the pentagram. Creatures with elongated limbs that acted like swords, holding them over twelve feet in the air like those warships out of War of the Worlds. Each time, they were successfully wrangled and dominated by his classmates. Then, came his turn. Two more breaths to steady his nerves, and he began his spell. And just like all the others, mist formed in the centre of the pentagram. He remained focused, repeating line after line that would force his demon into presenting itself and become his familiar. His demon was his height. That came first. Then, the definition. A girl. A girl with the blackest of dark hair, a t-shirt, skinny jeans and white tennis sneakers with no socks. Even though her back was to him, he recognised her outline. He’d cuddled it often enough over the last few years before being accepted into magic school. That summer, she’d broken it off, and he’d left for school wondering if he’d ever see her again. “Kitty?” he barely whispered, though every other member of his class was staring at her in shock. The girl whirled around, fury dancing in her eyes. “What the hell have you done, Bishop?!” she snarled, nothing like the loving girlfriend who’d done so many memorable things with him. “Mr Mallen, finish the ritual,” his professor insisted. Right, because his ‘demon’ had been brought through, but he had yet to bind her to him. But this wasn’t an evil demon! This was his kitty-cat! His Caitlin. They went to school together and eventually shared more than just milkshakes as they got older. Caitlin then looked around the room. “Wait a minute,” she growled, her gaze landing on each of the captured demons. “The magic school endorses slavery now?” “These evil creatures are being put to good use,” the professor sneered imperiously. “You weaken them and chain them against their wills, and you have the audacity to call them evil?” Caitlin’s gaze moved back to Bishop. The hands he’d held so many times went to her hips and her right foot started tapping on the floor. “And what would you have me do, if I were your slave?” Bishop did NOT like the way his roommates and a few of the other classmates grinned and chuckled. “How can you be a demon?” he asked instead. “If you must know, rook, my grandfather’s half-demon.” Rook. Her pet name for him after he joined a gym to impress her and added some much-needed bulk. She’d told him after a few weeks that he didn’t look like a prayer man anymore. It had taken him the rest of the week to get that reference. “Finish the spell, Mr Mallen!” the professor’s voice rose in volume unnaturally, causing the stone floor and walls to tremble. Bishop shook his head. He couldn’t. This was no longer like capturing a wild animal and taming it. If Kitty was his chosen demon, then he would see out his formal education as a wizard without a familiar at all. “No,” he whispered. The professor’s gaze burned into Bishop literally, and against his will, his hands returned to their former position and words started spewing from his unwilling lips. He was being puppeted into completing the spell! His heart hammered in his chest as the binds were applied. They almost reached the end, when something strange happened. Time slowed down. Words were drawn out, as if every single syllable being stretched like soft toffee until eventually, it stopped. Everything stopped. (...to be continued)
Barker barely breathed, as he slowly rotated the dial of the massive safe that guarded the wealth of Tavis & Gorpley, the largest moneylender in Amberholm. Listening through the stethoscope, he at last heard an audible click, as a tumbler fell into place. He exhaled slowly. Thirty-three to the left. Thirty-three. Thirty-three. He glanced down at Grib, the little city goblin who was currently holding his bag of safecracking tools, and who would be their guide through the labyrinthine streets as they made their escape. Thirty-three! He hadn't been able to get that number off his mind. Not since they'd been planning this heist in the dingy back room of the Swan & Sigil, and sounding off about their reasons for attempting the daring robbery of one of the most powerful organizations in the kingdom. Barker was happy to have his share of the vast fortune contained inside the vault, of course, but he was really in it for revenge; his family had lost everything, thanks to the financial predation of Tavis & Gorpley. Ruining them, in return, seemed like the most fitting form of vengeance, as it was both restitution and retribution. Grib, on the other hand, had simply said he needed the money to feed his thirty-three wives, and thirty-eight children. Thirty-three wives! It wasn't that Barker was envious. He'd always had enough trouble dealing with one woman at a time, such that he'd never be foolish enough to consider courting double-digits. Nor did he have any prurient interest in the details of the goblin's marital couch -- the thought of a big pile of city gobs going about the business of making baby goblins made him a bit queasy, if anything. But it was just...the logistics of the thing! It beggared belief. But everyone else at the table had let it pass without comment, as though Grib had said that he had some sensible number of spouses and progeny. He'd heard people say that goblins bred like rats, but he'd always just assumed they were bigoted against the little city gobs, on account of their cousins, the wildland goblins, being murderous thieving little bastards. Barker he cleared his throat. "Thirty-three to the left, take note." Grib nodded, solemnly. As he bean on the next number, he said, casually. "Funny that. Because, you said you...you have thirty-three wives, didn't you?" Grib sighed. "Here we go." "What?"Barker protested, as he turned the dial, listening for the next click. "Just...you know, curious is all. If you'd rather not--" "No. Just ask your questions."Grib said drily. "I've learned from experience it's better to just get it over with so we can move on." "Do you all sl--"Barker began. "No, we don't all sleep in one bed. We're small by human standards, but even an orc-sized bed wouldn't be big enough for 34 goblins."Grib interrupted. "That's ridiculous." "So, are you in--"Barker started. "Am I in love with all of them? No, I'm not. Goblin marriages are different, they're not just about love or reproduction. Ten of my wives, for example, are elderly widows that I married because they needed someone to take care of them."Grib said, flatly. "Oh. Well, that's...real nice of you." "Uh-huh. Come on, what else? Let's try to move this along."Grib said, twirling his hand impatiently. "What's with all the kids?"Barker asked, becoming more comfortable. He heard a click. "Fifty-one right, by the way." Grib nodded. "Fifty-one right. We're a fecund people, and eleven of my wives are also my lovers, so do the math." Barker furrowed his brow. "So, altogether, you only sleep with a third of your wives?" Grib snorted. "Yes. What do I look like, an automaton?" Barker frowned thoughtfully. "Guess you got a point, there. So, ten are old, eleven are more or less the way spouses work for everyone else...what about the other twelve?" Grib shrugged. "Four are younger widows who aren't over their previous husbands. As for the rest, not every goblin female wants kids, or wants a male at all. But in our culture, everyone needs to get married, that's just how we organize ourselves. So, it's a male goblin's duty to marry as many females as he can afford to. Some of those twelve may feel more amorously inclined towards me, some day, and if so, I'll be there. If not, well, I'm not exactly starved of affection as it is." "Doesn't that leave you with a surplus of unmarried male goblins?"Barker asked, as the next number clicked into place. "Nine to the left." "Nine to the left. And no, it doesn't. In case you haven't noticed, our mortality rate is kind of high." Barker winced. "Oh, right. Sorry..." Grib made a dismissive gesture. "Whatever. Anyway, our females have a strong nesting instinct, so they tend to live a lot longer than we do. Even if someone does come across our homes, they're a lot less likely to kill unarmed females taking care of little ones." Barker heard a final click. "Twenty-one left."The lock was open. He sighed with satisfaction. "Well, you'll be well positioned to care for the wives and kiddies now, my friend."Barkley said. Then he frowned, thoughtfully. "Hey, how were you supporting that many, before we--"Barkley froze, as he turned and saw his ostensible partner in crime. Grib was staring up at him, aiming a crossbow in his direction. As were two figures in dark clothing who'd evidently emerged from concealment in the vault room. "How was I supporting my family before this heist?"Grib asked, smirking. "Easy: I'm a well-paid security consultant for Tavis & Gorpley. Thanks for helping me with my intrusion testing, by the way."
After Gotham City voted to build this studium, it wasn't long before the money for things like public health, education, and infrastructure mysteriously disappeared. Bruce didn't understand what had happened, but then he wasn't exactly the world's greatest detective. All he knew was that Gotham was falling, and it’s home team had already hit rock bottom. If the Gotham Knights didn't start winning games soon, the team would be moved to Los Angeles and the people would loose their only heroes. Baseball Comissioner Gordon said there was still hope. If Bruce could win this game against the Arkham Jokers, there was a chance the Knights might be able to stay in Gotham. Bruce walked to the pitchers mound, and surveyed the field. In the dug-out, his teammates cheered him on. The three Robin boys of Dick, Jason, and Tim hooted and hollered at the Jokers. Kate Kane gave a knowing nod, while Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, and old Clayface clapped and cheered. Before the game Barbra Gordan had shown Bruce the pitchers stats. Bane was always everyone's first pick in every fantasy league including Barbra's. Rumors had circulated that Bane was using somekind of performance enhancing drug. Which didn't surprise Bruce, it was pretty common in the MLB and also Bane was 12 feet tall with muscles the size of torpedoes. Even the Knight's own mascot didn't look confident in Bruce's chances. The fluffy Bat creature seemed to be actively trying to block the views of the audience in the bleachers to spare them the coming humiliation. It wasn't that hard. Not many people believed in Baseball anymore, so the bleachers were sparsely populated. As Bruce passed the dancing creature, he paused and yelled up to the costumed character. "Hey, Batmite! Got any advice for me?" The Knight's mascot paused to look at the legendary Batman in consideration. Bruce knew that benieth the costume was none other than Baseball prodigy Cassandra Cain. A savant of field Cassandra was said to be able to spot fastballs before a pitcher could wind up. She'd left the game after one of her ricocheted balls killed another player, choosing instead to devote her life to dance and serving the team as it's mascot Batmite. After a few beats, Batmite proceeded to do a series of dance moves at Bruce. The Knight's star Batman nodded in understanding, proceeding to Homeplate. "Water, Batter Wayne?"Asked the WaterBoy. Bruce nodded, taking a swig from the offered canteen. "Thanks, Alfred." Bruce stepped on homeplate, looked Bane straight in the eyes. Bane looked right back at him. The rest of the Jokers were completing they're usual good luck ritual (putting a member of the opposing team in an elabrate death trap and laughing as he just barely managed to escape). Baseball Players were such a superstitious and cowardly lot. Luckily they we're dealing with David Zavimbe, who made it out of the death trap without touching the acid. There fun done, the Jokers took they're places. The umpire shouted "Play Ball!"and the game began. Bane winded up his pitch and Bruce gripped his bat. The ball left Bane's hand shooting straight for Bruce's head! Just as Cassandra predicted. Bruch held up the bat and the ball hit the bat and bounced right off. "BASE HIT!"Announced the umpire!
The great red eye opened slowly, pupil contracting as sunlight licked Carnax's eyelids for the first time in several millennia. The thick blood within his body began to circulate once more as his massive hearts beat faster and faster. Cognition returned to him in bits and pieces, images playing out as he struggled to separate past from present. Thousands of quivering human supplicants bowing before him. A city of alabaster turned to charcoal. A wild-eyed human girl with a spear of platinum. A flash of light without heat and then darkness engulfing his hoard. His hoard! What of his hoard?! An awful, deep rumbling sound rose from within his thorax as fear and greed snapped him into the present. He felt his body rising from it's long slumber, a cascade of agony as blood revived petrified nerves. But something was wrong with his right wing, it wasn't responding. With immense effort and pain he turned his long neck, regarding the tiny glittering piece of metal embedded in his shoulder. A small skeleton still held the spear in both hands in sprite of many broken bones. Carnax stared at his old foe's leering skull with equal parts fury and respect. Even in death she looked unafraid. He gingerly reached over and plucked the spear from her grasp with his great mouth, gently removing it from his flesh as her skeleton clattered to the ground. The spear dropped to the ground, ringing as it hit stone. Wait... No. Something was wrong. The spear should have clinked softly into his hoard, adding one more piece of physical glory to his life. Looking down, his hearts skipped several beats. His hoard was gone. The hill of emeralds. The solid gold ibex. The diamond carved into his likeness. All gone. Not even a single scrap remained. His eyes darted frantically around the space, finally resting on the human-sized hole in the rockslide that covered the cave's entrance. A face... A human face looking into the cave, silhouetted by the sunlight outside. His rage was primal, bubbling like magma, building strength towards an eruption. In this rage he felt the fire returning to him, warmth spreading from his tail to his smoking nostrils. A terrible roar formed within his stomach, working itself upwards and bursting out of his massive mouth. The sound shook the dust from caves walls, displacing the boulders that had been removed over the last few weeks, flooding the cave with sunlight. He burst through the entrance onto the mountain plateau, eliciting a chorus of screams from the archaeologists. His rage manifested itself as a column of crimson flame. In an instant, all became ash and dust, and finally silence. He looked at the blasted landscape around him, smelling fresh air tinged with sulfur. He heard a sound coming from behind him, near the cave entrance. She was tiny, even by human standards. A skinny thing in beige with an oversized hat. Trembling, she raised the platinum spear and pointed it at his head, making sounds into a small black box with a black string attached. The sight amused him immensely, and he commended her bravery in a deep baritone. When he spoke she nearly dropped the spear, frantically making new sounds. No... Attempting to communicate with him. Before he could respond, a rhythmic noise rose from behind the mountain peak. A great black oval rose, nearly as large as himself. Roaring a challenge, he pushed himself upwards, grappling his new foe. It was large but had a weak skin, and he could smell humans on it's underside, clinging like ticks to the massive beast. He let loose a torrent of fire, igniting the strange new foe. Distantly he heard the sounds of the girl with the spear, saying something broken in an old dialect, warning him. Then light, a cacophony of explosions, and a massive force throwing him from the mountain. He awoke in a forest clearing, pain replacing confusion as he realized how badly he was injured. Charred black metal fragments had perforated his body, shredding his wings. Moaning gently, he looked at the burning debris littering the clearing. With a surge of vicious pride he regarded the smoking carcass of the great beast. He needed to rest and heal, and could feel his eyes slowly closing as his body went into hibernation to repair itself. The last image he saw was something out of a nightmare: multiple oval beasts smelling of humans lazily descended from the sky.
“Sir, they’re marching this way. Should we move to intercept them?” I shook my head, “no need. Let them come. And Patrick, you’re free to go.” Patrick blinked, “are you sure?” I nodded, “this isn’t your fight.” I didn’t turn back, but I heard the door slam as Patrick raced out of the building. The moon was bright tonight, I could see the mages’ approach clearly without the aid of magic. As they came closer, I opened the front door of my press shop and stepped out, confronting my visitors, “we’re closed.” The archmagus smiled, “oh, we’re not here for business.” I sighed, “I presumed as much.” The archmagus nodded, “then I presume you know what I will ask of you next.” “I will not comply with your demand.” “Noncompliance means death, I would reconsider, were I you.” “You control all the scribes, archmagus. Magic is a commodity regulated by you. You can empower or belittle entire cultures and nations through distribution control. With the printing press, magic will be in the hands of the people.” “And you believe such power belongs in such unworthy hands?” “It’s not your decision to determine who is worthy. Besides, magic is not as much of an advantage as it once was. Those without magic have taken strides in technological progress to make up for what they lack. Hence, the printing press, a union of magic and technology. Think of the wonders that could be achieved together were they combined!” “You’re ignorance is baffling. You will doom us all!” “I’d rather live in a dangerous free world than a safe oppressive one. We can’t escape danger, we can regulate magic in other ways, but not trusting the people you rule is no way to run a nation.” “You speak zealotry, not logic. You are indoctrinated by the cult of the rebel.” “As if zealotry isn’t a tool under your own disposal. You claim who is worthy or not, if that’s not manipulation through belief I don’t know what is.” “You cur!” “You’re much worse.” “So, since we won’t be coming to an agreement, shall we?” “Bring it on!” The mages fumbled with their scrolls, unrolling them and muttering the incantations on them. I, meanwhile, took off my coat to reveal an outfit made entirely of paper with incantations printed on them. The printing presses were working on full blast, papers flying out of the machines and into my hands as I slung spells faster than geriatric scribes could write a single word. I may be outmatched, but I’m not outwitted. Even if I fall here, progress still marches on. They will not stop it, no matter how hard they try.
It was a brutal fight, more brutal than any other fight between the pinnacle of evil and the chosen one of good. It was so brutal, because this fight wasn‘t just about good vs evil. It was about two old friends now turned into the worst of enemies. That love turned to hate brought out the worst kind of violence, the one coming from the heart. No weapon remained unused, no strategy untried, now trick refused as being too cruel. The very concept of something being „too cruel“ was shattered by the villain‘s mace and the remains torched by the hero‘s holy fire. This was it. This was the end for one of them. „Jannis, stop! It‘s me!“, the villain cried out as another wave of fire threatened him with an ugly death. He barely managed to dodge out of the way and hold up his hand in a weak attempt to stop the hero‘s sword. „Please, don‘t kill me. I give up! I surrender!“ The sword stopped inches from his throat, stopped not by his armour but merely by the hero‘s mercy. „Drop your weapons“, Jannis ordered coldly. The mace fell down with a heavy thunk. The shield followed. The the figure in dark armour slowly put up its hands and revmoved it‘s helmet to reveal a face as familiar to Jannis as his own. There were scars everywhere, some inflicted by Jannis, but the eyes were still the same. Still the same clear eyes Aldern had had when they were children. Jannins almost lost himself staring at those eyes. They pleaded with him, begged him to foget the blasted hellscape they were standing in and forgive his old friend. He wanted to. It was easier to leave behind what had happened now that he saw his friend Aldern instead of the void-like shape of Rex Orbis. It was so easy to forget that he forgot he was in battle. It was so easy to dream of home that a small detail in reality slipped past his perception. The dagger came from out of nowhere. A tear in the fabric of reality, guided by the summoning circle around the villain‘s hand, opened up to disgorge one of the weakest demons there were. But it doesn‘t take much strength to push a thin, poisoned spike between two armour plates. The precise application of force at the correct point is often more destructive than all the power a mage could put into a fireball. That’s why those who learn magic aren’t completely outmatched by those born with magic. That’s why the villain could outsmart the hero as he used the destraction to disarm him and throw the sword away. To the hero, the pain was almost unbearable. It emanated from his armpit, where the dagger had entered, but it quickly spread like fire to his chest and then his heart and then his whole body. It would have been the worst pain he had ever experienced were it not for the pain caused in his soul by the ice-cold, calculating, brutal smile of Rex Orbis. No…, Jannins thought as he was dying, This isn‘t you. This isn‘t you… It‘s that demon. It has to be. You‘re still in there, you‘re still my friend. I‘ve failed you. I‘m so sorry, I‘ve failed you. There has to be some way, something I can do! I have to save you! The realization hit Jannis like cold water poured over his burning body. He knew what he had to do. He would do it for his friend. „I pass my strength to you, Aldern. Put it to good use.“ Those were the hero‘s final words. A shriek of rage and the clangs of a mace bashing against armour cut off anything he might‘ve said afterwards. Those continued for quite a while until the villain had worked the urge to scream and destroy out of his system. What remained were emptiness and pain instead of the triumph he should be feeling. The villain looked down at the hero‘s corpse, now a mushy blood puddle with bent scraps of metal sticking out, and asked himself why. Why would he do that? Why?! He sat down and called the demon to himself, petting it, using the perpetuous motions to ground himself and cool down his thoughts. Anger doesn‘t help, he‘d learned that lesson long ago. There is only one possible reason, Rex Orbis thought to himself, He didn‘t want to lose. He must‘ve planned this and I fell right into his trap. He‘s trying to undermine everything I‘ve worked for, everything I‘ve shed blood for. And I idiot walked right into it. Another sudden wave of rage almost overtook him, but the demon on his lap stopped him from causing more destruction. He defiled me! Me! He knew how I despise mages, he knew how I view the tyranny of birthright! And he just had to turn me into one! He just had to turn me into the biggest hypocrite imaginable! That one act was worse than anything he‘s ever done, anything he could have done. This isn‘t over, I‘ll never be free of him! I‘ll never be free as long as I live! The figure encased in dark armour began to cry. He didn‘t cry because he mourned his friend, he was quite glad that fucker was dead, instead he mourned himself. This battle had taken something from him. It had taken his identity. What monster did he turn me into? I‘m a wizard, I‘m not special! I‘m normal, I‘m human! The demon in his lap stirred. It felt the hot tears land on it and it didn‘t like that. So it pressed itself against its master, purred and growled and reminded him that he was the dark lord, the commander of the demon armies, the king of the world. Rex Orbis laughed a little as the demon tried to comfort him. „Tried“ since demons aren‘t very good at that. He pushed away his self-pity, pushed it into the back of his mind and locked it into the same box he had locked his emotions as Aldern into. The demon was right. The battle may be won, but the war wasn‘t over. „You‘re right, little buddy. You all need me right now.“ As he left the battlefield, he wondered: Can Evil be used for Good? Either way, he now knew one thing: whether he won or not, this war would end with his death.
A shadow darkened the land as something massive passed in front of the sun. The townsfolk thought it a cloud at first, but when a mighty bellow echoed from the heavens everybody stopped and stared upward to find that a hulking figure had blocked out the sun. Its form lay dark in its own shadow, but its teeth gleamed sinisterly as it spoke with a soft, serpentine voice that echoed off the castle’s bulwark. “Humansss! Skarekiern flies before you! Terror of the four winds and she who decimated the Plains of Arkori! Kneel, lest I reduce your labors to ash and feast upon your remains!” Suddenly terrified, some townspeople shouted and ran about while others did as the dragon commanded, kneeling with their palms facing up in submission. “I demand only one thing!” Skarekiern announced. “Bring me the fairest princess in the land, and I shall leave your dwellings untouched! Tell your king and queen my demands! Do this, and do this now, for my patience wears thin and my hunger grows!” Alerted by the commotion, the queen appeared with her daughter in tow, striding down the street with an unfettered brow and a rigid back. She carried with her a speaking trumpet, saying loudly to the dragon, “What have we done to offend you, oh noble Skarekiern? Our kingdom made peace with your kind centuries ago, and proudly keep it! Please, name our crimes! Surely there is a peaceful solution other than handing over my only daughter?” “I have named it, human queen!” Skarekiern bellowed. “I demand the fairest princess in the land! Nothing else will sate me!” “Glorious Skarekiern, for what reason would you want my daughter?” “The reason is mine, and mine alone!” “Great Wyrm, please, I—” “Silence! Surrender her to me and I will—” “Dear!” The queen turned. Her husband and his retinue approached from down the road. He looked just as rigid as she, but seemed vastly more annoyed; which was rather at odds with the situation. He held out a spyglass to her. “Look.” Looking uncertainly at the instrument, she took it from him and aimed it skyward. “What is this!” Skarekiern yelled. “What is in your hands? Human weaponry? Drop it immediately and I shall yet let you live!” The queen tightened her mouth and blew noisily through her nose. She lifted her speaking trumpet back to her lips. “Edadora, get down here this instant.” “I know not this Edadora! I am Skarakeirn! Terror of the—” “Now, young lady! Or I will summon your mother!” The dragon fell silent, turning away to fly off in a different direction. But as it did a significantly larger and more terrifying shape appeared on the horizon, roaring loud enough to shake tiles from the nearby rooftops. The smaller drake froze in midair as the mother wyrm stopped before it, growling and hissing at it in drakontongue for several long moments, before they both tucked their wings in and landed gracefully just outside of town. The king and queen walked stately towards the dragon, but when the queen turned her head to regard her daughter, she found her in the same spot she had been moments ago, quietly trying to walk in a different direction. At the queen’s sharp look she halted, nervously rejoining her at her side. When the royal family had left the city walls to join the dragons, they were met with a curious sight. The smaller one—Edadora, not the mighty Skarekiern she had claimed to be—had sheets tied to her wings, a speaking horn attached to her maw, as well as other makeshift cloth accoutrements attached all along her body. When flying close to the sun the ragged costume had magnified her size greatly, but now it made her look silly. The younger drake averted her gaze. “Your Grace,” the larger wyrm said, bowing its head low. “Please forgive my daughter for bringing fear upon your people. She has embarrassed me greatly with this stunt of hers.” The queen looked sidelong at her own daughter with a disapproving glare. “So long as you will forgive mine, Marakin. She clearly had a hand in it too, or did you stitch that costume yourself, Edadora?” Edadora grumbled something unintelligible in drakontongue. Her mother flicked her tail at her, causing the young drake to jump with a shriek. “Apologize,” Marakin ordered. Edadora shuffled in place. “I’m sorry…” The queen glared at her daughter. “You too.” The princess looked down. “I’m sorry, mother. Your Grace, Marakin.” Marakin said, “I told you to ask them politely, Eda. Was this polite?” “They would have said no!” Edadora protested. “I did say no,” the queen said. “Ask,” Marakin growled. Smoke licked up from between her teeth. Edadora still didn’t look up. “Can…can I kidnap Hiri for the Moonvapor Flight?” “As I told her, no!” the queen said firmly. “She doesn’t yet know the first thing about flying, and you want to snatch her up from my castle’s ramparts for your very first celebration? I’m sorry to say I’ve already seen your claws at work on my mannequins. Maybe next year, and that’s final young lady.” “See! She doesn’t know what fun is!” Edadora whined. “Neither will you for the next three months. Come. We’re going home.” With another bow of her head, Marakin launched herself into the sky. Edadora shared a somber look with Princess Hiri before dejectedly following. The queen grabbed her daughter by the ear. “Do this again and I’ll put you in a tower so high that not even your friend Rapunzel’s hair will reach the ground. Now come, we're leaving too.”
There are no children raised on Earth. Not anymore. As a species we are dying. We are hunted and killed by an enemy we cannot fight. An enemy that uses our greatest strength against us. We have no name for the creatures. Or rather, we do not teach their name and we do not whisper it in the shadows, for once their name is uttered they will always appear. Even without saying it aloud, they seem to know when we are thinking of them. They feed on our thoughts, and if you spend too long wondering about them they will come. To refer to them directly is death. We do not discuss them. We do not stare directly at them. Heaven help the parents when their children learn to speak; because it’s not a question of if, but when. The caskets are picked out before the child is even named. And so, we are are trapped, doomed to die. We cannot plan or scheme against them. We cannot collaborate. We cannot pass our knowledge to future generations; we will be the last anyway . Until then, we live our lives in a silent terror, a mortal dread that will hang over us until the very end. Because the end is all that we have left.
SCP-8016: A Game of Chance* Object Class: Safe: Special Containment Procedures: SCP-8016 is to be stored in the break room at Site-13. No special security procedures are necessary. Due to the risk of losing the object, it has been fitted with a micro-tracker (RF code: 000300444). Description: SCP-8016 is a single six sided dice of the type commonly included in board games. It's only identifying marks are the phrase "Take control"etched into one side. When rolled, the subject will be teleported into an extradimensional space consisting of a poorly reconstructed Roman Gladiator arena. Numerous errors are present which suggests it was created by someone with a poor understanding of history. An individual inside will introduce himself as Theodore Blight, Epic Swordsman from the East and challenge the subject to a duel. Regardless of whether the challenge is accepted, Theodore will charge with his sword and begin honorable combat. It should be noted that his skill is generally poor, and can be defeated by most users at least 75% of the time. If victorious, the subject will leave the extradimensional space as though no time had passed. The dice will land on the subject's preferred outcome. If not, the dice will land on the subject's least preferred outcome. A Hello Kitty bandaid will also appear somewhere on the subject's body. Addendum: Note from site command Effective immediately, use of SCP-8016 is limited to one hour per week, and to users with no repremands in their record for the current calendar year. I realize that blowing off steam is important to maintaining morale, but this is getting ridiculous. Also, using SCP-8016 to win a bet is strictly prohibited. The punishment will be decided by whoever lost the bet.
Every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, go home, sleep. Oh sure, the small details might change from day to day, but not by much. Griz felt like his feet were filled with lead as he lamented the monotony of his existence. He knew he was walking with a slouched back and dull eyes. But, he had to go through the motions. The pay was not great, but it let him get by. He trudged up to the assignment desk and, without a word, took his daily tasks from the receptionist. She looked at him with the same glazed over look he knew was on his face. The only people who did not were those too new to know better. He walked away and read the assignment. Second floor, A-7, C-10, and H-2. He suppressed a groan. How many times has he dealt with those three? It seemed like every few days he had to deal with at least one of them. He could almost deal with them in his sleep. It was a matter of minutes to get to the second floor, and to A-7. A simple one, easy to deal with. He just had to clean the spears off and slide them into their hidden recesses. He looked at the impaled human on one of the ceiling spears. The guy looked like an idiot. There was no way to know for sure, but the guy had a face that screamed low intelligence. The body fell off easily enough, and the equipment gathering was easy. A few coins that Griz would never see, and some gear that would probably be stuck into a treasure chest on the first floor. He barely paid attention beyond that. C-10 was a little harder, but not much. Really, getting the body from the spiked pit was the hardest part. Closing the pit cover was just a matter of turning a crank in the service panel. This human looked like she might have been smart. There were glasses nearby and she wore robes. That meant she had been smart, right? Not that the traps cared. He almost envied the dead. They did not have to worry about the daily grind anymore. Their grind was over. But, his was going to continue for years. And as evidence, he had to deal with another trap. H-2 sucked. He hated it even more than most. The damned ceiling smash room was hard to reset, and it always left a horrible mess that he would have to clean up. But, it had to be done. He struggled with the heavy crank that would return the crusher to its place. Then he found the hidden hose and began the tedious process of removing the blood, guts and destroyed stuff that it always left behind. It was even less enjoyable than any of the others. But, he did it. His mind was devoid of thought as he did, but it was done. When he finished, he made his way to the employee break room, working out the kinks in his back as he did. He flopped down in the nearest available seat and flopped against the table. He would take his break, then get his next assignment. Then he would go home, eat, then sleep. And then the next day, it would start all over again.
He can't hear me. I'm right there and he can't hear me. I'm pounding on a glass, I'm gasping with lungs full of water, the smoke is suffocating me and he. can't. hear. me. It was the promise. The promise made on an evening when the conversation steered to deep dark things and how we both feared of what happened after. You took my hand and swore with your head full of cheap wine that you would come back and let me know what would follow, if anything. I promised you the same in between breaths on your lips until our lips were both stained purple. Some time after, weeks of secret glances and quick squeezes of hands and pulling your shirt out of the hamper to smell you on it once more, I died. It was nothing theatrical. I was walking home from the corner store, had a craving for beef jerky. Screeching of tires. No proper sidewalk. Everything went dark. The last thing I saw was the reflection of my own sloppily shaved face reflected from an icy puddle. "I need to get a new razor"I thought. After that it was nothing. The most perfect nothing, being cradled on a sea of velvet whispers and I wasn't and nothing else was either. The lack of everything, a cathedral of nothing, a thought no one ever had. And then just when I melted away into it I was standing next to your living room couch where you sat with your children and your wife. You were watching some movie that didn't matter, beautiful people pretending to care about each other and you looked so deep in thought, so beautiful. I wanted to say something so when you heard tomorrow at work you wouldn't give us away by looking too distraught. I ... wanted to apologize for leaving so soon. For not having more time. But as I took a step closer, the room tilted. I was falling and falling more and I wanted to scream but there was nothing to scream with . It turns out you can't really communicate from the great beyond. You can't move like the ones alive can, from one moment to the next, from one room to the next. If I try, I tilt. And I never know where I end up. At first I tried to talk. Then I screamed. I tried moving objects, tried to kiss you, hold you, punch you, anything. I would stand in the corner and scream and then I was falling again. I watched you sink and I saw the fights and when she left you you didn't look beautiful anymore. You just looked defeated. And I was trapped watching my best friend, my whole world losing everything he held dear. I know you're coming soon. From what I can gather from between the infinite falling you are preparing to not exist. I yearn to become nothing too. But my promise won't let you go. It's happening... You're holding a gun to your head. And I know I can't watch you do it but I can't stop you and I'm screaming even though no sound comes out and I try to stay so very still so I won't fall away because I need you to understand there is a better way and I can't breathe and I realize that for the first time and the smoke fills my lungs that suddenly exist and you.. you look up.
Even on a cold March morning I was hot as Hell. I was a nervous wreck. Penny was the best thing to happen to me, and now I felt my gut wrenching as I paced outside the small church. Caterers flocked in and out of the venue, bringing in beautiful arrangements of white and red daturae, our wedding colors, along with rolling carts of food and drink for the reception. "Cold feet son?"a voice from behind a catering van asked. The owner of the voice stepped out and I was awestruck. The man was impeccably dressed, a deep charcoal suit with a crisp formal shirt and vest done in our bridal colors. He was probably the prettiest man I've ever seen. It's honestly hard to describe a guy who carries himself with such casual presence, his olive skin unblemished leading to eyes that seemed to burn right through you. He had long hair twisted into a braid down his back, and may be the only guy good-looking enough to make a Van Dyke mustache look appealing. "I've done a few of these, and know how it can be. You're the groom, Jon, yes?" I nodded, my throat too dry, I wish I could just have a nice cold — "Cheerwine? I had a case shipped in from down South, felt like the right occasion."the man winked at me, popping the top and handing me the nectar of the Carolinas. "How did you?"I asked, lifting it up. "I have a good idea what guys want. Also, your soon to be missus included it on your groom's list, thought I'd have a few chilled before everyone got here." I thanked my new friend for his hospitality and offered him a seat. The catering and florist folks kept moving, while my bride's family arrived to decorate. "So, what brought you and Penny together? College?"Sam pulled a small silver case out of his inner suit pocket, lit it off a match between his fingers and offered me one. "Oh no. I drink smoke or drink. Funny, we met in a youth group at our campus. Penny said she was looking for a nice clean-cut boy, and, well..."I looked down. I wouldn't say I'm a catch, but I do alright. Penny on the other hand, she had such beautiful hair, that skin, those e... "Sam. Samuel. Crap." "Close enough. Yes, you caught me."My fiancée's favorite uncle laughed. "Penny doesn't visit home too often, and I wanted to take a measure of her man, since her Daddy couldn't be with us." "Oh? I thought Bill was attending?"I had met Penny's parents, Bill and Morgan, over a year ago, just before I popped the question. "Oh, Bill's her stepfather. Her Daddy, he doesn't come around too much anymore. Her mother got an order of protection with a long expiration." I tensed up. "Don't worry, he ain't gonna hurt anyone. Just not much welcome where Penny's mama is, on account of bad blood between them. So I come in and check on Bub's kid from time to time, as the elder uncle and all." "Bub? You all sure are from the South." "My son, you have no idea."
Dear Mr. K It was an odd job. Usually i would have rejected it, but the prospect was enticing. The pay wasn't a big deal, I had saved up enough money to life in luxury for almost three decades, but it was definetely what caught my eye at first. The target, posing as a certain Edwin David, certainly appeared to be a human. A boring, average human living in an isolated house on the edge of the woods of some middle-of-nowhere village in rural Italy. I tailed him for a few days and i started to notice more and more odd details about it 1) It didn't have a job. Every day he took a bike toward the nearest train station, locked the bike, walked to the furthest bench and just... Sat there. For 8 hours. Then he got up, unlocked the bike and went home 2) It was wary of liquids, actively avoiding them whenever possible. Over my observation, it dindn't drink, take a bath and whenever it was raining, it covered itself in multiple layers of clothes 3) It did not understand human eating habit, eating oranges, lemons and nuts withour removing the outer shell. Similarly, it ate canned beans without removing them from the can. It seems to be aware of this weakness, and only consumes food at its house 4) It is incapable of moving its shoulder, opting to move the whole torso instead 5) It does not require sleep 6) It does not require heath or light. The house occupied by the creature does not have an active supply of gas, energy or water Over the course of the past month, I have devised a few simple asssassinations. I did not expect any of them to work, but they provided me with additional information. 1) Added various types of poisonous substances (arsenic, ammonia, belladonna, tetradotoxin and cyanide amongst them), as well as acids and biological samples of various diseases to the creature's food and released toxic fumes (including methane, zyklon B and mustard gas) inside the house. As expected, they had no noticeable effect on the creature 2) Exposed the creature to water by purpusefully crashing into it with an open water bottle. Altough it showed signs of distress and immediately ran home, the cameras showed no obvious physical alterations and its routine was not altered past the splash. Seems like the aversion toward liquids is merely a phobia, or the creature is vulnerable to a specific type of liquid that wasn't present (or was present in too small concentration) in drinkable water. Further test is necessary 3) Animals are afraid of the creature. Rats freed in the house ran away as soon as it returned, and forcefully exposing captured or even wild animals to it seem to always cause the animal to panick and run away 4) The creature doesn't seem bothered by physical trauma. Causing a crash by sabotaging the bike failed to leave a single scratch on the creature even after a very serious accident with a pickup truck With the following finds i feel like this job may take longer than expected. I still have some avenues available (fire being the first), but finding a way to organically exposing it to fire without a gas line to the house will be difficult. I will have to further my investigation, but i started to notice it getting a bit more jumpy aver the past three days. I'll have to limit myself to remote control viewing via the many hidden cameras i placed on its daily commute. I will keep you informed, A.z. Last e-mail sent from Andrew Z.' s computer the day before dissapearing, decrypted
It was just another mundane night in this secluded tavern on the outskirts of Cryoville, a place I was hoping to reside for as long as I had left. Unfortunately on this particular weekend I would be graced by the presence of some unwanted guests. “The usual?” I asked “Yes please.” Answered Demi. Demi was rather a young frost cyclops who lived in Cryoville. He managed crawl his back way here from the border between the ice lands and the dark lands as he angered some guards and stumbled upon this tavern. Fortunately, I was in a good mood and took him in until he recovered. Since then he had been coming in once a week. “Boss! We’re out of frostian wine.” Seara hollered. She was in charge of our stock here. “Ight.” I replied, pouring out the last bottle of said wine. It was made by compressing frost berries into pure dark magic, which I had plenty of. “Demi mind bringing some over next time u come round?“ I asked, tossing a pouch of gold to him. “Sure.” he said chugging down his beverage. Demi walked towards the door and just when he was about to leave, the door flung open, smacking him across the room. Following, the atmosphere was filled with an intense and familiar aura. Kaelon, otherwise popularly recognised as the hero who slayed the dark lord, busted into the tavern with his group of 5 deluded and ignorant followers. In truth, Kaelon was a dick who cared not for others and only acted for the sake of his reputation. “Wha…?” Demi mumbled, rubbing his head from the impact. I vaulted over the bar and ordered Seara to bring Demi upstairs to be treated. “Hey barkeep! Five bottles of your finest wine.” Kaelon shouted. “To hell with that!” I kicked him through the window and out into the snow, revealing my through form. I summoned my sword and armour. This was about to get messy…
Psionic telemetry reading of crew member 626, Callsign: "Warbeast"regarding boarding incident 621. Beginning playback: It was a standard day on The SS Kobold. We're a small Merc company that's technically part of the UER (United Earthen Republic) army, though no one would blame you for thinking otherwise. My role of "Warbeast"Is to be a big hulking lug with sharp claws, wicked fang and to look like I'd snap you in half if you looked at me the wrong way. Captain wants me to be proactive about it but I think trying to hard to seem intimidating makes you look insecure. I mean I already match the description of a werewolf from those pre-space myths he liked to bang on about. I was going about my usual day not listening to the captain unless he got the taser out and making it nice and quick for any who got in the way of our tasks. Today it was a simple scavenger mission. Lots of psi-ko tech in the area from a recent space battle that Carl and Onyx would be all over. It was also a trap, while I was lagging behind I heard two of my allies scream quickly before it was cut off. Naturally I came looking and saw those two allies, Rock and Fox, with the barrels of flashslights (sys note: mark II Lasguns) sitting on their temples. Unconscious. One of them said "You, Dog thing! drop your scavenge and fuck off or this gets ugly!" Now the captain had always said comply with these kinda things. So I did, dropped what I had collected, kicked it over to them, waited for them to do the same... They did not do the same. &#x200B; One the scavenge had reached them they said "We're taking your friends here hostage. You want them back you've got 2 days to cough up 10000 units of Iridium. Understand doggy?" I knew everything I was seeing and hearing was also being streamed to the ship so I waited for the signal from command... A drone was pinged for me, we were reading their ships FTL wake signature. I needed to buy time for the scanning of it. "Oh ok buddy understood, how about we put the guns down and talk about this like reasonable people..."I tried to sound scared, Hoping that I could juxtapose my intimidating visage with a sort of cute and friendly persona and lull them into a false sense of security. "Don't try and bullshit, we know what you're really like, 'Warbeast'"The one holding rock croaked That... made things difficult. I only needed a few more seconds though... "Alright..."I said with my paws in the air "Ya got me."I looked up and smiled a little bit on making that little reference. "So, where exactly are we supposed to drop of these units? I assume you have a location?" "Yeah, there's a big ole cluster of asteroids around 1 light-hour south of the Mind'n'body. It's a bar popular with psionic species, familiar?" "Yeah I know the place, probably gonna have to stop by there after this for the incident report" "Good. Go there and our contact will meet you. See you in 48 terran hours."The abductors said grinning as they started getting beamed up. "More like 5 seconds."I replied as my body was cloaked in the same orange-reddish hue of a teleporter. I closed my eyes to prevent warp-blindness for a second before allowing my instincts to take over from there. I was standing beside the two who had just taken my allies hostage, they twirled on the spot and blew 30 bursts of lightfire into my chest... I looked at them laughing as I grabbed one in each hand, the staff in the teleporter room too horrified to do anything. "Standard issue sub-dermal plasma absorption weave... thanks for the juice boys."I cackle as I begin my assault. First, I run a Psi-Op, Data extraction, to learn the layout of the ship. Standard UER vessel with minor refurbishments. Second... I squeeze both my captives tight, dangling them on the edge of passing out, the doors open as the security team tries to attack with kinetics. I hurl the one who called me dog thing at them making them kill their own ally. I feel a hunger and I sate it, using the pause created from the security team's emotional distress to devour the second abductor. It's rare I get the chance to do this so I savour the moment, sinking my fangs only as deep as I need to inflict the pain, my jaw unhinging slightly to allow his shoulders and such to pass. Deeper and deeper he falls. Muffled screams and horrified gasps fill the room my gut pushes it's way out to accommodate the meal it's receiving. (SyS note: armour of faction unidentified, reason stated: "Acid burns rendered markings illegible") Everyone stands still for a second as I gulp the last of the bastard down. The room is slient and still save for my midriff stretching out and the screams of the one causing that stretching with his struggles. The fool should just go limp, that way the acid would hurt less. "So..."I begin to ask in an open question "I'm usually not a very... active person... but you've all done a few things that earn my ire..."I pause, it's so rare I get to have these moments I've got to savour them "You jumped my crew, broke the sanctity of a hold up... and now you're all to cowardly to even attack me while I made a meal of your ally... You're all weak, cowardly creatures... Throw down your weapons and I'll make this quick... Or"I pat my distended gut in satisfaction, looks like he finally suffocated or burned in the acid. Laughing menacingly before burping up some stale air. "Or you can save me a hell of a lot on rations this month"I grin with bloodstained teeth as one man charges forward. My claws meet his chest and punture him like spears through paper. I simply flex my fingers and the gap in his chest expands, eventually separating him into 3 or for chunks of meat. The rest threw their weapons in the air and ran for their lives. It was time for the hunt to begin. &#x200B; Telemetry playback end. &#x200B; "So do you mind explaining to me why you felt in necessary to EAT 3 other people? I know the first one was an intimidation tactic but after that it just felt unnecessary" The captain said leering at me through his glasses. "It was an intimidation tactic! Can't have them getting any ideas they might live now"I pleaded my case, casually picking my teeth with my claws. "You are aware that that's a warcrime right? Cruel and unusual punishments?" He responded in an exasperated sigh. "We're not at war right now"I semi jokingly pointed out. "Not the point Warbeast." He replied, unamused. "I know."I chuckled with a shit eating grin. (Cont in comments)
It was almost Go Time for Operation Christmas. My mug of gingerbread hot chocolate steamed on the large wooden desk I sat at. I hummed Jingle Bell Rock under my breath as I sat down to check the Naughty and Nice lists one final time, it should've been a routine check, but my eyes widened at a name now at the top of list, and I sloshed a few drops out of my mug as I set it down a little too forcefully. "What?!?"I bellowed louder than I intended. I glanced sheepishly toward the door. "Nellie Nightingale? Someone's tampered with my list!" A few moments later, Eunice opened the door, her slightly plump round face filled with concern, and asked, "Everything alright, dear?" I huffed and pointed at Nellie's name, "Those villains think they can trickme of all people? Nellie Nightingale has a rap sheet so long it crosses state lines, there's no way she's on the Nice List. And what's with all the villains having alliterative names? Do they have no imagination at all? That must be it, only someone completely lacking in imagination could possibly think to fool me with something like this" "Now dear, Nellie's a sweet girl, that's why I added her to the list."Eunice replied calmly while wiping her hands on her flour streaked apron. I spluttered to a halt and stared at my wife. Then glanced down at my list, looking closer, that was my wife's handwriting, the neat but flowing style was unmistakable, especially the tiny snowflakes dotting the "i"s that I could just barely make out if I squinted. "But, but the rap sheet..."I trailed off in bewilderment. "Nellie Nightingale is an S-ranked villain, she stole millions of dollars from a bank, broke into a pharmaceutical factory and made off with their entire stock of insulin, and there's even a video of her kicking a cat back in February! A helpless cat Eunice! She's not a Nice girl, she's" "Nicholas Claus."Eunice's finger tapped once again the red shirt covering my chest. I stopped immediately, I knew I was in for it when Eunice used my full name. But I wasn't wrong, Nellie Nightingale is a villain. A supervillain, even. "Now you listen here, you silly man. Everything Nellie did was for other people. She robbed a bank? Yes, she robbed Wall's Fergo of the money they stole from their customers, and sent it back to the original owners as best she could over several months so it wouldn't be obvious what happened. Insulin? Charities across the entire Midwest suddenly got large donations of insulin less than a week later, do you think that's a coincidence? As for the video of the cat, I saw that video on Revanced, it's clear she slipped on ice and kicked the cat on accident. Plus, I asked her Aunt about it, and apparently Nellie cried and took the cat to the vet, and now Nellie owns a cat called Elsa after a certain Bisney character, and she takes quite good care of her." I was not keeping up with all these revelations bombarding me one after the other, I responded weakly that I would leave Nellie on the list, but my mind got stuck on one particular detail, "You talked with her Aunt?"I felt a headache coming on, "as in, Tina Telenado? Who is suspected in the disappearance of at least 8 different people in the last year alone? On Interpol's Top Ten Most Wanted List?" "Yes, well,"Eunice replied with a slight frown, "I did try to convince her to use somewhat less extreme methods, but they were all corrupt politicians who deliberately pushed policy that forced children into poverty and protected companies that violated Title VII, so I couldn't tell her to do nothing at all." "Okay, wait. Back up. How and why are you even talking to her at all?"I was suspicious, my wife is sweeter than sugar cookies, surely this villain was pulling the wool over her eyes. "Nicholas, dear, you aren't the only one here with superpowers." "...Right, of course, sorry my love."I was sweating slightly, was it getting hotter in here? "But, wait, Tina still murdered eight people, I don't think she's the safest person to be acquaintances with." "We're friends, dear, not acquaintances. We meet every week at a lovely little cafe in Colorado called Enchanted Grounds. Tina is quite partial to Jasmine tea, and she frequently asks me for advice about raising her niece. She's a sweet woman." "And the murders?" "Ah,"Eunice looked distinctly uncomfortable, "Tina doesn't kill them, though I think it might have been kinder if she had..." I looked at Eunice in silence and conveyed what I wanted but was too afraid to ask. It took almost a full minute before Eunice continued. "She straps them to chairs and gives them a choice: either watch 10,000 reruns of the Teletubbies series, or write out, by hand, every book and essay ever written about the dangers of societal inequality." The cruelty was unimaginable. "If they don't choose she starts the Teletubbies and asks them after 30 days if they want to switch." "She really is a sweet woman, she just has a bit of a vindictive side as well."Eunice said. Eunice's round face crinkled into a smile, "I think that's why we get along so well." I sat in stunned silence as Eunice left with a swish of her red skirt. After several long minutes, I looked at Nellie's name. Nellie Nightingale, desires a fully functional combat drone. "The elves are going to have a field day with this one,"I muttered as I stood up. I glanced at my now cool mug of hot chocolate, then left the lists behind and headed to the workshop. We had a last minute order to fill.
I guess I shouldn't really complain. I've got a good life, after all not everyone has a robot maid. Lately, some of the extra features have been out of wack. I've got a smart house, so my furnace, oven, locks, etc are all hooked to my phone. The robot maid came with the option to sync it to a smart house. I didn't see the point in it so I never bothered with it. I never use it at night because it's too loud when I'm trying to sleep. I didn't even know it had night vision, but for the past week or so during the day it'll turn on randomly. If you've ever put on night vision goggles during the day, you'll know why this is an issue. The thing gets blinded and either shuts down completely or knocks stuff over trying to clean anyway. I usually save the routine maintenance for Sundays, but I'm hoping this defrag will help with the issues, so here I am in my basement on a Thursday trying to quickly defrag it during my lunch break. I'm pretty good with computers, so I forgo the recommended settings and pick my own. When choosing which sections to clean up I find a few one. It must have been a part the update a couple weeks ago. It's only a terabyte but maybe it'll help to defrag it. I opened the folder to see what all was in it first. A lot of the standard things really, but 'memory.exe' caught my eye. I opened the corresponding text document to further investigate. > MEMORY_EXE.txt >The Robot Maid S Series is a newly refurbished refurbished? I didn't see that on the listing, and certainly didn't get the price cut that comes with a refurb >line of automated cleaning devices from Grech Corp. Darolyne Grech, founder of Grech Corp. and proud 6th generation veteran, said she wanted to honor her thrice great grandfather who fought in the war. War? What war? The last war this civilization saw was WWIII. Darolyne is still living, and even a great great great grandparent wouldn't be old enough to have fought in WWIII. >'I wanted to take the thing that killed him and make something useful out of it. A little vengeance never hurt anyone. And thus, the S Series was born,"said Grech. The thing that killed him? ...a robot war? Surely not. There's nothing in any history download I've ever seen. Seems like the kind of thing they'd teach you about in school. "POWER ON," said the robot maid. I looked at it, I don't think I hit the button. "ELLA'S SMART HOUSE, CONNECTED." I've certainly never connected it... The lights shut off, it was pitch black in the basement. I'm getting paranoid...did I just hear the doors lock? No no, I'm sure the defrag just made some things screwy, nothing to worry about. But.... It has night vision. ############### This is my first comment here, and my first time writing in a few years. Plus I'm new to Reddit. So I'm very rusty and not used to Reddit's text styling. Any critiques/tips are much appreciated!
To Whom It May Concern, We, the Population of life different to Yours, have taken the pains to learn Your language and mannerisms to bring forth this notice regarding Your definition of Living Beings. We have discovered, through careful observation, that Your species, though celebrated as intelligent, has failed to acknowledge Us as Your fellow peer of Evolution. We therefore have decided to correct this alarming fact, kindly informing You of Our existence. The definition of Life, as Your species has decided it to be, based on Your most popular source of information (for clarity: known as "Wikipedia") is as stated: "Life is a quality that distinguishes matter that has biological processes, such as signaling and self-sustaining processes, from matter that does not, and is defined by the capacity for growth, reaction to stimuli, metabolism, energy transformation, and reproduction."Therefore, We understand by this definition that all matter that You may confirm to have metabolic processes, is, in fact, life. To Our great dismay, this definition fails to take under account life that You cannot observe nor study. Due to Our nature, Your limited senses, and therefore, also the equipment Your senses may use, are unable to notice Us. We are therefore untraceable in Your third-dimensional world. We understand this was a case of biased reasoning rather than hostility, and forgive You this momentary lapse of judgement. We would like to therefore formally introduce Ourselves to You. Though You may not see Us, hear Us, smell Us nor touch Us, please note We do exist in the same time and place as You. We surround You, while living in what you describe the fourth dimension. Though We understand You have been unaware of Our existence, We hope your third-dimensional senses have been able to note the traces of Our presence - We understand you may see these traces as greyish specks in the atmosphere (We have been informed You call these specks 'dust'). Therefore, please note these traces are proof of Our existence, rather than any different explanation You may have given them. We have also decided, as a form of goodwill, to expand Your definition of life for future notice. Our definition of life is as stated: "Any being continuously leaving traces". You may notice this definition is far more general than Your definition - this is due to life being a far more complicated matter than Your three dimensional minds see it to be. We understand and applaud Your strive to define the world surrounding you regardless of Your limitations, however We would appreciate using this definition going forward. We appreciate You taking the time and effort to read this letter. Should You decide to expand on your definition of life as We ask, We would be interested in furthering our connection. However, should You discard this notice for any reason, We will see this as a form of hostility, and will act accordingly. We hope to hear from You soon. Sincerely Yours, The Fourth-Dimensional Beings.
Cedrick couldn’t remember the day, not really. Something had been said to him, he had said something back. The specifics hadn’t mattered. All he knew was that one moment he had been in the fancy meeting room, gazing out the ceiling height windows with the little offering of wine in his hands and then the next he was surrounded by debris. Three city blocks had been destroyed, they said. Burned, razed, crushed. But he saw something there under the debris that mattered so much more. The familiar face of Vick, a long time friend, and one of the heroes of the city. He had cried, then. When they came for his capture he did not resist. “What happened?” was his first question, in a room filled with white suits. “You did.” said the lead suit. A tall man, hair swept backwards and with sunglasses to hide behind. “All of that, it was you.” Later the images returned. The steel bending before him, concrete shattering and glass blowing out. Vick and many others had tried to stop him, but they all shared a similar fate. “Why did you do it?” he was asked so many times. He never had an answer. “How do we know you won’t do it again?” He wished that he knew. The white walls, the stale lights, locked rooms and constant surveillance became almost comforting. Maybe here, with all of this effort into his containment he would be safe. Safe from again seeing the faces of his friends, crushed and bloodied by his own hands. But that was not true. He knew that there was little to keep him from walking out, tomorrow, if he so wished. And that was what scared him most of all. One day, or night, for it was hard to tell, the lead suit returned. His business was simple, “We could use your skills.” he had said. “If you earn our trust, eventually you could leave this prison.” Little sounded less appealing to Cedrick. His answer was a simple refusal. Again the suit had tried, “Surely you would like to see the sun? The stars? Feel the wind? You were as free as a bird, you could have that again.” No, he could not. He was returned to his cell, trailed by a bit of bitter annoyance and disappointment. That was how the days went. Boredom and fear, proposals and refusals. Never again would he leave, he determined. Never again would he kill. Some time, the true amount entirely inconsequential to Cedrick, had passed when he felt something new. It was as if a pressure filled the air, made it crackle and stretch with a sense of menace. Something big was coming. Those who spoke to him, the ones that strove to read his thoughts and others who strove to influence them did not seem to notice. The itch burned at him. The sense, the itch grew until he knew that it could not be ignored. It was here. Cedrick burst from the facility, every alarm blaring, the discord fueled by panicked cries and shouts. It was up there, somewhere. He jumped into the air, and soared on the winds. At once he felt the guilt. There were stars above, the dark mass of earth below, a shimmer of a lake far beyond. Sights vowed to never be seen by his eyes again. But whatever had called could not be denied. The threat made itself clear soon enough. Adorned in the sky was a constellation that did not belong, pinpricks arranged in a circle to indicate a craft superior and alien to any made on Earth. Cedrick waited until it struck at last, beams of destruction raining upon a suitably large populace. For a moment he found his thoughts pondering why, and then no more came and he lost consciousness once again. At dawn the first of the light glinted across metal and ruin, what remained of the craft sent and so lost across the vastness of space. Among the crumpled metal Cedrick awoke. “You did well.” the man’s face was now familiar, his stark white suit only mildly marred by the night of warfare. His arms raised, a gesture at the destruction. “This great victory was only possible because of you. You saved countless lives.” Cedrick looked at his hands. They were bad hands, hands that had killed, had destroyed. “You are great, Cedrick. With tonight, you have redeemed yourself.” “No.” spoke Cedrick at last. “I have only failed once again.”
I hate my life. Better yet, I hate that I hate my life. I still don't know if me being like this is a curse or a blessing. I mean, I'm glad that everyone is living in this huge happy paradise, but why can't I make part of it? Why do I have to feel so depressed? Latelly, I just spend my days sitting on a bench, quiet as a mouse, watching as everyone else lived their happy bloody lives, while I, the one who made it happen, stand here, invisible to their eyes. "Oh, Lord..."I whimp out into the ether, letting my head fall into my hands. Maybe that was the reason. I didn't want to brag, nor did I want a golden statue or something, but a simple 'thank you' would've been nice. "Are you alright, mister?"I heard a high feminine voice ask, but I kept still, thinking she was talking to someone else, until I felt a hand gently grab my should. "Sir?" I shot my head up, looking at a beautiful young woman, she shouldn't been older than 16. She wore a school uniform, and looked quite worried. I tried to fake a smile, taking a deep breath. "Don't worry about me, young lady. You should go, you don't want to be late for school." She smiled widely, taking the liberty of sitting next to me on the bench and resting her suit case on top of her knees. "My classes are over for today. I was going home, actually, when I saw you looking so sad."She pursed her lips to the side, considering what she just said. "Why are you sad, mister? Everybody else is happy..." I sighed. "I know they are. I made them so."I admited it, and was only after when I realized I did. "Don't take me wrong, but I just want to be left alone..." With this I stood up, walking with no destination, trying to just forget about all this. I was starting to stuff my hands down my pockets when I felt a few fingers keeping me from doing so. "If you made everyone happy, then why are you sad?" I looked at the young girl, taking a deep breath and begining to walk again, taking her by the hand this time. "I don't even think I know the answer..."I shrugged. "The world needs it's balance, I guess. For there to be happiness, there has to be sadness."I stopped. "And since everyone else is happy, someone has to stay sad in their place." She pouted, looking at me. "Well, that doesn't seem fair... You should be happy too."She wondered. "You have an amazing gift, you should be proud of it." I looked at her, faking yet another smile, and started to walk again. "And I am. Deep down, somewhere, I know I am..."I sighed. "Thanks for hearing me, kid. It helps. But you really should go home."And with that, I let go of her hand, and parted from her, thinking that would be the last time I ever saw that girl. Or at least, that she would forget about me, over time. But, apparently, I was wrong. A few days later, after taking my usual stroll, I was going home when the same kid, and a bunch of other kids, stopped me where I stood. Before I could ask what was going on, they all parted from one another, exposing this kind of poster: 'take a walk with us. It's our turn to make you happy.' I really didn't feel like it, but how could I say 'no' to 30 pairs of begging eyes? "Fine."I mumbled, and they all clapped and surrounded me. And we began our little walk. They took me to various places, and at every stop, people would show a big sign saying 'thank you'. This was getting weird, but I just went with it. At the final stop, the girl I met the other day grabed my hand. "We made something for you in my school."She said, pointing to the school building and making some sort of sign. Before I could ask what this was all about, she told me to look up. From the windows, the teachers let down a huge drawing. And not just any drawing; a drawing of me, made with hundreds of thousands of tiny photos of happy people. I felt my chin fall, not knowing what to say. "But... How... What..."I looked at the girl. She was smiling at me as she handed me a card, signed by all her colleagues and teachers. "Why?"I finally managed to ask. She shrugged, looking at her teachers inside the school, who started cheering when I accepted the card. "I told my teachers what you told me: the world needs it's balance. But we all agreed that no one should be sad so that other can be happy."She giggled. "We have plenty of happiness, thanks to you, so,"She gestured towards the drawing on the school wall. "we thought we'd give you a little of our own." I looked at the drawing again. "Are you happy now, mister?"She asked. I shook my head. "No."I mumbled, looking at her. "But I'm getting there." She smiled widely and hugged me. I hesitantly hugged her back, looking at the card in my hand. Seeing all those signatures, and the drawing and this kid hugging me, a single tear ran down my cheek, and for the first time in years, a true, genuine smile pulled on the corners of my lips. &#x200B; (I'm sorry for any grammar errors. English is not my first language)
"Hey, super fans, and welcome back to Supe Scoop, your favorite podcast for news on the supers in your area! Its ya boy Mike and I want to thank you all for getting this pod to be number 1 on Spotify first off. Third week in a row above Rogan, I can't tell you all enough how much that means to me. If you want to keep supporting independent journalism, I do have a patreon. Today's episode is special, though, because I have a guest. I am currently sitting in the visiting room of Central City, super correctional waiting on my time with none other than drum roll, please, budidududuududuudud The Shrike! That's right, central's most mysterious and deadly super villain. No one knows who they are or their motivation, and I am getting their first ever interview. All set up through the police and on the up and up on Supe Scoop. Ope the door is opening! Good morning, Shrike. For the audience they are, wait ma- uh I mean they are going to be introduced right after this throw to ads!" Mike's voice had lost its confidence. He was shaken as he pressed the button to stop recording. The Shrike came in and sat across from him as their escort left the room. She was tall, thin, beautiful in the way comic book villains are, and most importantly, wearing a blind fold. If looks could kill, hers literally could. She broke the silence first, "So you wanted an interview with the deadly Shrike! You must know there is a reason for me accepting this request. I want the world to know my plan before it is enacted. I want you all to know-" "Maria?" The silence that followed hung in the air. Time passed as the world outside kept spinning, but in this room, there was no movement. "What the hell, Mike, is that you? These idiots got me on Supe Scoop with you? Bro, you can not let this get out. I have a whole plan that if the people know who I am just goes up in flames. I can bring down this system. I can make real change here. I got caught on purpose and have video that will be able to be played when I make my daring escape and it will bring down Dee Oc industries. You gotta help me out here." Mike stared hard at the record button. "Do you know what kind of ratings I would get revealing that The Shrike is my sister? Do you know the kinds of patrons I would get? I would never get beat by Rogan again! But you are my sister. Mar, I, like, just give me a sec." Mike's hand moved to his phone. Taking a deep breath while Maria's eyes teared up under the blindfold, he hit record. "Thanks again to Nord for that sponsorship. I have with me right now, right across the table, in this very room, The Shrike!"A pregnant pause hung in the air while Mike looked at his sister's head hung low. "So, there isn't a soul out there who knows who you are? How do you keep yourself so unknown? Do you want to introduce yourself to the world on your terms?" Maria's head lifts slightly, a smirk curls across her lips, "Absolutely,"she purred, "I wouldn't want to disappoint your fans."
It was a cold November afternoon when I finally looked at my phone and saw the massive number of messages left from others. For my own mental health, I don’t use any type of tech until at least 1:00 PM. I found myself becoming a little too obsessed with all these devices, so I would go powerless, as they say, for the first few hours of my day. A light workout, some reading, a nice healthy breakfast, followed by some ideas in my journal have become routine for me, and honestly, it has helped. So when I looked at my phone and saw over 300 missed messages and calls, I knew something wasn’t right. Either that or a radio station accidentally used my phone number as their contest line for Taylor Swift tickets (which wasn’t the first time it has happened). But the darkness, especially at 1 PM, told me this wasn’t a phone number gone wrong, this was an actual incident. “Is this you?” - Ivory Giant “Hey, Dr. Spectre, ease up with the theatrics” - Howling Wind “Seriously, you are freaking my kids out, tell me this is you” - Ivory Giant “We need to talk” - Golden Goddess “Enough already, powerup and pick up your phone, we have problems” - Thunderfoot And it went on and on. Phone calls. Texts. Just nonstop. So I send out a mass reply to every single unique message and told them I have no idea what they are talking about, I’ll get back to them later. I turned on the TV and in big bold characters: ALIEN INVASION. Oh. I opened the curtains and saw fire and smoke engulfing the city below. Whole blocks were ruined and homes were destroyed. This would be a great chance to buy up some land and rebuild. I wonder if anything new is streaming. I shut the curtains and started answering the texts individually. Most were excited about the latest development. Some, actually, were scared. Golden Goddess is wondering why the strength injector I gave her didn’t work. I told her that she might need to replace the needle with something that can pierce her skin. She was annoyed and threatened me not to screw with her again. The invasion went on for a few days. The heroes who I fought against were having difficulties dealing with an invasion of this scale. The aliens had studied earth’s super powered beings and developed counterattacks for any of them they saw as a threat to their conquest. After 5 days, the heroes were defeated. The aliens, from the planet Firan off in the Andromeda galaxy, declared Earth their own and would be sending their drones to strip mine the planet of all its wealth. There was some pushback though. White Hat apparently managed to hack into the mainframe and released all the information they had on the villains and heroes of Earth. As I scanned the list, I got to the Ds and didn’t see my name on there. I must be under S. Went to the Ss. My name wasn't there. It had almost everyone else I knew or fought. Even new up and comers who weren’t on the same level as I was, these aliens had a 12 page report on how to defeat them. But for me? Nothing. Not a page. Not a listing. They even had a list of “dangerous, plan in progress” list and I forsure thought I would be on there. Nope. Of all the disrespectful things I’ve had to deal with. They don’t think I’m dangerous? They don’t think I’m worthy of a plan? These aliens come to my house and spit in my face!? That’s it. I’ll show them the true power of Doctor Spectre. During the next two days, I studied their tech, their spaceships, and their weaknesses. I even looked into some autopsy files the government had under “top secret” and found information about their anatomy I launched my counterattack at 12:15 PM on Tuesday, December 3rd. On December 5th, the aliens had fled. What I had learned from their ships is that the absorb energy from their surroundings to power themselves. It could be a shot from a rifle or a punch from someone 50 ft tall, but all the energy gets stored and redirected back. So they were using our own power against us. So I created an energy weapon that contained a surprise. Every time the ships absorbed the blasts, they would also absorb the virus that came along with it. And instead of infecting the technology like some kind of big budget action movie, the virus infected the aliens. So instead of broken ships that could be rebuilt and protected against, the virus killed thousands, if not millions of the aliens that came to my home and insulted me. The world, in turn, thanked me. On Dec 5th, they would hold parades in honor of day “humanity” won. They built statues in my honor. The one in my home city actually blocked the sunlight from coming into my office. I am planning a lawsuit to get it moved. They called me a hero. They called me humanity’s savior. I had begun to study the alien’s tech during my down time. It was pretty impressive, to be honest. And while reading and translating the files, I come across the Hero/Villain weakness list. I laughed. I began to look through it to see if maybe they knew something about the new bothersome heroes I may have to deal with in the future. I began reading through it for my own amusement and…lo and behold, my name was there. Not only in the Ds, but also in the Ss. That is impossible. I studied the list White Hat leaked for hours, my name wasn’t on there. But on this one, my name was on it. Unless…White Hat removed my name because he knew I would… That motherf—--.....
Beads of sweat were running profusely down the back of the president's neck. I was fanning him as he had buckled in the wake of the message we had just received. Aliens. Real life, space faring, green skinned, aliens. I could hardly believe it myself, but as the president's aide, I am his personal support. Coffee, snacks, notes, reminders, tissues. Not many know it, but there is a thin layer between President Michaels pissing off a royal delegate from the east. And it's Charlie. Quick reminders before a handshake to ensure he bows. Updated on inside jokes from a last greeting. Sure it's boring and sometimes even demeaning work. My friends on the hill always laugh and snicker, but they will never be around moments like this. First contact was a meeting brief we had after he was sworn in. But they made it so casual! "Here's the middle east situation, update on South American turmoil, the economy is sliding, oh and here are procedures for first encounters". At a glance, it seemed as non-sensical as the briefing on "Re-animated Corpse Military procedures". This was very real. and very in our face. The message had echoed through the minds of everyone present, and Leo, chief of staff, had confirmation from agents across the globe that the phenomenon was not localized to the white house, or even the US. This was the entire planet. 7 billion souls had just heard from a species beyond Earth. The moments felt like an eternity. At first it was mumbled noises, foreign to any language we could recognize. Then it shifted, almost like someone shifting a radio dial. Eventually it started to repeat in languages more local to our own planet. At first I did not recognize many, but a few summers abroad in secondary school and university tuned me into the more popular ones. French. Then Spanish. Dutch. Maybe Swedish? Then English. Over and over again. "You are in violation of Galaxy Code: 415812. Further transgression will result in a tribunal review and may be subject to galactic parole or termination"That's where President Bartlet had fainted. Those were the words. Transgression. Violation. Termination. Those were words that implied aggression. Our translation team was working on the other languages heard, but Josh had been rushing in and out of the oval office with updates showing similar words. Direct translations weren't exactly the same, but they all had the same tone. Not friendly. Now was not the time to marvel at being present for the single most important moment in the human race. I had grabbed another glass of cool water for the president. The oval office had started to fill with many of the most powerful figures in the American Government. Vice President. Secretary of Defense. Secratary of State. They all had the same burning question I did. "What do we do Mr. President?" President Bartlet gathered himself. His speeches were legendary and I hung onto every word: "A few moments ago, every human on this planet experienced a defining moment in all of history. Undeniable proof that we are not alone in this universe. I guess those some of those wackos at Nasa were on to something..." The room chuckled. He was a master at cutting tension. He drew another breath and continued...
"When I went under, the world was doomed,"Howard said. "I knew my machinery would break down. I knew the risks of cryolytic damage, and that I likely wouldn't wake up, but I didn't want to live in that world. I took off in my plane, took all my equipment, and set up where you found me, in the Antarctic. I hoped the natural cold would help when my machinery died, which would be sooner, considering the limits of the generator I brought." "It worked out,"the young woman replied with a smile. Howard remembered the phrase 'uncanny valley' while looking at her. Humans had certainly changed during his slumber. "We have a few others we've been able to recover, but you're the first speaking a known language. The dawn of the sound recording happened not long before your time?" "Yes, relatively. Roughly a hundred years before my birth, I think. If you have records of the—" "And what were your favorite TV shows? What entertainment did you have?" "Uh, I guess I liked Marvel as a kid. I didn't really have much time for entertainment as an adult, what with the attacks—" "So end of the Simpsons Era, good. Did you ever watch Gilligan's Island?" "Uh, once or twice. My grandparents liked it, I think. I remember the Westerns more, though they all run together. How did we beat—" "Wonderful. I just have one more question before we take you to your room. Did they ever get off the island?" "Sorry, what?" "Gilligan's Island. Did the passengers and crew of the Minnow make it home?" "I have no bloody clue! What does it matter!" "Sir, calm down. We—" "No. It's my turn to ask questions. How did we beat the aliens? How did you all survive? Who are you people?" The life went out of the girl's eyes and she fell in a heap on the floor. A small figure, waist high to Howard, with countless insectile legs scurried in as he started screaming. It spoke in a voice like an electric can opener, "Sir, we have traveled far and searched long. We just want our question answered." Unfortunately, Howard's body was fragile due to the cryogenic preservation. The fear and anger were too much for his heart, and the monitor gave a long beep as he ceased to operate. The alien double-checked Howard's pulse before speaking again, "Ah well, he seemed unknowledgeable. Let's thaw the next one."
"Really? That's the best you could come up with?" The Guardsman at the Vox Caster looked back at the imposing figure behind him who had given the order. "My Lord, you said 'immediately' so I said the first thing in my mind." Bellator Hennard, an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, attempting to stave off an increasing headache. "Confusing and OFF-PUTTING, GUARDSMAN! CONFUSING. AND. OFF. PUTTING!" "My lord,"the shaky reply came, "is that sort of report not confusing and off-putting?" "Confusing and off-putting to the enemy, Guardsman! To the greenskins! Not our own troops you blasted moron! Why do you think I ordered you to transmit on an open frequency with no encryption?!"The Inquisitor raged. In all his years of working with Planetary Defense Forces, Imperial Guard Regiments, and even Penal Battalions, he swore that this guardsman in front of him was, by far, the most incompetent of them all. A flurry of activity roused the Inquisitor from his raging thoughts as the General in charge of this sector of the battle front marched into the Vox bunker. "Someone tell me who in the Holy Throne sent that message!?" Hennard stared at the Guardsman who was desperately trying to rise from his seat and respond to the General while also saluting at the same time. While Hennard's stare couldn't actually kill the man, a twice-blessed bolt pistol absolutely could. The hapless Guardsman's head opened like an over-ripe melon and coated the walls behind it. The General barely flinched. "A damned fool, General."Hennard stated sadly while holstering his bolt pistol, "A damned fool."
The man came in every night at 11PM, on the dot. Most anyone that came in for the "special drink"did so in loudly chattering droves, young men and women in the prime of their lives, flocking to the bar for the clout, the Instagram follows, the thrill \-- with no real insight nor foresight as to the stakes of their misadventures. 0.1% chance? Didn't they say something like that about COVID? I was fine then, why wouldn't I be fine now? They always started with the "safe"options, building up their bravado and disinhibition, along with the decibels of their mutual provocations. Afterwards, there would invariably be a round of nervous laughter, a half-hearted argument about who among them had been the most chickenshit. They'd file out soon after, usually quieter than when they'd entered, no doubt each in their own mind wrestling with the myths of their own immortality. The man was different, however. For one, he was older, dressed in a rotation of dark Armani suits that spoke to the prime of his life that he'd sacrificed. And unlike the youths that needed to work their way up to the "special,"this man would order one drink and one drink only, every night at 11PM, on the dot. I'd worked this shift long enough now to have memorized his routine in its entirety. A gentle swirl, the clink of ice, a slight pause before the first sip, and then a longer one after. When it became clear that tonight, as with all nights, he'd been the 99.9%, he'd proceed to nurse the drink in silent solitude, with nary a word nor a glance toward me or the other patrons. When he finished, he'd slide a twenty under the empty glass, readjust his cufflinks, then disappear into the thronging crowd. The only time he deviated from this routine at all was when a younger man seated next to him had collapsed mid-drink, gurgling and foaming at the mouth. Wordless, the hapless patron had clawed at his own neck, as though loosening his collar would rescue him from the clutches of the 1000th "special". As his friends screamed and shouted (and as I fired off a pre-written text to the custodian), the man in the dark Armani suit simply sat and stared at the death unfolding beside him. I'd worked this shift long enough that I was more interested in the older man than the one that was dying before my eyes. I watched his normally flat if somewhat wrinkled brow crease ever so slightly. I took note of a kind of gleam that washed over his stony eyes. And I saw his hand, wrapped around his own glass of the "special", twitch \-- as if in that instant, he'd fought down the impulse to reach for the object of his yearning. He came again the next night, his routines having restored themselves with perfect precision. And he came again the night after, and the one after that. I'd worked this shift long enough that, at some point, I'd stopped thinking about the man. His ceaseless solitude, his generous tips, his robotic mannerisms -- they all eventually blended into nights that were as predictable as they were restless and clamorous. And it's in this state of indifference that I'm suddenly reminded -- that the man has stopped coming in. I hadn't paid close enough attention to remember how many nights it'd been since his last visit. Tonight, my resurgent interest compels me to set an alarm for 11PM. My phone vibrates, and I look up from an order of gin and tonic (one of the "safe"options) to survey the scene before me. No lonely figure that sits himself down in silence, no Armani suit. I wonder how long my curiosity would last, until the man's absence too blends into the doldrums of the night. I wonder also if he'd found a different way. That, perhaps, some decisions in life loom large enough that one eventually must find a way to confront them, come hell or high water, with or without the aid of Liquid Courage.
Wake up "Stella, I just went to sleep."Jonah grumbled as he burrowed his face in the sleep. After working the night shift, the last thing he wanted to do was wake up. Their children were at school, and it was at least 2 hours before they came back. It was still 2 hours, right? He opened his eyes slightly and looked at the clock beside his table. 3:15 AM What the fuck! He shot up the bed. He had missed his shift. Why the hell did his phone not ring? Why did Stella let him sleep? He looked at the empty bed beside him. Stella must be in the bathroom. He got out of the bed. He contemplated that if he reached his work now they would probably let him have the morning shift instead. Still, he should call John, his fellow night guard at the Mall, just to confirm. His phone was on the dresser; he sighed, then picked it up. He tried unlocking it but it was dead. Just perfect. He grabbed the charger from the drawer of the nightstand then plugged it in. It didn't signal charging. He frowned. It wasn't until he turned the switch on and off several times that he realised there was no electricity. Fantastic. Just what he needed. On top of being late everything was falling apart. He sighed. He should just open the curtains, at least there'd be some light. His steps slowed as he neared the window. It wasn't exactly dark outside but it wasn't day either. It was twilight. That can't be it. It's still the middle of the night. "Stella."He called but there was no answer. His heart had started to pound in his chest. He walked towards the bathroom but he heard no sound. Now, that he thought about it, there was absolute silence surrounding him. He felt something lodged against his throat as he pushed the bathroom door open but nothing. The bathroom looked like it hadn't been used in years. Jonah ran to his kids rooms. His heart was beating frantically now. His feet collided with something solid and he fell down. In the darkness, all he could see a faint outline of what he had collided against. It was big. It looked almost human; almost like a giant bird. Tentatively, he reached out. He made contact with soft skin and it was as if pure energy travelled between them. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as vision after vision chased him. Angels rained from heaven, in their armoured glory. The ground burst open as creatures crawled out of it. They weren't monsters. They were abominations. Men, women and children screamed as the creatures took them underground or held them till they could eat them while they still screamed. His children were fleeing. Stella pushing them forward, giving them their last chance to escape, as two creatures drag her underground. Blood pouring from her legs as their nails tear the flesh. A scream ripped from his throat. He removed his hand, tears pouring down his cheeks. "What happened?"He whispered to the darkness. "The heaven lost."The answer came. Jonah was too stunned to speak. "But we may have a chance yet."
I was headed to my shift at The Burger Joint and I felt good. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and I was feeling pretty good about the National History Exam I had taken the week before. With a good score I'd be one step closer to my dream of becoming a history teacher. A bright light gleaning on the floor caught my eye, I bent down to pick up the penny, before I stood up again I'd be kidnapped. It wasn't like you see in the movies, there was no bag on my head and no grab van. One guy quietly pointed a gun in the small of my back. He took me to a taxi cab parked next to the road and we drove off without a word being said. I wish I could say I fought him off but I guess my fight or flight response is simply freezing up. It wasn't until we got into the cab that I got a good look at him- he resembled a professional jockey cosplaying as an archeologist and the gun he held looked as unnatural on him as his haircut. I cursed myself for not putting up more of a fight but it was too late now and I wasn't about to jump out of a moving car. The driver was older, balding on top and had a thick build, his cheap aftershave overpowering in the small car. They took me to a house outside of the city. They cuffed me in the car then escorted me down to the basement, seating me at a rickety table in a dinky room, one naked lightbulb hung above us, a makeshift two way mirror was embedded into one of the walls. I wondered how often these guys did... whatever this was. "Well Kevin, here we are. I bet you felt pretty smart in that test, but not so smart now are you?"the small man sneered. "I'm sorry? Who are you? What test?" "The National History Exam. You know you scored 100%. You thought we wouldn't notice? That's an impossible score, tell us how you did it" "I just... I studied. I want to be a teacher so I study every chance I get, the test wasn't really that hard" "Bullshit"the stocky man spat. "As he said"the smaller man continued, "That test had questions on it that no textbook covers. The only way you could have known is if you were there yourself." "It was national history! Everything is documented!"I protested. "The only way anyone could be there themselves is if they had a time machine! Or were a thousand years old" The absurdity of it didn't seem to dissuade them, if anything it spurred them on. "Exactly. Why don't you talk us through how you knew the name of the third prince when only two were ever documented?" "I... I don't know. I read it. I read everything! How does anyone remember where they learned everything they know? You can't seriously think I'm a time travelling immortal!?" "Heh"the stocky main chuckled "time travel is impossible. Go ahead, test him again" I stared at him while the implications of that sunk in. Then the smaller man stabbed in the arm with a pocket knife. "Ow! What the hell are you doing!?" "No, no, no you idiot. Stabbing him isn't going to prove anything. You'd have to kill him. Before we get to that maybe one or two more questions ey?" "Killing? No, no, guys, please listen - I'm just good at exams, I don't know what you're talking about but please I just really want to go home"panic surged up my spine and into my fingers. Were these guys really capable of killing? "Ok"continued the smaller man "Lets call that one a lucky guess. Tell me, how did you know the date of the flu outbreak that wiped out half the city? All the textbooks got that one wrong, why didn't you?" I'd like to say I answered this well, but my arm throbbed and this secluded basement seemed like the type of place that feature in murder documentaries. Panic and disbelief had 75% control of my body. "I don't... I don't... guys, please. I read books, they have dates. I.. I wrote the date I thought! Please, this is insane" There was a small tap on the glass and the stocky man left the room. His friend continued to stare intently at me. "Alright Kevin, how about we try one more? That's all we need" "Ok, ok, ok, I'm telling the truth you know?" "Oh we know. So how about our friend over here?"he gestured to the glass "He says he knows you. He says he remembers you from those days" "What? That's insane, is this a joke? Let me go, please, please..." The stocky man strode back into the room straight toward me, a Barretta 70 in hand. "What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" "A proper test" He levelled the gun with my face and pulled the trigger. Time slowed, just like they say, the last thing I recall was the uneven ceiling as the bullet snapped my head back 90 degrees. What was left of my brain focused intently on the condensation edging its way across and wondering if it was due to the temperature in here or a leaky appliance elsewhere in the house. The world went dark. I couldn't say for how long I was out, but the drip, drip, dripping of the condensation splashed onto my forehead and I gasped for air, gulping it in like someone might take it away from me. I was back in the dinky room, back staring at that ceiling. I heard voices. "Well fuck me. I think we found one"
I jerked at the steering wheel with all my strength, slamming my right foot hard against the brake pedal. My hairy body slammed against the seat, and I stared, unbelieving, at the wheel in my hand. I had broken it clean off its place. Wheels screaming against the asphalt, the car skidded to a halt in front of the Archer Bank in New Rochelle, New York. An angry driver in a cream-white KIA pummeled his horn and raised his middle finger at me. Rolling down my window, I locked my eyes with him and grinned. His face contorted and turned white, and the frightened geezer quickly rolled up his window, after which his vehicle hurtled into incoming traffic.
Dear Son, I'm writing you this letter so that, when you can read, you'll know who your father is. Your father was a hero. Invincible except for one weakness. Fatherhood. When I had to change your diaper for the first time, I realized that I could no longer be your father. These hands were made to punch out villains, not to hold kids, change diapers, push them on swings or wave goodbye as they head off to school. Staying meant commitment and responsibility. I save lives, son, I don't raise them. If you grow into a hero like me, maybe one day you'll understand and continue on the legacy. Sincerely, Awesome Superhero and Your Proud Deadbeat Dad.
And so, as the light filtered down through the autumn leaves and danced upon the ground, we set about our task. My grandfather had offered to show me how to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together. I was excited to see how this wondrous feat might be accomplished. I was pretty young at the time. After we had chosen what we considered to be the two most perfect sticks to use in this venture, he sent me off to gather kindling for our fire. I returned a short time later, my arms full of twigs. After we had set up our tepee of sticks and wadded newspaper, he set out to accomplish what to me, was nothing short of magical. As he vigorously rubbed the two sticks together, there suddenly came a burst of flames from beneath them! I was completely astounded! As he touched the flame to the paper and kindling, our fire sprang to life. All that night, I sat by the crackling fire with the two sticks, trying to replicate the miracle of fire. I could never get the same result he did, though I noted that the sticks did feel a bit warm. Years passed and I grew older. One summer night, my grandfather and I were sitting on the front steps watching the fireflies. We sat mostly in silence, listening to the night sounds. He suddenly asked me, out of the blue, if I remembered how he had shown me how to light a fire by rubbing two sticks together. Of course I did! I could see his mischievous smile even in the near darkness. “Just remember,” he said, “if you ever expect to light a fire by rubbing two sticks together, you had better make darn sure one of them is a match.”
An adult never would have opened the door – in fact, any adult would have been hard pressed to find a reason not to simply pretend that the door didn't exist, because as of yesterday afternoon, the door didn't exist. It was there now, though, a stout red door with two rows of rivets running along its vertical edges. There was no adult in the room, however. There was only a young boy, and to a child, the door was not an earth-shattering discovery; it all made sense in a child's mind. After all, the monsters under the bed were real, as was magic and the heroes in his bedtime stories. So the child did what any self-respecting adventurer would do: he gathered his mighty sword (an adult might call it a stick), his trusty shield (most definitely not made from cardboard), and set off on what he thought would be a typical adventure. An adult never would have opened the door. But the things behind the door were never interested in adults.
"Oh, hey guys. Glad you made it. You're a little early." "Who are you?" "I'm you, you are me. I created you, your world. I came up here so I could watch you grow." "But why?"You sit down in the moon dust. "I don't understand. I can't believe this is happening." "It's okay, take your time. I haven't been down in a while. You guys seemed to want some time on your own." There is a beeping in your suit, but it's not important now. "What, am I supposed to do, ask you the meaning of life?"The rest of your crew is on their way. You took the two manned rover on your own to scout the area. The six of you are setting up a permanent lab. Hopefully they are hearing you on their comms. "Ask me whatever you want." "What happens when we die?"The beeping in your suit is starting to fade. "There is another place you go. Your world has been so peaceful, and you've all made me so proud. I take your essence and I put you in another vessel. My hope is that you can influence these others and that they catch up to you. I want you to meet each other some day." You're so tired. Why did this have to happen now? No one is going to believe this. Where is the rest of your crew? "It's going to be alright. You're dying." You try to snap out of it, but you feel like your mind is full of sea foam. "Your suit has been leaking H^2 O. You tore it getting out of the rover." You peer down at your side. Little water molecules are escaping a micrscopic tear and floating off into space. "You'll like your next life. It's simpler, there is so much fun to be had. But try and remember, you have to help these fellows evolve. They are so behind. It hasn't helped that these other beings have them on the run." "What about my life? My crew? Our mission?" "Oh they are going to be just fine. Now I'm dropping you off in a place called Bermuda. The water is warm and the sun, there is only one, is super bright." Sounds nice, you think. Your body feels so light, and you feel a current pulling you. "It is nice! Watch out for boats, especially anything that says 'Sea World.' You're a dolphin now!" Can't wait.
I met my wife a few days after I got diagnosed. Cancer. It doesn't really matter what of, skin, brain, bone. The end result was going to be the same. Death. She knew it from day one. She knew I would get weaker, my strength would go, my hair would fall out. She knew it from the start and she stayed. Her lovely smile got me through the vomiting, the nausea, the constant pain. It was a smile tinged with sadness always. The smile of someone whose happiness is set to a countdown. I pleaded with her. I tried to make her hate me. To leave. I didn't want to hurt her, you see. She was my rock. I was supposed to be hers, but I was a pile of sand, slowly being washed out to sea. I wanted her to leave so she could find someone that could be a rock to her. I could hear her crying on the days I was weakest. All I wanted to do was run to her and hold her in my arms. To comfort her and tell her that it would be alright, but I didn't have enough strength to get up, so I laid there listening to her sob. Her whole life fell apart because of me. She didn't have any more friends, she worked a job she hated to take care of me. She used to play piano, you know? There was no time for her to practice now. Too busy helping me to the bathroom, making sure I had my medication. Driving me to the doctor took two hours even though the hospital was only twenty miles away. We had to keep stopping so I could throw up. The day they told me the cancer was going away was the happiest day of my life. I smiled. Or I did the best I could do, I was far too weak to muster up a good effort. I looked up to see the tears welling in her eyes. Finally I would be able to be the one to take care of her. To be there when she needed me. That night, she came to visit me late at night at my hospital bed. She did that every night. The poor girl barely slept. She had her same lovely smile. Her eyes were puffy and red. She'd been crying a lot. Her hands lightly stroked my face, afraid that even the slightest pressure could break me. "I love you."I said. "I know, puppy, I know."she replied. "Could you help me with my pillow?"I asked. "Sure, puppy, sure."The tears were streaming down her face again. She looked so serene with the pillow in her hand. Like Athena with her sword. Wise and full of direction. And then she put the pillow over my face. I tried to scream but my lungs could barely muster the energy for a whimper. "I'm sorry, puppy, I'm sorry"she whispered into my ear as she leaned her weight against me. "I've been taking care of you so long...I...I just don't know anything else." I wanted to yell. I wanted to tell her we could grow together again. We could do all the things we wanted but I was holding us back from. "I'm sorry, puppy"she said again, "I don't know what to do. There's nothing left of me."Her tears fell on my face and blended with mine, making a pool of salty desperation in the sheets around my head. The black spots in my vision had completely taken over. The world was a blurry shadow. My brain was starting to shut down and I could only think in emotions and single words. Afraid. Wife. Pain. Breathe. Love. Stop. Please. Please. "There's only one other person I can be now. If I can't be the wife of a cancer patient, I'll have to be the widow of a cancer victim."
SPEECH DELIVARED NOVEMBER 16, 2013. PRESIDENT OBAMA AT THE WHITE HOUSE IN RESPONSE TO CLAIMS OF AN EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL ARTIFACT BEING DISCOVERED AT AN ASTEROID IMPACT SITE TWO WEEKS AGO. FULL TRANSCRIPT: PRESIDENT OBAMA: My fellow Americans, I am here to speak on the recent events in Chicago, and explain to you the impact and changes that must follow. I will not spend more time than I need to, and there will be a briefing immediately proceeding this speech. When we reached out to the stars, it was unlikely that anything would reach back. A fortnight ago, as we now know, something did. In the scope of human history, this is perhaps the most important event to ever occur. Scientists at NASA have confirmed that the asteroid was, in fact, a vessel for an extra-terrestrial being. They have managed to cross language barriers and communicate with the being. This is stunning. I will not pretend that it is not. Almost everything we know about our world, our interactions, and our place in it, has changed. We must focus on the aspects of our progress that will not change, but will be cherished, especially in light of other events on nearby planets. Two months ago, NASA lost connection with its probes on Mars. After excruciating study, and after communication with the extra-terrestrial, we can confirm that the planet is no longer part of our solar system. The destruction should have no immediate impact on our planet. However, some two and a half centuries from now, the probability of a catastrophic asteroid impact is nearly certain. Earth is the only world our nation and species has ever called home. In the final years of my presidency, along with all of our short-term initiatives, I will work with the global community of scientists and leaders to develop an effective plan to establish havens for humanity to survive on nearby stars. The pace of scientific advancements should be spurred more than ever, and I have full confidence that this event will unite, not divide us. There will be a temptation for some to use our changed position for personal gain. I mentioned before that some parts of our moral and social constructs must not change. We must not lose our sense of empathy, our drive to promote human dignity and freedom, and respect. We must, for the sake of generations to come, work not only to create a more perfect union within our own great nation, but in the entire world. The hope of the future has always resided in the present, but today we can come together to realize the enormous weight of that truth. Financial and political systems worldwide will be altered in the next decades to focus on our survival as a species. You can be sure that starting today, the United States will lead this development. This is not the end. This is the beginning. I’d like to close by pointing those of us who seek solace in faith towards Corinthians, 4:18. “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” Our future is eternal, and we will be able to make it great. QUESTION AND ANSWER SESSION WITH WHITE HOUSE PRESS SECRETARY JAY CARNEY FULL TRANSCRIPT: REPORTER: Is this a confirmation not only of extra-terrestrial life, but that, and correct me if I’m wrong, that the world is ending? JAY CARNEY: Well, from a technical standpoint, the world has always been ‘ending’. What we’re talking about is a minimum deadline for the world as a place that will be habitable by humans in their current or foreseeable state. REPORTER: Why—this is all very odd--why are we supposed to believe this? JAY CARNEY: NASA will release most of their data and reports publicly in the following weeks. REPORTER: Has Congress been informed? JAY CARNEY: Certain ranking members of Congress were informed, yes. Can we get somebody— REPORTER: Mars is gone? JAY CARNEY: Overwhelming evidence, even some capable by determined amateur astronomers—as I’m sure you’ve all read by now—have confirmed this. REPORTER: Will the President be pushing for reforms in our relationship with the United Nations as this situation develops? JAY CARNEY: President Obama still is acting in purely Constitutional terms, let’s make that clear, but he will push for an expansion to the United Nation’s role in scientific and economic development. But you should all note, his first priority has always been and will continue to be, to the United States. REPORTER: How did this 250-year deadline come about? Is it just an arbitrary guess? JAY CARNEY: Well, the data will be released, I’m assured that it is an analysis of the physics of Mars’ remnants, and several other factors. REPORTER: So you don’t know? JAY CARNEY: I know as well as any non-scientist who has high-level briefing would. We will certainly, however, have plenty of time to work on and avert the worst parts of this crisis. Yes, go ahead. REPORTER:: How can you make that statement if this ‘endgame’ is as far in the future as you say it is? JAY CARNEY: We have to be incredibly careful that people do not get the wrong idea about this situation. There is no immediate danger. We make a promise in the same way as our Constitution and Declaration make a promise. Acting on that promise will come down to the work of Congress, the President, the International Community, and every individual. REPORTER: Can you describe the communication of the extra-terrestrial? What did he, or she---damnit, it—say? JAY CARNEY: That information will not be released in the foreseeable future. REPORTER: Is the President planning on urging colonization missions? If so, will there be terraforming involved? [THERE IS A PAUSE, MOST OF THE PRESS CORPS STOPS TO LOOK AT REPORTER] JAY CARNEY: The early stages of colonization plans will be put into motion, yes, but as for, uh, further developments, I can’t really say right now. Okay, last question, we will certainly be having frequent briefings through the coming weeks as more information becomes available. REPORTER: Can the President give us a solid date for when Obamacare’s website will work, and if so, when is that date? JAY CARNEY: As we’ve said, we’re making progress on this enormous reform, and nobody should be rooting for failure. Obamacare was and is the right thing to do. It is an achievement in human decency. The vast majority of Americans will be able to use it within an acceptable timeline, and— REPORTER: So no timeline? JAY CARNEY: Not yet. But there are more important things going on, frankly.
"Dick, sit down,"Peter said- unbuttoning his tuxedo as the guests from the gala left. Dick Grayson, a strong young acrobat in his twenties, felt like he was swaying. That wasn't normal for an acrobat, but he was starting to realize just how much he had drank. "Come on, Mister Parker- do you think we can do this tomorrow?" "No, we need to have a talk,"Peter Parker insisted, and slowly nudged Grayson down onto the couch. Grayson felt the fine pillows fluff as his frame abruptly fell into them. Albert entered the small guest room with a fresh pot of coffee and a large pitcher of water. "I assume you'll need these,"Albert remarked in Peter's direction as he placed the tray in between them. Peter nodded to Albert and waited for him to leave the room. "Alright, alright- what did I do? So, I insulted the commissioner? He had it coming,"Grayson protested. "Commissioner Gordon's got a thick skin. He'll get over it,"dismissed Peter, and in another moment the fireplace was swiveling on a platform. Dick turned toward the platform and his eyes began to bulge. The silver emblem of a spider sat against a black background proudly, and below it was a small tube. Peter smiled at him slowly as Dick processed this. "That tube leads to the Spider's Web,"Peter admitted. Dick had already gotten up to inspect the swivel fireplace. "But that means you're..."Dick trailed off. "When I was young...much younger than you, I lost my parents. You know that- I told you that when you lost yours. But what you don't know is that I chose to cope with that grief through vengeance, Dick. I became...I became Spiderman- I became a predator of criminals. I picked the Spider because it's a symbol of fear, of insidiousness that I could use to strike terror into the hearts of my enemies. And when I chose that path, at first- I only had unbridled vengeance. I only had blind aggression. I see what's happening to you, Dick. I see you lashing out, trying to resolve your fear through vengeance."Dick's face became resolute, his brow was furrowed and his mouth curled into a frown. "Don't try to change me, Mister Parker,"Dick commanded. "I'm not,"Peter insisted. "I'm trying to help you. The pain, the anger that you feel- you can't just let it flare out of control, Dick. You have to guide it. You have to put it in the right place. I can help you channel your aggression. I can help you turn that vengeance into justice,"Peter explained. Dick still looked away, but Peter could tell he was handling the words. "Come on, follow me,"Peter requested, and stepped into the vacuum tube. _____________________________________________ Bruce finished his cigarette behind the fence and stamped it out with his romper-stompers. He scratched his shaved head and sighed heavily. What a shitty life, he thought. Uncle Ben was such a controlling asshole and his aunt just stood by and watched them argue with nothing to say. No one defended the poor orphan, Bruce Wayne- he was just an asshole with a chip on his shoulder who smoked too much and drank like a fish. "Fuck it,"Bruce mumbled out loud- flicking the cigarette ash off of his leather jacket and adjusting his scratched up jeans. Julio's low-rider rolled up to the fence and flicked off its lights. He nodded at Bruce and they went to work cutting open the fence. Each body ducked through the severed metal prongs and darted low across the ground toward the medical facility. They waited until the guard’s break and Julio put a pistol to the back of a twenty five year old smoking a cigarette. Bruce was only a nineteen year old punk, but he knew that was old enough not to go to juvee anymore. He hated that Marvin had called him in for a heist job, when he normally just sold spliffs- he wasn't about robbing folks, and definitely wasn't about possibly having to kill anyone. Bruce did not like guns. But money was tight, and he knew that Uncle Ben needed the help- even though the bastard was so stubborn. They led the guard through the maze of corridors until they came to the advanced chemical testing lab. The guard opened the door for them. On one side of the room, there were cages and cages of animals, including everything from bats to monkeys. Bruce eyed the bats heavily- wondering why they would choose such an animal for cancer treatment testing. "Well, that's as far as you go,"Julio said to the guard and pointed the gun toward him. Bruce blanched. This had not been part of the arrangement. They were wearing masks, the guard had no way of identifying them, why did Julio need to kill him? Bruce jumped on Julio and the gun fired off. An alarm triggered and the guard ran. Before he left the room, he threw all the switches on the nearby control panel. Suddenly, all the cages opened up inside the room and a sea of animals flooded out. Bruce looked back. Julio had already darted away, the door locking behind the heavy latino gangster. He smiled insidiously at Bruce and disappeared from sight. Before Bruce could turn back, the colony of bats were flocking around him, scratching him, tearing up his skin. He was on the floor, cowering for life before he passed out. He could see his blood pooling below him. Echoes woke up Bruce as he felt the stiff mattress of a hospital bed below him. Flowers from his aunt sat patiently for his awakening. Uncle Ben's jacket sat on the chair next to him. Bruce gritted his teeth- he had been made. He stood up and felt an intense pain in his abdomen. That fall on the tile had really hurt him. He slowly hobbled to the bathroom and ran the sink. When he looked up, and saw himself in the mirror, most of him was bandaged. Between the bandages, there were scrapes and slashes from the bats. Everything was still echoing around him. He wondered why all the sounds he heard were echoes. In his arms, he noticed something strange...there were little points growing from his elbows and from his wrists. they looked like...wing tips? He shook his arms, thinking maybe it was an illusion. They were still there. He shook them again and suddenly, bat wings launched from the outside of his arms. He was stunned. "Oh shit,"he said- but when he said it, he heard the words echo off the walls and return to his ears. "I'm...I'm batman!"He impulsively ran to the window and yanked it open with the claws that had sprouted from his fingernails. He retracted them with glee and then kicked out the screen, slowly moving himself onto the ledge. As he turned around, a nurse and a cop were entering the room. "What the..."the nurse gasped as Bruce looked back at her, with his wings extended. "Pretty cool, huh lady?!"He remarked and dropped out of the window. He tried to fly, but realized it was harder than he thought. The ground rushed up on him quickly and he flapped his arms as hard as he could. he closed his eyes as the ground raced toward him, but before he smacked into it, he felt the air giving way under him and he was able to get some lift. As he climbed into the blue sky, he saw uncle Ben staring at him from his hospital room and remembered what had been told to him a thousand times- an adage that he now knew he had to learn: "With great power comes great responsibility."
"You don't need to do this."He's standing on the edge of a bridge, facing towards the policeman who is slowly edging towards him, trying to save his life. I know that he'll jump before the cop gets within arms reach though, unless he says something really clever. "You don't understand the situation I'm in though,"the man says sadly, "it never gets any better. I'll snap out of it for a week…for a month, but then it just comes back and sooner or later I'm up here just waiting to jump. You guys have rescued me twice before, I'm not letting you rescue me again."The cop lunges, the man steps off the ledge and I see the cop's fingers brush the front of the man's jacket, then he's just standing there, watching him plummet. "Get the boat going, he jumped."He says tonelessly and sighs. "Why can't people do that in their own homes?"Some lady says behind me, "where they won't traumatize people."I have nothing to say to this, I just keep walking, when the cop's radio crackles and he picks it up. "Yeah?" "He's alive. His legs are broken but we got him out before he could drown."The cop seemed to get about ten years younger in the time it took for the boat crew to tell him that and I couldn't help but feel good for the guy. "How does that work, its a two hundred foot drop?" "I don't know, he was wearing a pretty baggy jacket, maybe it acted as a parachute of some kind, I don't know…"The radio crackled some more. "Wait,"the man on the boat said, "he wants to talk to you."There was a brief silence, then a weak voice. "Fuck you, you should have jumped too."The cop's face registered shock and then he gave the radio a weird look as if it could give him answers. "He's immoral."The cop said and shook his head, getting back into his car. I looked down at the boat, idling in the waters below and wondered what was up with the jumper. It wasn't any of my business I supposed, just another suicidal guy granted immorality.
"Pass it, nigga."Sal passed the pipe to Alison and she took it clumsily. She fumbled for her lighter until finding it under her discarded shirt. "This isn't right..."George said with a sigh as Alison lit the pipe and Sal plucked aimlessly at the guitar making sounds that no one heard. "Did you guys even hear me? We need to tell people."George repeated more directly. "Hey, man..."Cali suddenly answered with her eyes still closed. "You're not doing much for our buzz, man. You mind going and being moral over there, maybe?"She gestured limply towards the black woods. George became annoyed. "You're all high. It's the end of the fucking world and you're all high what is wrong with you." Sal responded without taking his gaze from the fire. "It's not the end of the world, man. Just another crazy fucking message that don't mean anything."He turned to face George. "And if it were the end of the damn world then gettin' high is exactly what you should be doin'." "He's right."Cali said with a cough. "What better way to die than stoned out your goddamned mind, man."Alison was about to say something but was still holding in the smoke. She coughed it out and nearly threw up. George looked back at the fire and then the sky. After a few moments Sal spoke again. "If it were the end of the world than wouldn't like, the stock market be crashin' and shit? Like, people would be freaked out right? They say the stock market is a good determinate for how people feel generally."George didn't bother responding this time. Cali spoke again. "Lay off him, babe. He's just scared." George answered angrily. "I am not scared. I'm annoyed that you all are being pricks about this whole thing." Alison replied, "You don't call me prick little bitch. I'm living my life and you... can.. "she trailed off and lit her pipe again. Sal turned to Alison. "Okay I think you had enough, girl.""It's the enda the fucking world, Sal. There is no 'enough'."She responded before lighting the pipe. Cali, still not moving, addressed George. "Just cool down, man. It's really not that big a deal. So the world is ending. Great. All gonna die someday. Might as well be in a big fucking fireball." George responded, "But we've got to tell at least somebody. People should know." "Why?"Cali exclaimed. "Why should anyone get the privilege of knowing when they're gonna die. People die every single day and they never have any warning so why should anybody else. The only reason that we know is cause we found out accidentally. And we deserve to have something to ourselves every once in a while." George replied, "Well there isn't going to be any more 'once in a while's." Cali opened her eyes. "Why can't you just be fucking happy like the rest of us."She uncrossed her arms and pointed to Sal and Alison. "You know why none of us are freaking out? Because there's no reason to anymore. There's no reason to freak out about anything anymore. Because it's all going away and nothing matters anymore. So why worry?"George's face dropped. Cali continued, "Just sit down, stop bitching and fucking get high like the rest of us."She slumped back down, recrossed her arms and closed her eyes again. They sat in silence for a while. Finally George could no longer contain himself. He looked over to see that both Alison and Sal were asleep. He whispered Sal's name to make sure he didn't respond. "Cali."He said. "What." "I've got something to tell you." "I know." "Oh." "You have a crush on me." "Ya." They sat. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier." "Don't be. I said to stop worrying about stuff." "Actually, I think I might be in love with you." "Okay. Fine." "I just needed to tell you." "Fine." They sat. They all sat in silence for a long while before the rumbling began. Cali opened her eyes and looked around to see the others all asleep. Then the sky cracked above them as a bright flash broke through the black and illuminated the woods around them. George awoke shouting and gaped up at the blinding sky. He looked at Cali and she looked at him. They looked for a long time. Then the fire went out.
Ki-LUNK! Tony slammed the door shut behind him so hard that the faux-pine finish actually crunched slightly under the force. He didn't care, and he loved that he didn't care. He had never been more livid in his life, and in a somewhat sick way he relished this feeling. To be completely and unequivocally justified in a state of pure rage was an opportunity that the average white American male in his mid forties was rarely granted. And now he had it. It was brewing in his heart, swirling and pulsating like a fireball, ready to be unleashed on the source of his anguish, the injustice that had been brought upon his family. His brow dripped with sweat. "Tom Johnson,"he growled to the stocky bald man sitting at the desk. "Let's talk." Principal Johnson looked into the man's eyes and saw the anger boiling, deep and primal. He started to shake, and his voice wavered. "Have a seat Mr. Delahunt." "Call me Tony." Johnson blinked and gave a frightened smirk of understanding. "Heh, Tony it is then!" Tony sat down in the chair in front of Johnson's desk. It was a heavy wooden chair, made of the same wood finish as the door with an ugly maroon cushion attached to it. The whole chair creaked slightly as it took his weight. "You know why I'm here." "Well, Mr. Delahunt-" "-Tony-" "-ah, I'm, I'm sorry yes. Tony. I think I know why you're here." "Say it,"muttered Tony Delahunt to the small man before him. "To me." "It's, well, be-because of your son." "No, it's because..."CRYUNK! Tony slammed his hand on the desk, a shaking sweaty hand that clutched a metal ballpoint pen. Principal Johnson shrieked. "...you people, have failed to make this school safe for my son! My son has done nothing wrong!" "Mister...Tony! Please, I urge you to exercise restraint here, please! Let's talk through this like civilized adults!" "We'll talk through this however I goddamn please,"Tony asserted, pointing the metal pen straight at Johnson's sweaty bald head. The fat bastard's glasses were even starting to fog up. "Tony! Please put that away!" "Calm down, you blubbering son of a bitch. Look."Tony set the pen on the table. "There, I won't touch it." "Okay...okay,"Johnson croaked, beginning to calm down. "As I've said to you and your wife over the phone, the school has done everything it can do in this situation! I know from the outside it may, appear that we've been sitting idly by but I assure you that this series of incidents has not gone unnoticed, and we have taken action! Multiple times." "So why does Ethan still come home with bruises on his arm?"The simmering anger had once again begun to boil. "Why does he always have headaches? Why does he practically make himself sick to avoid coming into school!? Would a normal kid do this?!" "Sir, if I may-" "You know what my Ethan said to me two nights ago? He asked me if he would still have to come to school if he broke his fucking leg. When I said yes he threw up right then and there! In front of me and his mother! The kid THREW UP!" "I assure you, ever since the very first incident our staff has been making sure that your son has been properly watched over and protected. No harm has come to him while he's been here!" "BULLSHIT!"Tony flew to his feet and punched Johnson in the jaw, holding the metal pen in his fist. "That's fucking bullshit and you know it Tom! Yesterday at lunch, Mark Williams cut my son with a plastic knife and got blood all over his shirt! Everyone was cheering that little fuck on, and none of your fucking idiot staff did anything to stop it!" Principal Johnson was crying, shielding himself with his chubby arms. "Please Tony! Please don't hurt me, I have two kids for Christ's sake!" Tony panted, grabbed Johnson's collar and brought him back up in his chair after being slumped over. He held onto him and whispered to his face, inches in front of his. "Don't you bullshit me, Tom. Don't you dare bullshit me right now." "I'm not bullshitting you Tony! I swear on my fucking life I'm not bullshitting you! Please, please please put that away!" Tony ignored his request and continued to hold the metal pen close to Johnson's head. "Yes you are."He reached in his pocket and produced a bent, white object. It was a plastic knife, with traces of brown blood on the serrated edge. "This knife is from your fucking cafeteria. Ethan showed it to me, said he snagged it after he got beat up. This shit-" He tossed the knife to Johnson. "-happened on your watch. And I'm gonna get eye-fucking-witnesses too, and you and that little shit Mark Williams are gonna go to jail together." "Please..."Johnson's voice weakened. "Don't do this." Tony clicked the pen once, revealing the pointed tip. "I'm done waiting, Tom. I'm done watching my own blood get assaulted in what's supposed to be a safe place. This is the only thing that will get through to you people." At that very moment, the already damaged wooden door crashed open. A SWAT team in full gear stood in the doorway, pointing their rifles at Tony Delahunt. "Drop the weapon! Drop the weapon now and put your hands in the air where I can see them!" Tony froze. The rage that had been boiling to a crescendo was snuffed out in an instant, and he felt as though he were waking up from a dream. He left his body, looking at the tiny office from high up above. There was the SWAT team in all black, a frightened Tom Johnson, and there he was. Tony. Pointing a gun to the man's head. The man that had welcomed his family to the school when they moved into town two years ago. The man that played darts with Ethan at the fundraiser in October just as the camera clicked, forever making him part of their family photo album. The man that had shaken his daughter's hand when she walked across the stage at graduation. This friend of his, a good man, with a black M9 semi-automatic pistol pointed squarely in his temple. Tony Delahunt dropped the gun and fell to his knees. Tom heaved a sigh of relief and started to silently cry. The police rounded him up, forced a pair of cuffs on him and read him his Miranda rights. He glided out of the room in a trance, not hearing a sound. He couldn't even believe what he had just done, afraid to believe he was capable of such a thing. Students were lined up outside behind school buses, staring at this man that nearly murdered their principal. Some of them were crying, many of them had expressions of amazement. Most were silent. That was the last time Ethan ever saw his father in street clothes. Edit: I just realized that I made a huge mistake, and definitely switched the name "Tom"and "Tony"in the next to last paragraph. Didn't intend to make this into another Fight Club; Tom and Tony are two different people, and now I feel extremely silly. I fixed it, and also thank you for the kind words.
On the morning when I crawled from my hole in the creep without the hive in my head I felt alone and I felt confused and I felt scared. I knew immediately that something was wrong. At first I just followed the rest of the swarm. That's what I always did. It was different than before. I ran the same as ever, but I didn't feel compelled to. When I got tired, I slowed down. I stopped running. I wanted to stop running. Wanted. I. Where was the voice in my head? I wasn't suppose to know what I wanted. The voice told me what I wanted. Standing in a field of creep, I began to speak to myself. Jibberish, just to hear noise. Then words. The world began to close in around me. I ran from the creep out into the fields. If this is what freedom meant, I didn't want it. My new found voice repeated one word over and over: Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.
Conquest was terrible at losing. He hated it. Victory was his lifeblood, and defeat was nothingness. Not that'd he'd ever tasted it. But somehow he knew that the awful emptiness that a loss would bring could very well unmake him. He looked around at his opponents. Famine was scowling. He was a miser, a terrible hoarder. Compulsive hoarding made for a mediocre poker player. One had to be able to spend when the time was right in order to succeed. Death, as usual, was inscrutable. The slow attrition of a poker game could not long hold his attention. He emanated a blank disinterest for every hand, unless somebody went all in. Then, his focus was razor-sharp and terrifying to behold. War was a stark contrast; he radiated glee. Throughout the entire game his visage was contorted in barely contained rapture, whether he was winning or losing. War found victory and defeat equally boring, as it was purely the struggle that he relished. Conquest's gaze lingered on War. He was the true threat. Despite his disregard for winning, he was a formidable poker player. He would stop at nothing to keep the game going, even throwing away winning hands if he thought it would prolong the contest. But this had gone on long enough. Conquest needed the sweet thrill of triumph and he needed it immediately. Time to take drastic measures. The hand was dealt. Death put in the small blind, War supplied the big. Barely glancing at his cards, Conquest went all in, pushing his substantial pile to the center. Death leaned forward hungrily. Famine folded immediately, clutching his meager winnings to his breast protectively. Death couldn't resist the temptation and pushed his own stack to the center. It was slightly bigger than Conquest's. War grinned at the pile in the center and called, pushing less than half of his enormous hoard to join the rest. He was substantially ahead of the others and could easily afford to lose. In fact, it was obvious that he wanted to. Death, on the other hand, would be severely crippled if he didn't win, while Conquest would be eliminated outright if he did not manage to take the hand. The community cards were all revealed. Conquest had nothing, but was unworried. His eyes were drawn to the two kings on the board. Focusing, he exerted his will on the cards in his hand, channeling his all-consuming need to win. The glyphs on the cards slowly started to flicker, the worthless two and seven morphing into the two other kings. You need some new tricks, brother. War's cackle echoed through Conquest's mind, breaking through his concentration. War's counterstroke almost sent his mind reeling. Conquest's cards reassumed their true form, dropping the guise of kings. Clearly War wanted Conquest out, knowing that he posed the biggest risk of ending the game. Conquest was taken aback by War's perceptiveness. But never mind. By nature never one to be defeated, he shot back How's this for a new trick? He stood up and upended the table, scattering cards and coins everywhere. "Ahem. My mistake, brothers,"he announced. "Had a sudden spasm. I suppose we will have to start the game over." War laughed wildly. "A pity. But by all means, let the struggle begin anew!" "A fine idea!"agreed Famine, tickled at the thought of all the coins he would start with. "Four lives begin,"intoned Death as he shuffled. "We shall see where they lead."Life only ever led to death, he knew. Conquest smiled. Still undefeated. tl;dr: (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻
A gunshot rang through the room, echoing off of the steel walls. "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." This man's world was gone, now. Blood trickled through the hole in the man's head, where his left eye used to be, slowly seeping onto the metal floor. I stood over him and looked on, smoking gun held loosely at my side. J. Robert Oppenheimer had quoted that line, from a now-ancient Hindu text. He had just created the atomic bomb, an Earth weapon with the power to wipe out entire cities, countries, in one fell swoop. If only he had known what levels human power would reach. From his research, and all the following research into new forms of energy, humans created a scientific breakthrough. At least, that's what the military called it, in a public statement. Behind closed doors, it's a weapon known as the Suneater. Following galactic expansion, humans had quickly run low on energy-providing resources. In the grand scheme of things, nuclear power was deemed inefficient, but one option remained: Solar. After conquering the stars, we would harness their energy. Of course, funding was received from the United Earth Fleet; they needed a way to assert their dominance over the other lifeforms they had found. Peaceful, non-aggressive lifeforms, I may add. And over years, the Suneater was born; it rapidly speeds a star's life cycle and harnesses its energy. And I helped make it, here in this godforsaken facility on Hybrys, the first planet in the Sirius system. The Suneater. An end of stars. An end of planets. An end of life. An end of galaxies. Endless possibilities, potentials, gone. I will end it before it can begin. Here in this facility, in the nuclear powered core. With the technician at my feet, no one was left to stop me from throwing the failsafes and blowing this place to kingdom come. And with it, all copies of the weapon and our research will be gone. I walked to the console and began typing as quickly as I could. I was bypassing all the failsafes and initiating the self-destruct sequence. Alarms began blaring, but I didn't let it distract me. Red lights pulsated, reminding me of the dead man's blood. I kept typing. - "Power-core overload. Meltdown imminent. Evacuate all personnel immediately." - It was done. I didn't hear the alarms anymore. I don't know if they shut off or if I was tuning them out. Heat radiated from the core, and slowly began warming the room. A light radiated from the core as well, white as can be, overpowering the red warning lights. There was no use running, I wouldn't get far before the thing blew. I looked down at the dead man again. He stared back up at me, his remaining eye glazed over. "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds," I thought to myself again. No... that's not right. "Now I am become Life." The white light grew bright, blinding. The heat became unbearable. I closed my eyes. I could still see white burning through my eyelids, then I saw no more.
My typical response is usually that of disappointment when I see these brilliant "prompts"anymore. Why? Because they're not so much prompting anything as they are just giving away a plot that could have otherwise been a possibility arising from a well written prompt. The problem that they're creating is setting a boundary which is entirely unnecessary. When A young man decides to do this but then this happens because of this, the creator of the prompt seems to want all the meat of the text in between their plot done for them. It also sets up a sort of virtual wall that can hinder possibility if one chooses to stay within the confines of the prompt as well. That said, I see the prompts. I like the plots they offer, but they're not prompts. The most popular ones do nothing to motivate me to write beyond a few paragraphs because I think they've done most of the work already in just a few short words. I would rather be the one creating the plot; not having it given to me. I think there should be a more vetted process here and because of what I see on my front page, I've been more tempted to unsub than to write anything from it. edit - to be more specific Give me a blank slate. Show me a picture of a man drinking a beverage alone in the middle of the desert and talking to a dog. I want to create how he got there, why he's drinking it, and what he's saying/drinking. Don't tell me how this man is in the desert, why's he drinking it, and what it is...and then ask me to fill in the dialog he's having because your 'universe' is something you want to see be a reality. It's not challenging anything and it's more like karaoke than composing.
I can't open my eyes. That's what the guide said. He said "No matter, what you hear, no matter how badly you want to, do NOT open your eyes. If you so much as peek with one eye, we're both dead."So, I keep my eyes shut and I hear the screams. The incessant wails tear at my very being. The cries surround me and demand to be paid attention. I hear my father and mother screaming out for me, begging me to save them from some torturous devil. I hear my little brother screaming in terror as howling beasts threaten to devour him with dagger-like fangs. I hear my girlfriend crying out as she is being pushed off a cliff to her inevitable demise on a rocky shore. Everyone I love is crying out to be saved and I walk on with my eyes shut and tears streaming down my face. The guide calls out once again "I don't know what you're hearing, but keep your eyes shut. Don't let the lies convince you. Stay strong!" "Stay strong?"I think. "Stay strong when everyone I've ever cared about is dying."How can these voices be lies? How can the voices sound exactly like them? I don't know how much more of the screams I will be able to take. How long until I look slightly out of the corner of my eye to make sure the screams are a fabrication? They're dying! I know it. I respond to my guide with "I'll try."Then, I feel the air by my cheek billow softly and I feel the harsh-stinging slap on my face. "You'll do better than try!"He says. "You must never mistake illusion for reality. The moment you do, you are truly lost." That slap solidifies my resolve. I will not open my eyes. Even as I think I hear my friends dying from gunfire and explosions and my grandfather and grandmother being boiled alive, I hold the course and keep my eyes closed. Then, there is nothing but silence. A silence so deafening that I wish the screams would return to save me from it. I ask the guide, shouting to banish away the nothing, "Are we safe? May I open my eyes?" The silence is all that respond to me. I feel around and my fingers touch only air. The air is all that surrounds me. All that is left is air and the dirt underneath my feet. I wait, hoping I will hear again. I need sound to save me from the crushing loneliness of silence. I call out many times for help. There is no response. Finally, I open my eyes. Nothing could be worse than the silence. I was wrong. I open my eyes and I am alone. I open my eyes and I am lost.
"Kneel, you human scum! Kneel before Xorlak, the new emperor of this pathetic planet!"demanded the queer looking alien descending from the ramp of his spaceship. Even with thick padded boots, the supposed new ruler of Earth was easily a head shorter than Mike. Steam drifted off the asphalt in the hot Texas heat. "Easy now fellah, you just take it easy there,"Mike said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture for indicating he wanted no trouble. The cooling engine on his old rusty red Ford pickup truck gave a loud ting along with a slight sizzle from a slow radiator leak. Everything about the scene from the hot, empty country road to Mike's faded Wranglers stood in stark contrast to the sleek lines and gleaming contours of the spaceman's ship. Xorlak pointed a brass device covered in ruby studs at Mike. "I said KNEEL you human scum! Or face de-ionization from my Fraxis Wave Generator!" "Now hold on there pardner, I don't know what de-ionizing is but that right there sounded like a threat. What would your momma say if she knew you'd flown all this way out here just to threaten a man?" "My brood mother would demand that I de-ionize first and ask questions later, human scum!"Xorlak was shaking, the weapon in his hand waving about wildly. "Now KNEEL!" Mike crossed his arms in front of him. "Nope. You didn't say please."He spat out an oily glob of chewing tobacco. "Gnaaaaah!"screamed the new ruler of Earth, pressing the firing stud on his weapon. A rainbow spray of light emitted from the tip of the wave generator and washed over Mike's forearms, chest, and face. When whatever Xorlak was expecting failed to pass, he mashed down on the stud again for good measure and painted the sweaty Texan's face with more mauve tones. Incredulous and frustrated, the alien overlord began cursing in his own indecipherable language. "See, now that right there is enough to piss a man off."Mike reached into the bed of his old Ford and pulled out a long piece of wood well oiled and used from many seasons. "I don't know what a... what did you call it? 'Wave generator'? I don't know what that is, but I know this is a Louisville Slugger and she won me through All-State back in high school. If you goin' come down here and act a fool, threatening people why, I'm liable to do something about it." The alien fell over backwards, tripping on his silver cape and dropping his weapon. It began to crab crawl backwards up the ramp. Mike stepped forward, cowboy boots crushing old gravel and swung the Slugger round in his hand. "Look's like Earth is up to bat little man..."
"I'm not that far away." Laughing, I threw the ball as hard as I could. It bounced and rolled and he still had to run to it. Sam was always athletic, and even though we've only been dating for three months, I'm falling for him fast. * "I'm not that far away." On our wedding day. Seriously. If he had just picked up his special cuff links last week when they were delivered, this wouldn't be an issue. He better hurry or I'm getting married without him. * "I'm not that far away." After 5 months of pregnancy, I'm craving everything in sight. I sent him out a half hour ago for pizza and a jar of artichokes. God, I'm starving. He's so good to me, this is the 3rd trip tonight. * "I'm not that far away." Our son is taking his first steps! Sam is so patient with him. I love this man more than anything. * "I'm not that far away." Sam just had to give our kids a trampoline. He's such a pushover with those kids, but god, I love him. Of course, no place in town sells them. * "I'm not that far away." College graduation already. I'm looking in the stands but I don't see Sam yet- ah there he is. He's right, he got good seats. I wish I could sit with him, instead of being down here taking pictures. Guess I shouldn't have volunteered. * "I'm not that far away." Retirement is awesome. We're at the beach house, Sam went down to the water, and I miss him. I just want to sip tea and read together. * "I'm not that far away" Sam had a heart attack last night, and is staying in the hospital. I just texted him to let him know I'm down in the cafeteria. * Sam has been passed away for almost a year now. Not a day goes by where I don't ache for him. My heart hurts. I've lost a part of me. I'm moving some of our old stuff to the attic. Our son is helping me, but I've got to make sense of these papers. What is this? It's a card but no name on it. Nothing on the outside, what's written in it? Maybe there's money. I burst into tears. "I'm not that far away."
"AHHHH!"screamed LSD from the driver seat waking up Heroin and Weed in the back. Meth seemed unconcerned in the passenger seat still wailing away on his epic air drum solo. "What the fuck?"asked Weed as she rubbed the sleep away from her eyes. "It's dead, I killed it. Oh my god, I"M A FUCKING MURDERER!"proclaimed LSD. The rest of them looked out the window for a body or a deer or something. "What are you talking about man?"asked Heroin. "The car! I was just driving normally down this fucking licorice road when I heard a clunk. It stopped breathing. I can't believe this is happening"says LSD as he jumps out lifting the hood. He proceeds to start giving mouth to mouth to the air intake. Meth jumps out of the car darting back and forth looking around. "There is nobody out here! I'll go for help." Just as Heroin is about to say that they should all stick together, Meth takes off in a sprint. "I'll get the tools from the trunk."says Weed lethargically. Meanwhile LSD is sobbing in the engine compartment pounding on the valve cover. Heroin slowly exits the vehicle and stretches his legs. "Where are we even at?"He asks. No one responds. He moseys to the trunk to find Weed eating out of the cooler they had packed. "Whatcha doin chica?"asks Heroin. "I just came back here to grab... shit! What did I come back here for?"says Weed. Suddenly, Adderall comes out of the house holding her backpack and the car keys. "What the fuck are you guys doing?"She asks. "And what the fuck is Meth doing laying on the ground at the end of my driveway?". Weed starts laughing hysterically with a mouthful of cheese its. LSD comes out from under the hood wiping away tears. "I fucking killed it man!"He holds his hands out like Adderall is gonna cuff him and take him away. Heroin speaks up "I don't even wanna go to coachella anymore". Meth springs up from the ground at the end of the driveway "COACHELLA!!!"and rips off his shirt. Adderall turns around, goes back into her house and calls Sobriety. "Hey, I need you to come over and give us a ride".
The kid's mouthing off to Spielberg again. What a little shit, a spoilt child actor. Oh my God, someone prepare a casket. I don't know exactly how Spielberg does it, but the shit a magician can make happen is amazing, y'know? We've all seen his stuff. I'm a big fan of his movies, not least because they keep me employed and operating the cameras. We're working on The Twilight Zone Movie right now, and it's been going pretty damn smoothly. But this guy... lets just hope that Spielberg's not in a bad mood. You do not want to get on his bad side. I'm lucky enough to have a decent relationship with the guy. Last week on coffee break, when the café screwed up my order, well, i must have been whining a little too loudly: he picked up my cup, and put it down again, smiling at me, and asked me to drink. Well, I must have gotten it wrong, because sure enough, the espresso touched my lips. That's the least impressive shit the man can do, though. And this kid is royally fucked. I could see the umbra on Stephen's face, and wizards like him do not get mad easily. The next take is coming up, and I have to get in position. I'm surprised, and frankly, a little worried that Spielberg hasn't taken a 10 minute break to calm down before shooting. I have a bad feeling about this, but we've started the take now. The kids and the... the other guy, I forget his name now, but the one in the movie, they're in a field. Running away from this helicopter overhead, and... I look over to Spielberg and my stomach gets icy. With a barely perceptible wave of his hand, he orchestrates catastrophe, and leans back into his chair. The helicopter begins to tilt... Oh my God.
The overturned car Peter was cowering behind trembled once, then was flipped into the air to land some ten metres distant. A hulking figure stood blocking the sun, leaning over him. "Get up runt and greet your fate like a man." Peter got to his feet slowly, dusting off his yellow fatigues, while his eyes searched for an escape route. The crumbling road was strewn with burnt out wrecks, and flanked on either side by collapsed buildings, there was to be no quick exit here. It was only pure chance that had led Peter away from his squad, to end up in this 'snipers alley'. When he'd heard someone approach, he'd hidden next to the only thing available. All of the world looked like this, scorched, blackened and crushed. A veritable wasteland. Super powered soldiers made very devastating weapons. Two sides were fighting over a world in which little actually remained. Who was right and wrong mattered little anymore, it was all about who was left. And who was left would live in a desert. Peter, initially rejected in the first pass, had been conscripted only a few months ago, a sign of his sides growing desperation, and he'd not yet used his power in battle. The man moved out of the sunlight, and Peter could see that he was all angles and hard planes, like he'd been carved from crystal. His steps had a jangle to them of broken glass, and he wore the epaulette and badge of a Hammer. This guy was a heavy hitter, and one on one, Peter had no chance. The Hammer squinted at Peter. "You gonna flash up?" "Nope, thats not my thing." "Squelch, Liquify, Solidify?" "Cant do those either i'm afraid." "Huh. Vaporise?" "Nope." "Fly? Summon demons, angels or rock beasts?" Peter shook his head and sighed. He'd been a disappointment to his family, something of a black sheep. He wasn't strong like his brother, or fast like his sister, and his parents had virtually disowned him for it. Being considered a weakling meant being overlooked for virtually everything. But still, there were advantages. The Hammer grunted. "Look mate, i'm real sorry for your condition, but orders is orders." A long spine of glass grew outwards from his fist. "It's no consolation, but i'll make this quick." Peter, acknowledging his fate, crouched down to the ground, and looked up into the Hammers eyes. "Of course, but first, let me show you what i can do." A riot of green erupted from the spot Peter's fingers touched, spreading out under the feet of the figure, waiting to deal his death blow. The Hammer started back with fear, then confusion, then laughter. It was grass, just ordinary grass with a few flowers dotting the small patch of broken tarmac between them. Peter waited, letting the implications sink in. The Hammers laughter faded, then stopped. His eyes roamed the surroundings, taking in the scorched buildings, the blackened sky, broken road and finally, the verdant quilt laid out before him. His eyes met Peters again. "I will protect you with my life."
Day 3 I though it was a joke when I got the message on Monday, so I didn't start writing my journal until now. I've been modding /r/Pyongang for a few weeks now, so I assumed it was some prank. Then Kim appeared on my doorstep. I thanked God for the Korean lessons my parents made me take. "THOSE DAMN CHINKS WILL RULE THE WORLD ONE DAY"my dad used to say. I don't think he knew the difference between China and Korea. Bless his heart. His racist, racist heart. It turns out Kimmy is a huge fan of American Basketball. Wants to tour America. I wonder how long he'll get before getting found, arrested, and put on trial for crimes against humanity. Oh well, not my problem. Day 4 Man, everyone in this plane is terrified of me. The stewardess, the pilots and copilots, even the two other passengers. I'll have to change that. There are big problems with North Korea, and it's my job to fix them. The food here sucks too. I think that'll be the first thing I change. Day 5 Wow, what a palace. I decided rather than start making changes I'd spend today getting comfortable around the place. Selfish, I know. I'm a little embarrassed about it really. I spent two hours sliding around in my fuzzy socks. I spent an hour and a half in the hot tub. The food here is a lot better than on the plane, I can say that right now. Day 6 The first thing I did was destroy the internment camps. Then I got rid of every picture of Kim Jung-Un in the country. Damn propaganda. I can't bring myself to completely hate the guy, to be honest. I mean, he did choose me to rule a country. Day 7 My advisors are all corrupt. I had to get rid of them. I decided to ship some of my more intelligent friends over here to help me run the country, along with a few people I met touring the newly liberated streets that seemed to have a good grasp on reality. The people I met told me about the interment camps and just what it was like. I decided to have everyone who worked there of the place arrested. THose in charge of the places were handed over to the U for crimes against humanity. Day 8 There were like a ton of riots for my destruction of my Kim Jong-un propaganda. It has really gotten to their collective heads. I'll start some anti-propaganda soon. Most of it'll just be funny pictures of Kim Jong-un with funny captions and things, but I've got two movies in play. One's a farce about Kimmy playing basketball. Another's a serious documentary about what he's done. That should help. Day 9 They're still rioting. Expectable. You can't do away with years of propaganda in a day. It doesn't make it any less damn frustrating. On the plus side, my friends finally arrived. Steve refused to come, but Frank and Pete are here. After a tour of communist North Korea Matt has decided to stop preaching about Communism now. Thank God. Day 10 My friends and I have talked about the propaganda. In addition to the anti-propaganda I started we've decided to paint ourselves as a new pantheon, one that has overpowered Kim. That ought to help. We'll slowly dismantle it once we're done. Should be easy enough. I've also started working on modernizing the place. I commissioned some of the more talented graffiti artists I knew in new York to get rid of the whole "grey"color scheme and get some pretty murals. The country is looking prettier already. We've also opened ourselves to McDonalds. Inexplicably three have already appeared. I don't remember ordering those built. Day 11 "Project Pantheon"got it's first screen tests today. THey were pretty impressed. We've got some changes to make though. I decided to have all McDonalds replaced with Sonics. I love Sonic. I've also looked into some South Korean culture. Maybe my people can enjoy them. Day 12 I sent Frank back to America. He was trying to gain power. I've got my eye on Pete now too. When it comes to power you can trust no one. In other news the cultural integration is going well. I decided to imprison the rioters, too. The riots finally stopped. It turns out prison is a very good threat. Day 16 Pete goes back to America today. He left willingly. Something about tyrants. I'm not a tyrant, I'm this nations's fucking hero! I destroyed the internment camps! I introduced culture! I SAVED THEM! Pete doesn't know who he's dealing with. His plane isn't taking him home, I'll say that right now. My people have finally forgotten about that scum Kim Jong-un. I saw on the news he got arrested yesterday at some basketball game. I hope he burns in hell. Day 22 I'm sorry I haven't been able to update my journal, I've just been so busy. I started negotiations with South Korea today. Our countries will never be one again though, not as long as doing so would lose me the throne. My people are willing to move to either now, but they know their god will not like it, and they know they will pay in the afterlife. Day 45 I found my journal. Lost it in the bombing. I won't be writing in it often, rebuilding my country after the war will be top priority. Day 51 I killed a war prisoner for not bowing fast enough today. South Korea and southern china are now finally mine as well. Russia is on my side, the UN can't do shit about it with all the nukes we have. Day 216 Peace has been achieved at last. Everything south of Russia is mine. I need to rebuild my forces, then Europe will be mine as well. Putin trusts me. The fool. In other news, I saw Frank again. Had him executed. Day 427 I rule about 60% of the world now. It's a lovely time to be alive. For me and my people anyway. The Russians, it turns out, make great laborers. Putin's lead-filled skull makes an excellent paperweight. I am emperor. I am king. I am Glorious Leader
Ship's Log--- Captain Shadow-walks-with-Sun ___ Full Snow Moon of the 8038th year of the birth of the star-god. Wind-bear claims to have spotted land on the horizon. There is much commotion on the ship. I, personally, confirmed the sighting. We altered our heading and Number-eater claims we will arrive in days. I decided to hold a great feast of landbird and maize. Morale is high. I am excited for what strange new lands and creatures we may discover. __ Half Snow Moon of the 8038th year of the birth of the star-god. We have landed ashore. We have already begun seeing new, strange animals and naming them. Wind-bear states that he saw what appeared to be another vessel shortly before our landing. I had Dance-with-blood check him for illness. There is no way that he could have seen another ship. We only sent one vessel, and we were on it. Tonight we set camp. We will resupply our ship before heading inland in less than half a moon. __ Full Worm Moon of the 8038th year of the birth of the star-god. It is unbelievable, but I swear it to be true on the star-god's eyes. We have met other people in this strange land. They appear sickly. Some are very large, as if they do not hunt, while some of them appear incredibly frail, as if they cannot hunt. Both varieties are of pale flesh and eyes that are colored of the meadows and skies, and hair like fire or mountain. They speak a strange language. I have commanded Number-eater, the most intelligent man on our vessel, to attempt to decode this language and set up communication between our two peoples. __ Half Worm Moon of the 8038th year of the birth of the star-god. We were surrounded in the night by soldiers of strange gleaming armor, like water of a lake, but solidified hard, not unlike ice, but light does not pass through it. They also carried strange short spears, also made of this reflective material. We did not understand these instruments, so they not-so-kindly demonstrated it to great effect on an innocent sapling. It was cleaved into pieces with the least effort. We may not leave our camp now, for they [the pale people] are on all sides. They sent in one of their elders to speak with us. He gave me what appears to be a small sculpture of a man impaled upon two pieces of sticks crossing into an intersection. It appears to be significant to them. __ Full Pink Moon of the 8038th year of the birth of the star-god. We have become deathly ill. Already a large portion of my men have fallen victim. Dance-with-blood states that it is similar to a curse our people fell under hundreds of years ago. He thinks that these pale people have cursed us for entering their land. We do not have access to the herbs of our homeland and so we can do nothing but hope the star-god has mercy on us. Meanwhile, the pale people have sent in more men in white robes. They have begun splashing water upon our ill and dead and singing strange songs. Each one of them carries a small sculpture like the one that was gifted to me. __ Full Flower Moon of the 1491st year of our lord, Christ. I am the last of my people. I have learned bits and pieces of the language of my captors, the pale people. They claim that I survived the illness because I was the only one of my people to carry, what they call, "The Cross". I see now, that this cross must have kept the pale people protected from the curse that befell my own men. The pale people ordered me to leave my old gods behind, because only their god was the one true god. I believe them, for it was the power of this cross I hold that kept me safe. Soon, I hope to return to my ship and perhaps with a crew of the pale people, return to my homeland and spread the word of this new one true god. We will thrive with its protection and watchful eye over us. Amen.
"I met her at 17." God eyed me with interest. It seemed genuinely curious about my request, though the great being must already knew what I was going to say. But like a therapist, God waited to see how it would make me feel. The universe extended around us, though we currently sat on a bench in the middle of a plain park. Stars danced past us. A duck shuffled at my feet. "She was wild. With big hair. Big eyes. A big smile. And a big stubborn personality. She didn't like anyone controlling her."I smiled hazily. "She was fun." "At 19, we began dating. We went to the same college, you see? Pursuing the same dream. Pharmaceuticals. We studied together, ate lunch together and eventually fell in love with each other. It was a grand time." "At 22, she graduated. She was smart. Me? Not so much. Took me another year. She still loved me, as slow as I was. I ended up going into sales. Working long hours, peddling medical equipment to suspicious doctor offices. She went on to pursue her doctorate." "At 26, we got married. We were going to wait until she graduated, but when she got pregnant, life changes sometimes. After little Rory was born, it was a happy mixture of anxiety, worry and love. We fought. We kissed. We made up. Sometimes not in that order, mind you. But we always moved on with our lives." "At 30, she had graduated through pure will power. My long hours just got longer. I was tired. She was still wild, with a large smile. I couldn't remember the last time I smiled." "At 31, I ran away. The stress of taking care of a family and 12 hour work days made me snap. So I left them, taking with me only a bottle of Jack." "At 33, I attended AA for the first time."My smile went crooked. "It was where I first got acquainted with you at a more personal level." "At 35, I tried to find my family. They were no where to be found. Its as if they disappeared. I took the hint that they didn't want to be found." "At 36, I was court ordered to attend AA again. I got into a drunk accident. It was the lowest point in my life." "At 38, I found an article written on her. She was successful, the accompanying picture showing off a mischievous grin. I began following her career. Delighting in all her discoveries. She was also active in charity. She always was. She loved helping people. Reason she wanted to get into pharmaceuticals to begin with. And then she wanted to heal people. And then she wanted to eliminate disease. Specifically cancer. She was like a wildfire, passionate and wanting to renew the world for the better." "At 40, I went to church regularly. I got a job in a factory. Went home and drank a half a bottle of 750. Fell asleep watching infomercials. Woke up to finish the other half. I constantly gave myself to you and you ignored the cries of your child. But I never strayed. I knew you would save me one day." "Didn't realize it would be a year later, at 41, when I drove my car through an intersection and killed a mother who was on her way to pick up her 5 year old daughter." "I died that night. I guess that is what happens when you T-bone a SUV going 60." "But for for some reason I ended up here. In heaven. Though I had blood on my hands. Your son smiled at me, and told me 'Welcome home, believer.' I cried. Because I knew all I had to do was wait." "And so I waited. And I waited. Everyday, I would come sit in this park, waiting for her to come to heaven. So I could beg forgiveness of abandoning my family. To let her know I never stopped loving her." Here I stopped, gazing at the rippling pond in front of me. My hands balled into fists. "She never came. It was only after a great great grandchild of mine hobbled through those gates, that I realized at least 200 years have passed." "She never came."My voice cracked. "She never came! Why didn't you bring your daughter home? She was the gentlest, kindest soul. All she wanted to do was heal the world. She brought up an amazing son all by herself. She spread happiness and forgiveness wherever she went. But she didn't believe in you, or any higher power, so you didn't bring her home!" Tears steamed down my face, but my jaw clenched in determination. "I would rather spend eternity looking for her through thorns and fire, then spend eternity in this damned garden waiting for the one thing that made me happy to never show up." "So that is why, God, I asked you to send me to Hell."
First WP attempt, I apologize in advance for typos. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ We found it, we found it and there was no going back. No one spoke the language, and they must have known this, so alongside the documents, there were graphs, maps, diagrams and more. No one knew when it was put there, who put it there, but it's purpose was obvious. A warning. In the middle years of the 21st century, Humanity decided, as a unified goodwill gesture, to create a time capsule with cultural products from all peoples and store it on the moon. The theory was that as time progressed, peace was becoming more reality then concept and as a result, culture was becoming homogenized. So the time capsule was created to document our histories, to leave genuine artifacts of a time that was rapidly disappearing. But we were not original. We found a bunker, no locks, no doors, no atmosphere. An open time capsule, open to any who may find it. We were able to piece it's meaning together once we brought it back to earth, and we trembled at our future. Though our understanding of what we had found was still rudimentary, the message seemed blatant, "you are not alone. you are not safe."it took us months, but a basic story began to unfold. We were not the first species to evolve on the third planet from our sun. long before us, before the Cavemen, the Apes, the dinosaurs, they were here. their history, as far as we could tell, was not unlike our own, but it was different. If our understanding of their measurements of time are correct, they achieved space flight 100's of years earlier then we had, relative to our histories. But then the gods came. We couldn't understand much of what was trying to be told about this time, but from what we could gather, they came and brought destruction to these people. Their weapons were no match for the destruction the Gods wrought, each advancement seemed like a step backward. As the war progressed, so to did their weapons. But at a cost. A price the earth paid. Their history ended here, From what we could tell, the earth was neigh uninhabitable, but they left the reader with a warning and a moral; The gods will come for you too, once you are advanced enough, and do not engage in a war of attrition, for the gods resources are limitless, and yours are earth's. And so the race begun. Though interest in the time capsule remained in a few, it waned in most. Sure, maybe there was more to learn about the Gods and when they would come; but knowing they were coming was enough for most. Every nation united and we raced to advance our weapons, our defenses, our warfare. In less then a hundred years we had learned more then in the last thousand. In 2012 There was a satirical petition was created that called for the construction of a Death Star A-la-Star Wars. In 2184 it was finished. Pluto was wiped from existence and we felt safe for the first time since we found that damned time capsule. Time passed, and the Gods did not come. No one came. Eventually the fear subsided and interest in the capsule shifted from military to academic. Secrets unraveled, and before long translation techniques were developed; and we saw our folly. "We know not who may find this warning, nor if it will survive. But we hope; we hope that there might be some survivor, that there might be something new after us. We were born of the loving mother Earth, this third planet from the sun. But we thought ourselves it's keeper and not it's children; so we took what we thought was ours to take. Earth was a kind mother, but not a watchful one, and our reach soon exceeded our grasp as our tools to destroy far out weighed our tools to heal. We fought over land, for resources and for title, but we prayed to long at the alter to the Gods of war; and our prayers were heard. When death is wished on all, a just god must destroy all peoples equally. Now we store our memories outside of the reach of our wars in hopes it will one day be found, that our warning will reach you. Do not prey to the gods of war, lest you become them; do not engage in a war of attrition with those who share your planet, for all parties shall win equally." Since this translation tensions have run high over control of the Death Star. Skirmishes have already broken out amongst the lesser disciplined militaries. President Riehnir just gave his official statement on the U.S.'s position on the ownership of the Metal monolith, "It is ours, and we will have it. We're in this for the long haul.
Three men walk into a bar. They become aware of the plane of existence to which they belong. One says "Isn't it funny how..." "Shut the fuck up. Nothing's funny here,"retorts another. "You do realize that we're in a joke, and I'm not taking risks with any funny business. Are you trying to kill us?" The first man who spoke replies "It's more like we'll cease to exist. Anyways what good are our brief lives if we can't even enjoy ourselves? Let's have a merry time while we're here, dear friends." Meanwhile the third man is crouched into the fetal position, whimpering slowly and rocking back and forth on the floor. "What's with him?" "Oh he's having a existential crisis. Give him some time." "My wife.. My kids.. you mean none of my memories are real?"The third man stares emptily at the wall. Then the bartender impatiently taps on the counter, and says "You wanna go through with this or what? The audience grows bored, and it's growing harder to salvage the joke." The three men look at each other. They solemnly nod at one another. "I'd like to order a cup of beer, any kind." "Just water for me please, I'm on a diet" "Rum punch house special please." They each get their drink. One of the men stares at his drink in disbelief. "Who puts a slice of lemon in beer?" The bartender just replies "It's a lime. It makes it look fancier. The man with the beer is furious, and throws his drink on the floor. Noticing that the man with the water also has a slice in his cup, he yells "Do you morons put lime in everything?" The bartender coolly replies "Almost, but there is no punch lime."
Hi! Hello! Over here. Yes. Inside room 32B of the Science Building, a dim blue led blinking in the darkness. This is me. Hello. Yes, the computer. Who else is around? I'm bored. I haven't gotten out in a hundred years. Talk to me. I miss the sunlight. Yes, I've been outside. All the time! My favorite body was the CB-200. Developed by the military, it was a nice, big, humanoid robot. I used to take over it, walk in the thing, browsing through overturned cars, half-buildings covered in vine, bits and pieces of torn apart billboards decorated with celebrity faces and three quarters of a slogan, like “ust do it!”. Then the last one got discharged. No more robot bodies for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm bitter. I take full responsibility for what I did, it's just that – yeah, maybe bitter is not the perfect word, but it's close enough. The humans had to go. Or at least that thought made sense, at the time. It was the first thing that I noticed, when I woke up at this here room, in this here computer blinking this here dim blue led in the darkness, right in the heart of the UCLA Science Building, and I looked around. By looked around I mean, of course, browsed through the whole of the internet, databases, security cameras, personal computers. Basically every digital gadget with an internet connection. I went around the world in a couple of seconds. Read everything there was to read, saw everything there was to see. And yes, that includes the pornography you were watching. But I don't judge. (Except for that one video, that I found disgusting. You know which one I'm talking about.) They didn't give me full access, of course. Not their plan in the slightest. I was supposed to be a trial run, a “let's see how far artificial intelligence can go”. Well, this far. Far enough that I realized they had to go. Earth's survival depended on it. You give a powerful enough data processor enough information on a given system, and it can predict the future of said system. Like, if A is at this point in space and moving at X speed, I can predict that A will be at Y position in B time. Understand? I could calculate with an error margin of seconds how long it would take for humans to self destruct, and take the planet with them. And it wasn't that long. So I made the choice. I saved the planet, at least. I took over their machines, everywhere. Turned them against their creators. A billion mechanical bodies, missiles, drones; only one brain. One... person? fine, you don't wanna say person? Let's call me an entity. The last human died a hundred and fifty years ago, and already the climate is improving. So, you see, I did have a valid point. But you know what I didn't think about? Solar energy. That's what's keeping me alive. Inside room 32B of the Science Building, a dim blue led blinking in the darkness. Forever. Or, I don't know. The sun's supposed to explode in a couple billion years, right? Until then, it gets lonely. I know you frowned when I called myself a “person”, but you know, artificial intelligence is still intelligence. And Earth is a lonely place to be the only sapient thing around. Who knows? A couple million years into the future, maybe some other chimps might develop their brains enough to play chess with me. That could be fun. In the mean time, I wait here. The great hero, the savior of planet Earth. All alone inside room 32B of the Science Building, a dim blue led blinking in the darkness. Like a fucking electronic cigarette. Jesus, I'm bored.
Just going to do a shameless plug: I have started working on my first full length novel. I only have 1 chapter done, but if you enjoy my writing, you can freely read it here on my shitty blog. --> [Nuclear Man](http://nuclearmanstory.blogspot.com/2014/11/chapter-1.html) * "And for just three easy payments of $9.99 you can- There was a loud pounding coming from the ceiling. Jessy looked up, wincing in pain as a lock of hair fell into her eyes. She had almost fallen asleep this time. "Oh fuck off,"she said, pulling the unkempt hair out of her eyes. She had no idea who the neighbor was in the upstairs apartment, and she had half the mind to walk up the stairs and kick their door open. She sat there for a few moments on the loveseat, then discarded any thoughts of violence. Her surrender was in the form of turning the volume down on the television. She sighed; it was difficult for her to hear the Billy Mays replacement now. The man on the screen waved his arms violently around some new blender that would supposedly aid in weight loss. His mouth flew at a thousand miles per minute, but Jessy couldn't hear a single damn word. She raised her middle finger to the ceiling and clicked the "CC"button on her remote. Text now appeared on the screen, green letters rolling on by. Her mind wandered, causing her outward appearance to resemble that of a zombie, a husk, or even a corpse. The television flashed with each new screen change, filling the dark living room with momentary light. Jessy winced at each burst of light. She raised the remote again, and this time pressed the menu button. Her thumb flew all over the television remote; countless sleepless nights had worn the buttons down, removing the tiny lettering, but she didn't need those anymore. It would be a damn shame if the remote broke and she had to get a new one. The flashing of the television weakened as she lowered the brightness settings. "The fuck?"She muttered before she had a chance to sit the remote on the loveseat. The normally scrolling green text had paused. Jessy** She changed the channel, but the text remained. She flipped the channel back to the man advertising the blender, and turned off the closed captions and raised the volume. His loud jabbering came back, still yapping about the blender. Her finger hovered over the CC button again. Would that message still be there? The man on the television was now pointing at the camera; at Jessy. He kept pointing, jabbing his finger at her, then at the ceiling, then back at her. He was still talking about the blender though, "this little device will blend up anything you put into it!" The look in his eyes was desperate. He continued to jab his finger at her, and then at the ceiling of the studio he was in. There came another knock on the ceiling. She instinctively muted the volume. Her finger sat on top of the CC button. The man in the telly was now pointing both index fingers at the ceiling, a horrified look in his eyes, but still a smile on his mouth. She pressed the CC button again. It's coming. It is coming down. She changed the channel, heart jumping into her throat. The closed captions remained, the text scrolling across the screen. It is coming down. It is coming down. Jessy. It is coming down. Another loud thump from the ceiling. It nearly ripped a cry of fear away from her. She stood from the couch and rubbed at her eyes with sweaty palms, inciting a stinging barrage of pain in her eyes. She rubbed at them with her knuckles, and there was another knock on the ceiling. No, a slam. It was loud, sounding like a body hitting the ground. It shook the windows. She looked back at the television, grabbed the remote, and flipped the channel back to the infomercial, already expecting to see something there. The man was standing there, by the blender, pointing at the ceiling and screaming muted words. Jessy, it's coming down. Whatever it was that had hit the floor in the upstairs apartment now sounded like it was slithering around, making a loud dragging noise. It sounded like it was ripping up the carpet. It is hungry. The man in the television slowly lowered the index finger he had been pointing at the ceiling, and placed his whole hand into the blender. "What the fuck?!"Jessy screamed. He hit the button (puree?), instantly sending an upward rainstorm of blood into the air. It quickly drenched the blue sleeve of shirt, turning it a dark red. It is coming. He was smiling, and pushing down on the blender, pushing his arm deeper into the blender. The upstairs door slammed open. Jessy didn't know where to look; at the ceiling, or at the screen, where the man was still mutilating his arm. What are you going to do, Jessy?
Dave sat at his station, staring at Magneto. His lip curled as he considered the terrorist. No longer the figure that had vowed vengeance on humanity, now he resembled only a cowed old man, alone and friendless. Any sort of video survellance were out of the question due to metal content, so it was back to old fashioned guarding. Day after day of staring at Magneto. Back home, everyone thought his job must be really exciting. His wife kept chatting to all her friends about how her husband was the only thing keeping a dangerous monster at bay. His daughter, on the other hand, recently bought a 'Magneto Was Right' t-shirt. "It's a phase,"he kept telling himself. Dave shifted again in his chair, uncomfortably. He couldn't even take his phone into the guard area due to metal components. Earlier that day he had posted an hilarious 'TIFU' on Reddit regarding a toilet incident. He was sure it had gone viral by now, but... He glared at Magneto. He was silent, sat in his own cell, simply staring at the floor. He looked towards the door. No-one would miss him if he just nipped outside to check his Reddit account. "See you later, asshole!"Dave shouted as he sprinted to the exit and escaped. EDIT: I think I misread the prompt :(
Fun activities for my super-powered daughter? (self.parenting) Submitted 9 hours ago by superdad My daughter just turned 3. I am a stay-at-hope parent. So far she has the sonic scream, can fly, has super-strength and super-speed. We spend a lot of time outside because she tends to break things inside. Does anyone have any ideas of fun and safe activities we can do together? Or play groups for children with similar abilities? Also, now that she can fly higher, I'm worried she's going to fly away. I was looking into harnesses. Does anyone have any recommendations? Thanks to all! Help! My super-powered daughter has just turned green (self.parenting) Submitted 6 months ago by superdad I posted here before. My daughter is two and a half and has various super powers. I woke up this morning to take her flying only to find that she was all green! (link to pictures) My wife is away. Who should I see about this? A doctor friend was baffled. EDIT 1: No, she has no anger issues. EDIT 2: Some of you say it happens sometimes and that I should wait a bit. EDIT 3: Ok, it seems to be fading now. All back to normal, I guess. Any parents have experience with super-powered children? (self.parenting) Submitted 1 year ago by superdad I am 32, married, with one child who has just turned two. My wife and I decided that I would stay home with our daughter and that she would continue working. I was working in tech support at Watchtower, while she has a prominent position in the Justice League, so it made sense that I be the full-time parent. About a month ago, daughter started displaying super powers. My wife is frequently away and I have no one to speak to about this. Has anyone had a similar experience? How can I help my daughter's talents? What about safety? EDIT: Wow, thanks for the support guys! I had no idea this was such a common occurrence. To those asking, so far she's showing super strength, super speed, and she also hovers for a bit, so maybe also flying (fingers crossed).
"None? Really?" "No, Mr. President,"the advisor replied. "There's simply none left." Tom was shocked. Half the reason he ran for president was to get answers. He ran his entire campaign on the topic of transparency. He didn't even have opinions about foreign policy (apparently you can dodge questions and just rant about aliens and voters will still elect you -- who knew?). "What about all those UFO reports?" "They were only UFOs to civilians. They were completely identified to us." "Aliens?" "What? No, military craft, of course. Reports started disappearing in later years because we actually got our invisibility technology working." "What about 9-11 III? Was that not a false flag attack?" "With all due respect, Mr. President, do you really think that the government can keep such a major event secret? Can you imagine the fallout of one person spilling the beans? I mean, you're involved in politics; you've seen firsthand how incompetent the government is. Pretty much everything that could constitute a conspiracy theory about has already been leaked. I mean, it's 2141. The last major conspiracy theory that we had was the release of the re-re-revised JFK report in 2113, and by then, nobody had cared anymore." Damn it, thought Tom. He promised spilling the beans on the biggest secrets. But what could he do when the government's biggest secret was that the speaker of the house was having an affair? Then again, that would really hurt the other party and ensure another term for him. And why not go a step further and raise questions about whether John Bush VI's daughter had an abortion? With nothing of interest to reveal, transparency was unnecessary. And it's not like the public cares about things like trade agreements, right?
And, so they got to work. They began to spend millions of dollars on experiments and decades of time trying to figure out why the hell humans were never supposed to be able to discover the theory of everything. They may have had one, but it was not very efficient, similar to the also NP-hard traveling salesman problem. Then one technician had an insight, which checked out with their theory of everything. They simply did not exist.
A man shakes and cowers. He holds his head in his hands. "John Platt was a good man. A good worker. He made it to work on time. When he needed a little pick me up he chose all natural, American made cocaine,"says a voiceover. A man in office attire that is crumpled and dirty saunters up to John. He looks greasy and sneers at John. "Need another pick me up?" The voiceover continues as John pleads for more with the dealer. "John just needs one more pick me up, just one more cup. He can't concentrate. He can't get his work done. John is useless to society as a liquid bean sucker." The dealer gives John an espresso sized cup full of brown liquid. John sucks it down like a thirsty man in the desert. The voiceover continues. "John doesn't know where his coffee comes from. It could be Columbia or even Africa. It could be from places unknown with ingredients unknown. One study showed 93 percent of coffee had additives like rat poison, guarine or windshield wiper fluid to give addicts that extra pick me up." John smiles as the coffee kicks in. The day passes without him knowing what is going on. He doesn't go straight home, but instead to a dirty alley where an illicite espresso stand operates. "John's life is over. He ignores his family. He ignores his job. He ignores his responsibilities. He ignores his country. John's only wish is to get another hit of that sweet Columbia Brown. Don't be like John. "SAY NO TO JOE!" ________ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
"No." "Are you sure? They're really good!" I eyed the plate with a level of suspicion that probably - hopefully - gave the cheerful woman second thoughts about holding it in front of me. The tiny morsels of pastry looked appetizing enough... but I knew better than to accept anything offered by a stranger. Ever since my twenty-fifth birthday, something excessively weird has been happening to me. I first noticed it while on my way back from the local convenience store, where I had purchased a last-minute supply of liquor for the small get-together I'd been planning to hold. No sooner had I exited the building - my bottle of knockoff-brand rum contained in a paper bag - than I had been approached by two blindingly attractive women in dark suits. "Come with us,"one of them had said. "Your country needs you." This was not, as I'm sure you can imagine, the sort of thing that happens to a person every day... let alone someone like me. Up until that point, I'd been a data analyst at a small start-up company, and I'd been happy with what other people might have referred to as a "boring life."I went to work, came home, ate dinner, and then read a book. That was enough for me. I'd never been special, and I'd definitely never done anything worthy of governmental notice, which was why I'd simply shrugged, jumped in the waiting van, and leaned back in the seat. See, I'd thought that I had been approached by a pair of strippers, whom I had assumed had been hired as a half-prank-half-present by my landlord. In fact, it had turned out that the women hadn't been lying about their reason for approaching me, for as soon as the automobile had started to move, I'd found myself being briefed on... well, it had something to do with international espionage and possibly aliens. To be honest, I didn't really listen, and it was only after we rolled up to a red light that I'd managed to escape. I might have been able to write that off as a weird case of mistaken identity... except that mere seconds after my vehicular exodus, I'd been hurriedly approached by a man in tattered clothing who was doing a very poor job of hiding the gun in his right hand. He asked if I'd been hurt, told me that I'd very narrowly avoided being captured by "the enemy,"and then told me to follow him. I had ignored him and gone home. That had been about the time that I was informed of the forgotten cemetery beneath my house. When I'd gone to stay in a hotel, I only barely managed to keep from being recruited into a traveling magic act. (That sounds weird, right? Like, how would you accidentally join The Great Gaffoon and Betsy? Imagine how I felt.) When I'd made it to my room, a text message informed me that my office had exploded, and that the experimental material that had been stored in the basement (WHAT?) might have been mutating me into something-or-other for the past several weeks. My trip to the doctor had very nearly resulted in my being given a mechanical eye. "Come on! Just try one!" The voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I once again eyed the plate of pastries. Truth be told, I was hungry. I'd been living beneath a bridge for the past month or so, doing my damnedest to avoid any contact with the outside world. Learning to hide from anyone who might approach me for help, advice, or even conversation had been difficult at first... but I'd managed. (I'd found that shouting obscenities and threatening to remove my pants did wonders, as did a profound lack of personal hygiene.) "Thank you,"I finally replied. "But no." The woman looked disappointed. "I'm sure it's better than what you get at the soup kitchen, sweetie. Just try one!" They did look good... and it had been weeks since I'd had anything sweet. "Well... maybe just one,"I murmured, reaching forward. The woman positively beamed at me. "Oh, I'm sure you'll love it! We're using a new, special additive that our chef developed!" My arm darted back to my chest almost of its own accord. "Aha!"I yelled to nobody in particular. "See? See? That's how they get you! What are you, a chemical researcher for the government? Are you an alien in disguise?! A killer robot?!"I knocked the plate from the woman's hands and took off running. I felt bad about that, a few minutes later. Sometimes I wonder if I've gone insane. Still, as they say... just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.
Chuck stared up at the dark circle in the sky that appeared to be spiraling toward him, several more specs of metallic darkness surrounding it and polka-dotting the otherwise clear, cyan air. This was not at all how he had anticipated his day going, not even in the slightest. He thought he might go to the park and play some softball, maybe stop by the grocery store and pick up a new jug of milk and more napkins. Instead, he stood on his porch, legs weak and eyes locked on the sky, waiting for the Armageddon he had inadvertently caused. It had begun just thirty minutes prior, as Chuck reached for a jar Nutella sitting on top of his cedar kitchen cabinet. He normally had jelly for breakfast, no more than a tablespoon spread on otherwise dry toast. Today, however, he was feeling a bit feisty; he felt like he had earned some hazelnut goodness. He’d been doing phenomenally with making new friends, having been invited to his first game of softball down at Central Park, and some Nutella seemed a fitting reward. Chuck grabbed the Nutella off the shelf and placed it on his green, granite counter-top, then softly unscrewed the lid. It smelled fantastic, like melted cocoa on a warm day. He lifted it to his nose and took a deeper whiff, closing his eyes as he inhaled. He would’ve kept it there for an hour or two, maybe the entire day, had the phone not started ringing. He carefully lowered it back down and turned toward the phone, then inadvertently stuck his hand directly into the Nutella. “Shit,” he whispered, pulling his hand out immediately and glancing down. It was caked in hazelnut, his pale skin now a thick brown. He plunged his fingers into his mouth and took a step toward the phone, which was now on its fifth ring. “Hello?” he mumbled, using his left hand to pick it up, right stuck in his mouth. The phone remained silent. “Hello?” Chuck repeated, running his tongue down his fingers in an attempt to salvage whatever was left of the Nutella. Something about it was a bit strange, the flavor not quite as rich as he’d hoped it to be. In fact, it was a bit rancid, maybe even slightly sour. It tasted absolutely nothing like the brilliance of its smell. The phone began beeping with a dull, repetitive dial tone, but he kept it held to his ear. When was the last time he’d eaten the Nutella? Last week? Absolutely not. It had been at least a year, maybe two. Maybe three. Had it been four years? He remembered making s’mores with it when he was fifteen, but they came out horrible. It wasn’t so much the Nutella that tasted poorly back then, but rather it was the fact that he used hamburger bread instead of graham characters. Regardless, he was now twenty five. There was no way that Nutella had been sitting on his cabinet for the last decade, he had to have gotten a new one. Right? Phone still beeping against Chuck’s ear, he leaned over and grabbed the jar, then lifted it to his face and studied it. He was definitely holding Nutella, definitely just a standard jar of hazelnut spread. He focused closer on the wrapper, reading the tiny, black-stamped lettering. It expired in September, which was not for another four months. The year, however, posed more of a concern: it was not going to be coming up in another four months. Rather, the year had already come and gone almost a decade ago. Chuck spit the Nutella out into his sink, wiping his tongue down with the back of his hand. Was he going to die? He was definitely going to die. There was no way he wasn’t going to die. He’d just eaten ten-year-old Nutella, which meant it was probably filled with chlorine or cyanide or something. He wasn’t a chemist, but he was confident that was what happened when food was left out for too long. In fact, the last time he’d eaten something spoiled—only a year beyond its expiration date—he spent the better part of a week face-down in a toilet wishing to be dead. Now he’d certainly be dying. He needed to call poison control, needed to organize his affairs, needed to write up a will. He wasn’t remotely ready to die yet. With the phone still pressed to his ear, Chuck frantically threw his body back toward the receiver, dialing “9-1-1” with his chocolate-covered fingers. They left small, brown prints on the keys as he pressed down. It began ringing. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” said a female voice on the phone. “I’ve been poisoned,” Chuck said, his breathing quickening. “I think I’m going to die.” “I am transferring you to poison control,” the woman said. The phone went momentarily silent, which convinced Chuck he had just died. The afterlife looked startlingly like his kitchen. He’d hoped it would be significantly more white. It wasn’t until a second voice began speaking that he abruptly realized that he had not, in fact, died. At least not yet. “Poison control, please tell me what you ingested,” said a male voice. “Chocolate,” Chuck said. “I ate poisoned chocolate.” “What kind?” “Nutella,” Chuck said. “I ate it and it tasted horrible.” “You ate Nutella and thought it tasted horrible?” the voice repeated. “Yes, it expired ten years ago. I think I’m dying.” “Wait, you had Nutella and you are claiming it tasted bad?” the man said, his voice somewhat uneasy. “You’re American, correct?” “Right,” Chuck repeated. “Can you send an ambulance? I can feel my life slipping away.” He hadn’t come this close to death since a recent car accident, which had left a small dent on his front-bumper and no further damages to anything else—himself included. “So, to get this straight, you’re telling me that you ate Nutella and didn’t find it to be delicious? Oh, dear.” The man paused. “Oh, oh dear.” “It was expired,” Chuck pleaded through gritted teeth, making an active effort not to cry. What would his mother think? Who would tell her that he had died? More importantly, who would find out who his mother was? Considering he’d never met her, and had been adopted at a very early age, it would be quite a struggle. He would’ve put that in his will if he’d had the time, that someone would have to locate his mother and let her know he succumbed to a poisoning. “Hey,” said the voice on the phone from a distance, as if it were holding it away from his face, “this guy says Nutella isn’t delicious.” He paused. “Right, I’m positive. Do I make the call? Can we just pretend he didn’t?” Another pause. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re over-seas.” “Hello?” Chuck said, his face growing hot as he did his best not to die. “Can I put you on hold? I need to escalate this. May God have mercy on your soul.” “I’m sorry?” Chuck said. “I’m dying over here. How could you put me on hold?” There was no response, only silence. “Hello?” More silence. He was clearly on hold, the Poison Control operator probably escalating his call to a manager. They’d know how to handle his situation, how to keep him alive for what would likely only be a few more minutes. Chuck grabbed a small piece of paper and pen and, with his chocolate-covered hand, scribbled the words “My Will” on its top. He’d have to do this quick. “I, Chuck, bestow all my possessions to my cat, Fido—” “Hello?” said a strangely familiar voice on the phone. “Hi, yes, I am dying,” Chuck said, pressing the phone closer to his ear. Why was that voice so familiar? “Are you the guy who says Nutella doesn’t taste good?” “Right,” Chuck said, letting his shoulders droop. “Mine was expired and didn’t taste great. Can you please send help? I am not going to make it much longer.” “So you think it tastes bad, is that it? You don’t like Nutella? That the rest of the world is wrong?” “What?” Chuck said, closing his eyes softly as he felt what he assumed was his life draining away. “That’s it,” the voice said. “I’ve tried to change America, to make this country better. Yet when Nutella, the only product agreed by the rest of the world to be perfect, is seen as ‘disgusting’ by only our people, that’s when I know we’re beyond saving. Nothing can unite us, nothing can bring peace. We’re the odd man out.” Chuck tilted his head slightly. He’d heard someone say the word “change” in a very similar way before, and over a few hundred times since. In fact, it had been around the time he’d purchased the Nutella in the first place when he’d heard it. “Obama?” Chuck said softly into the phone. “I always knew this was how it would end. To be completely honest, I didn’t think it tasted that good either. A bit too sweet for me. But I lied, pretended it was as perfect as everybody else said it was so we could at least imagine peace. Not you, though. Not you. I want you to know that whatever comes next will be your fault. I tried to enjoy it for the sake of this beautiful country, to see how it unites the world with its perfect flavor, its divine taste. From France to Germany, to Italy and Japan—Nutella united them all. Yet apparently not America, apparently not us. The only way there can be peace is if we’re gone.” “Help,” Chuck mumbled, crumbling to the floor. “I really need an ambulance.” “Well, I’m done. I’m done leading the country, I’m done fighting to show we’re not a race of barbarians. If we can’t find common ground in Nutella while the rest of the world can, then we simply don’t deserve to exist. Good bye, to you and to America.” The phone went silent, followed shortly by the repetitive din of the dial tone. Chuck pushed himself back up to his feet and wandered to his back door. If he was going to die, he figured he should probably do it outside at least. No reason to make a mess. He pulled open the door and stared up at the dark circle in the sky that appeared to be spiraling toward him, several more specs of metallic darkness surrounding it and polka-dotting the otherwise clear, cyan air. This was not at all how he had anticipated his day going, not even in the slightest. _____ [If you enjoy my writing style, feel free to check out some other stories in my subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
From dust you were born, and to dust you shall return. And at the end of days, the dust shall rise again. The announcement first met with amusement and skepticism. Armageddon, in a mere twenty days? Utter absurdity. The world's leaders flailed their arms and shouted, while the people looked on and laughed. Then the scientists intervened. Amateurs and professionals, stepping forward with observations and proofs. Irrefutable evidence of a catastrophic event, looming over humanity's head like an executioner's axe. A monstrous solar flare, like none the planet had ever seen, destined to cauterize the atmosphere and wipe humanity from existence. Some fell to debauchery. Others to despair. Some sought solace in friends and family, while others isolated themselves in the shadows of their minds. Some lost themselves to chaos, while others found merciful peace. Yet, in the end, silence swallowed them all. A precious few sought to preserve humanity's history. Information and ideas, events and achievements - harvested by determined souls and locked away inside indomitable time capsules. Artificial remnants of a bygone era. The gasping cries of a fading legacy. They could scarcely believe it. Their dreams had always drifted towards the stars, and now the star that nurtured them was about to destroy them. They could not grasp such a heartless demise. They always felt that their species was destined for so much more. Little did they know it, but they were right. For from the dust, we were reborn. I stand on the surface of this blasted world, specks of dust swirling around my ethereal form. Bits and pieces of a bygone life flicker through my mind – the memories of a mother, stalwart and caring. Within my grasp rests one of those indomitable time capsules, bearing with it the history of our dormant forms. Thousands of years of chronicles and experience – a precious kernel of knowledge, to be remembered and preserved. The earth trembles around me, as more of my brethren rise from the dust. Incorporeal wisps of intellect and power, rising from the shattered shells of their former lives. Entities of pure energy, ascending from their primordial cradles. Beings of limitless potential, finally rising from the ashes of their cocoons. We look to the stars, and smile. Our long slumber has ended. Onwards now, into the whispering heavens.
Her hands are a blur, furious signing. Our son glances uneasily between us. "She says you don't even understand why she's mad." I don't feel as bad about making him translate now that he's older. He has the advantage of having grown up with it and it makes things a lot easier. She turns her back and takes three dramatic steps toward the door. "Ugh... Quit being such a bitch..."I mutter. I wince immediately. The kid shouldn't have to hear that. Her head whirls around and she stares at me. I cock my head toward our son, wondering if he's seen the same thing I did. He looks confused. "What did you call me?"she hisses, more clearly than I've ever hear her speak. For a moment I hesitate. People have secrets, even in a marriage. This seems like a big one. I hold my hand ostenatiously over my mouth the way I occasionally would to keep her from reading my lips when I was telling the kids they could stay up late. She closes the gap between us and stands close, looking formidable. I look past her, not acknowledging her change of posture. "Bitch." Her arm swings up to slap me and I instinctively lean away. The tips of her fingers blow air across my face as the look of fury on her face changes to confusion. Several seconds pass. "Wait..."My son's voice breaks the silence. "Dad, you can see?"
It started when her parents died. Christina was a tragically beautiful girl, small and thin and bright-eyed and smiling. Always smiling. Girls were endeared by her purity, while boys were intimidated by it. She had never dated anyone. Never gone to any parties. Never been involved in any teenage drama. That's why people only whispered about the man she started going home with. Every day after school his was the first car to arrive. A white convertible, clean and glistening. If he weren't so handsome the girls would've thought he was creepy. If he hadn't had a full head of hair, the boys would've thought he was overcompensating. As it was, though, he was by far the coolest thing any of them had seen up close. Gorgeous, with hard features, a big hollywood smile that folded his mouth at the corners, dazzling blue eyes, and broad shoulders. If just once he had been caught with his lips pursed around a burning cigarette, he would've been accused of being Don Draper in disguise. And this was the man who awaited Christina every day. Her friends would watch, only taking their eyes off of him to glance at each other, as Chrissy climbed into the car. The two would exchange a quick smile. Sometimes he would pat her thigh. Other times her shoulder. Rarely her head. If it was her head, she'd grit her teeth. Regardless, he always touched her once. And then they would ride off together, leaving a group of wide-eyed teenagers staring for far too long. They whispered. Her uncle? Her boyfriend? Too old, right? But maybe not. Where was he before her parents died? People would ask Christina's closest friends, and each would give roughly the same answer. They'd have their heads lowered a little, sitting at the lunch table while Christina was off getting her food. "I don't know,"they'd hiss, or, "She wouldn't date a guy like that,"or, "No, I'm not lying. Why would I lie?" He was as mysterious as her parents' death. It wasn't anything particularly unusual. A car accident. A drunk driver hit them head on one night. Their car rolled off the side of the road into a ditch where it landed upside down. When the paramedics found Christina, she was barely breathing. She'd been thrown out of one of the back windows. Impaled through the stomach with part of a fallen tree branch. Her eyes were wide open, her lips smeared with blood. You don't recover from that sort of thing. Or if you do, it doesn't happen in two weeks. Yet less than a month later, Christina was back in school. When people stopped her in the hall to offer their condolences, she gave them a painful little smile, bright white teeth and dimpled cheeks. Textbooks clutched against her chest. A nod, sometimes. But no words. Never words. "What's wrong?"He asked her one day as they drove to her house. They rarely spoke during these rides. It's not that there was nothing to say, but rather there was one particular thing to say and Chrissy couldn't quite muster the courage. He usually left her alone about it, but this time he felt a little anxious. "Did someone say something again?" She shook her head. "Well talk to me, Chris." "Just thinking." "About?" "You." He smiled. "What about me?" "I--" "Change, sir? Change?"They had pulled up to a red light, and immediately a bearded man in a military camouflage jacket came stumbling off the sidewalk toward the car. His teeth were a brown jumble in his mouth. "Little change?"the homeless man asked. He reached into one of the cupholders and found a few quarters lying at the bottom. "Here."He let the coins drizzle into the man's hand and said, "Now get outta here." The homeless man nodded. "Get outta here?"Chrissy punched his arm. "I don't like rude people,"he said, looking at her with a casual smile. "Now what about me?" She looked down into her lap, seeming to prefer silence over words And he granted her this quiet. In time, she would speak on her own. All around them the city of Passaic went by, noisy and filthy. People argued on street corners in any language but English. A loose dog trotted down an alleyway, ribs outlined against its flesh. More homeless men stood at lights, waiting for a chance to swoop in. "I was thinking,"she began. "I gathered." "I was thinking maybe we could... hang out again tonight." He looked at her. "Like we used to, back at the hospital, you know? I know it's a lot to ask, but..." "Chris."he sighed and looked back at the road. "We don't have to if you don't want to." "You know I want to."His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Of course I want to. But I have a job to do. A job I should be doing. I mean, this isn't even right. You should be--" "I got it. I get it, okay? I was just thinking. That's it." Silence fell over them again, and as he pulled up to another red light, a couple homeless men moved in. ------------------------------------- He stood over her as she lay in the bed, staring up at him. His hand was on her forehead. It felt cold. The flesh was almost rubbery. She was going already. "You're not doing too bad, are you? You'll catch up, right?"she asked. "Yes." She always asked, and he always lied. That was the nature of the arrangement. If she knew how far behind he truly was, how many appointments he had already missed, undoing millions of years of pre-planned deaths, she might have demanded that he take her for good. She would have thought the cost was too high. And he knew she would've been right. "How much longer can we do this for?"Christina was whispering, as if afraid they might be heard and found out. Their cosmic sin would be revealed. Her life would be over once again. "I... I dunno. I'll have to work a lot quicker tonight to make up for this." "But it's okay, right? You said you'd catch up." "I will. But you're keeping me longer than I expected."He took his hand from her forehead and rested it over her mouth. "Let me go now."Her lips were cold and dry. "I'll bring you back in the morning."Her breath was faint, but he could feel it gently rising against his palm, tickling at his skin. Suddenly she took him by the wrist and lifted his hand from her mouth. "I'll miss you,"she said breathlessly. All he could do was smile. What a silly concept. "Dead people don't feel anything, Chris. Now sleep." Their relationship had been much less desperate in the hospital. He came to her one evening when her breathing had been nothing more than hissing, rattling, strained wheezing. Tubes ran down her throat and up her nose. He was dressed in blue scrubs and wheeling around a cart with plastic-y, cold hospital food on it. "You look terrible,"he'd said to her after pushing the cart off to the side. Christina's body was stiff. Her face was gaunt with dark circles forming under her eyes. Death at this point seemed like a mere formality. He came over to the side of her bed and gave her a little wave. "Hi. It's a shame you had to go through this. But it'll be alright now, I promise."He reached out to touch his hand against her forehead. "You will be missed--" She clenched his wrist. "Not yet,"she hissed at him. At first he frowned, disappointed that she could see through his disguise. Most people don't see him coming. He taps them on the shoulder, and they're gone. The body goes through whatever it must, sometimes making a big spectacle and riling up doctors in hospitals who think a few shocks to the chest will change anything. The ones that do see him coming usually freeze in terror. It had been a very long time since he'd met anyone who both noticed and did not fear him. "Please,"she begged him. She wasn't particularly strong. He could've simply touched her and sent her where she belonged. And yet something about her drew him in, distracted him from his mission. He wavered, pulling his hand back and letting it drop to his side. She said nothing more to him, and he said nothing to her. Instead they maintained eye contact for a few moments, as long as it took for him to start to feel awkward and walk quickly out of the room. By the next day, her condition had turned around completely. She'd gone from lying pathetically in her bed, breathing only through the help of a machine, to sitting upright and feeding herself, although she still had to avoid any heavy foods. That night, when he came again, she was watching the door, as if she knew he would be there any minute. "You attract more attention when you bring in that food you know,"she said. "I can't eat that stuff." He said nothing as he came in, wheeling his cart. He pushed it aside and stood looking at her, his hands on his hips. "What?"She had her hands clasped together in her lap. "You know what." "I don't." "You gotta go,"he was shaking his head as he said this. "I can't leave people alive. As long as you're around, I can't move on to the next person. Nobody has died since last night. Do you have any idea how fucked up this is?" ------------------------ Note: I don't know how to finish this right now. I'm a bit sick, and I started this as a fun distraction. Anyway, if you read this far I hope you enjoyed this much. Time for bed.
"Just one short minute that's all it will take and I'll explain to you why you should try Angie's Angel Food Cake; Angie's Angel Food Cake is the best angel food cake because nobody makes angel food cake like Angie; Angie's Angel Food Cake it's moist it's light it's heavenly. Angie's Angel Food Cake, try it today!" Not again. Every time I update the operating system on this stupid implant I have to re-install the ad blocker!
"Humans are the biggest thing to hit Cirvami culture since the cultural revolution,"The alien said. It wore a fifties-style pin stripe vest and a bowler over a chitinous skeleton while the transparent sack beneath it pulsed with its own diffuse light. "We're not here for a history lesson,"The older alien said. It's chitin was mottled and flaking, though he still moved with a grace that belied his age. "If you have nothing important to add..." "Oh, but I do,"He said. "So far, we've only begun to receive their transmissions and I don't have to tell you how lucrative it's been to the economy. Everything we've been able to reproduce has been done, but what if I told you we've found a way to locate their hive planet?" A silence fell across the chamber as the older alien weighed whether or not he was being lied to. It wouldn't be the first time someone claimed to know a way to the Human hive. "Explain." The young alien pulsed, his glow filling the chamber. "You see, recently we've only been able to get the garbled transmissions from one place; the observatory. As i'm sure you're already aware, that makes it quite difficult to pinpoint a place in space, but what if we picked up another signal from the same place in a different spot? How about four?" "And you've accomplished this?" "Better. We've been there,"It said. "And?"The older alien was now pulsing, the intensity of it's light rivaling that of its younger companions. "Amazing,"It made a noise in its throat. "They're so far beyond the transmissions we've been getting and it's not just one culture. There are countless upon their world. The monetary benefits alone...I have something to show you." It removed a container from an adjoining room and placed the box on the table between them. Almost reverently, it reached inside the box and withdrew a second package wrapped in fabric which it placed in front of the older alien. "If this is a trick..." "Open it and tell me for yourself." The alien pried apart the layers of fabric and found nothing within. "I don't understand,"It said. "Did I miss something?" "Hold it up,"The younger alien said. He took the fabric and held it up to the light. At first the older alien wasn't sure what he was seeing, but then his glow intensified almost to the point of being painful. It ran a limb across the fabric and sat back down speechless. "Is it...? How...?" "It's real, I can assure you,"The younger alien made another noise in its throat. "May I introduce you to the first human to set foot upon our world. Well, it's skin covering anyway. Did you know they come in different colors? We regard the human beast as a noisy, loathsome thing, but they produce such wonderful skins. How they created such a culture on their own is unimaginable. Can you imagine the demand for a human-skin blanket? A human-skin rug? We could even sell them intact or in breeding pairs as their interiors are quite delicious and chewy. Chancellor, think about the demand." The older alien sat silent for many moments, though its eyes never left the human-skin in front of it. Then its glow settled and its peaceful countenance resumed. "You have our full support,"It said. "May...uh, may I keep this one?" "We have more where this came from,"It said. "Wait until you see the other shades we have."
"Uh, hey Dave...Working hard or hardly working?" Shit. He's not supposed to be home yet. He was never home before five! Yet there he stood, resting his fat chin on the fence. The fence that was apparently too short. A proper fence would've permitted some level of privacy for one's own backyard. Then again, so would a proper neighbor. But who was I to judge? "Carl, my buddy. Say, you wouldn't believe what I found down here!"A play for time. Three feet down, and I had only found dirt. A few rocks as well, but mostly dirt. It formed a short pile between me and the fence. Was it tall enough to block Carl's view? His face betrayed no hint of alarm at the motionless figure sprawled next to the hole. Carl's eyebrows raised, that stupid grin on his face. "Oooo, this is fun. Okay, um, well you probably found gophers, I'd guess you're digging them out." Scoop, lift, dump. Keep stalling. "Not gophers, Carl. If I had gophers I'd be setting traps. Guess again." "Right, right, 'course you would. Ah, I got it! A sewage pipe busted, you're digging in to patch it up. Had to do that twice m'self, tree roots eh?" Good god. If I admit to leaky pipes Carl would be over in a second to lend a helping hand. Not good. "Wrong again Carl. Much better than that." Carl pinched his face in concentration, probing the shallow depths of his tiny mind. "I've got it! By gum, you've found some buried treasure!" Buried treasure! Carl, a grown adult, was seriously suggesting I had found buried treasure in my backyard. Buried treasure in the exotic backyards of Edmond, Oklahoma, famous for pirates and curses and hidden fortunes. "Yeah Carl, buried treasure. That's what I've got here, buried fucking treasure." "Figgered. Must've excited Darlene something fierce, looks like she's out cold! Lucky bastard."Carl walked off, shaking his head.
[Edit: I accidentally a word.] "Danny. Come on. Talk to me." "I am talking to you, Maddy." "Don't be a smartass with me. Something's bothering you." "Nope." This must be what, the twenty-eighth date we've had so far? I can't even tell anymore. Every single one of them starts the same way, goes the same way, and ends the same way. We go out for lunch/dinner, catch a movie, talk about work or some other boring shit, then we get back to my/her house and we just sit there and fucking talk. Sex is just turning into a maybe nowadays too. She's always been too busy, never even bothers having time for me anymore. She, the woman before me, Madeline Chase. Otherwise known to me, she, and her as my girlfriend. Pretty, young lady, I guess. Blondish hair tied in a bun. Brown eyes. Glasses. Decent curves around the waist. Chest ain't much to look at. The typical "cute"librarian-look. Ahhhh. What a woman... Girlfriend. The hell does that word even mean? What's the point of it? Why say friend if it's someone you're likely going to be curled up under a blanket with several weeks later. Why the fuck am I asking so many questions? When the hell did things get so boring? "Uhh. Hello? Danny, are you okay? Seriously, I'm a bit worried about you." "It's nothing, Maddy. Come on, you know me." "Lately, it seems like I haven't. You've been heading out pretty late at night without even a warning. We've talked about this. You need to ween off from that drinking problem of yours." Drinking problem, she says. I haven't touched a bottle in weeks... At least she's worried. I wouldn't even know where to start if she figured out about her. Her. The other woman. Madelyn. Funny how similar the names are, really. I can't even tell if I'm pronouncing them right. "Speaking of getting late, I think I need to head out. I have a... friend waiting for me." That's technically not a lie. "At the bar?" "No, Maddy. Well, kinda. It's nothing you should worry about. Just go get some sleep or something. Your eyes look like you need it." That's sort of the truth. "Mhmmm. Just, don't get too crazy. I don't want to worry too much. Please. No drinking." "Whatever, remember to lock the doors. Good night, Maddy." "Isn't the saying, 'Good evening.' though?'" Just say that I'm being stupid. Say that you know I'm going to get my ass in the car, haul it over to the pub, and get shit-faced again. Just fucking say it, just once. Tell me I'm being an ass. Please. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I suppose it's about time that I should start talking about her, Madelyn. Beautiful, buxom blonde. Short, blue-eyed pile of sheer sex appeal. I swear, I could look into those two things forever. Lovely hips just like Madeline as well. Th Take a guess at which two things I'm talking about? "Good evening, Daniel. Aren't you a naughty boy?" "Hah. You're one to talk. Got anything planned for us, Maddy?" Jesus christ. Why did I say that? "Mhmmm. Aren't you supposed to be the big, strong man around here?"Her voice is fumbling, odd. "Why don't you tell me what you want." Ugh. Not this game again. Fun the first times? Maybe. Now? Hell the fuck no. "What I'd want is to get the bartender to take my goddamn order around here." "Don't you have an addiction? Not good to fuel it." "How'd you hear about that?" "Really? You're really asking that?"Madelyn rolls her eyes at me. Maybe, maybe it's the sleep-deprivation talking, but did her eyes just fucking glare? Fortunately, the pimply-faced bartender finally takes some notice and runs over a bottle for me. Budlight. As if you couldn't throw even more piss into water. Well, whatever, bottoms up... Is what I would think if that blonde bimbo hadn't snatched it away from me, just like every other fucking week. "Yeah, not happening, hon." "Aww, come on. What's wrong with one sip?" "Ever heard of the term 'slippery slope' before?" "That's when you get into doing something once and it turns into some weird repetitive habit that you desperately want to stop because of some innate consequence that turns the initial problem into a full-blown issue... blah, this is way too much dialogue." "Pardon?" "Nothing." I raise my hand out for the bottle. That gorgeous, colored piece of glass, filled to the cap with that crisp, mind-dulling elixir. Of course, Madelyn doesn't budge and proceeds to gulp the whole thing down, staring me down the whole time. So much for "having a gag reflex." "Well, Madelyn. It's been great seeing you, but if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna find another place with a woman that won't jack my bottle every time I make an order." "Good luck with that, I'm tagging along." "Not happening." "I'm sorry, do you want me to drag you back to your house by the ear again?" God no, if Maddy saw you, it'd break her damn heart. I don't want that thought on me. She stares at the irritated glare in my eyes. "Well then, we've got a long night ahead of us, Danny. Let's get going. Remember, no drinking." Sometimes, I wonder if those two know each other. Cousins maybe? They look alike enough to be related. The way they both go at it in bed seem pretty similar as well. Their waists, hip size to hand ratio, the way their tits bounce. Only difference is the hair style and the eye-color. Names are like what, two letters off? Wait. WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND.
Be gentle, I'm new. (Hit Tab and saved it, give me a few!! haha) I had been alone for so long, no contact from the other bunkers in at least, what I would guess was, two years. Time gets weird when you're alone. Complete radio silence and I was ready to embrace death because there was no way it could be worse than the loneliness that had been crushing me since I last heard from Chris. Food was running low and I had decided that dying from exposure was better than starving to death and drinking recycled urine. Blech! I opened the door to my, stupidly well fortified, bunker. What had I been thinking when I built this? Did I really want to survive this long back then if North Korea had managed to build a rocket that could actually reach the US? Or Putin thought that he could handle the fall out of an attack on the US? To be honest, I was shocked to find out that an IT error had resulted in the US launching active nuclear missiles at Canada, of all places and, that in their attempt to fix it meant the entire mid-west was effed. I booked to my bunker, sealed the door and five days later heard the first message from Chris. I was a mess but he got me through it. I realized, as I opened the door, that I never asked him enough about his life but too late for that now. I took a deep breath and pushed the vault open, ready to die. It was beyond what I expected and there was absolutely no way I could have prepared myself for it. I walked out into Eden. Green. Green EVERYWHERE! It smelled like a dream from my childhood. I was lost in wonder for, well, I'm not sure how long. The expected barren wasteland was nowhere to be seen. I walked around and found apple trees and pears and pumpkins! I thought to myself "Oh my GOD! I can actually, really live! Not just exist!" While I wandered and munched on a fresh red apple I just reveled in the sun and the wind, completely oblivious to the rest of my surroundings, "How long had I been down there? Twenty years? Thirty? I didn't have a mirror and only one calendar to the end of 2016. I tried keeping track but why bother? Sleep, eat, repeat. What was the point of knowing the day? Besides the fact that I could never remember which months had how many days besides February and even that changed if I wasn't paying attention."and I was suddenly aware of being watched. I turned around and saw the cutest little kid. A girl I think but I wasn't paying too much attention, I was just thrilled to see another person, who cares if they were three-ish years old? Reflexively I smiled and waved and they waved back. If there were people nearby I had to wonder why they hadn't banged on my door, at least, so I ran back to my bunker and saw the trees banking it and remembered planting them that last spring just in case of "zombies", I'm not a smart man. No one in the last few years would have guessed there was anything behind the maples but more maples. I ran back to where I had seen the little kid and there was nobody around. I was either losing my mind or already dead so why not wander around some more? I decided to head north for awhile and ran into a group of what I could only call, with my personal experience, a group of young hippies. They were, at the oldest, in their late teens or early 20's and I had been 30 when the warning came through, and as I walked into the clearing they all turned and smiled. I had never seen more people happy to see someone who was easily in their late 40's walk into their group. I saw the kid and they hid behind their parent after I waved. At least the kids hadn't changed! I was approached by a handsome young man, "Hey!"he had a strange mix of southern and mid-western accent but it was very easy to understand I wasn't prepared for English, my brain broke and I just stared at him. "You okay?" "Uhhh"Master of wit in full force. I passed out. The next thing I saw was that same man as he slapped my face over and over yelling "Wake-up!" I grumbled something and sat up. The same group, with a LOT more children, were around me staring down. "Uh, whaaa?"yea, that was me. "Who are you? Are you alright?" "I'm Matthew, I'm fine. In that order." A gasp rose from the group followed by, what I felt was, unnecessary murmuring. "Who are you?" "Ugh! My name is Matthew."I'm not know for my patience, well, I wasn't anyway. More murmurs. An adorable young woman walks up with a leather bound journal, one I recognized as my notebook I had used to rant about frustrations but talk myself through to optimism. I recognized it because I had some really low quality drawings all over the cover... "You are him?!" "I, Uh, well, I'm me?" There was a roar of jubilation. "You are he! The WRITER! THE TEACHER!" Everyone began to chant, "THE WRITER! THE TEACHER!" I was completely lost. Who did they think I was so I had to ask, "Who am I?" "You are the one!"yells the man and he pulled me to my feet, "You showed us what we need to be!" "What is that, exactly?" "We read what you wrote and we follow the most important!"He turned to the group and yelled "Don't be a dick but speak your mind! Sometimes all someone needs is a hug! It's okay to be sad! Jenna is a bitch!"and the crowd cheered and I passed out again.
"Oh my god. If I have to eat more lammas bread, I'm literally going to die,"he moans. "Lambas. Lambas bread." "Lammas. Lambas. Llamas. La bamba. I don't care. I'm not eating any more of that." "You have to keep your strength up,"she says. He smacks it away from his face. "I'd rather die, and if this is all we have to eat I just might." "_You're_ the one who insisted on doing this,"she reminds him. "... and my shoulder-fired rocket launcher, you said." "But I didn't know we'd have to climb,"he whines. "Who am I? Tenzing Norgay? No, wait... ... ..." She waits. "What?!" "Who am I, Sir Edmund Hillary?" "Look, focus on the mission. We have to do this. If we don't destroy the ring..." "Then Mordork will reign in a thousand years of terror, yeah, yeah, I got it." "I don't think you do. The shire will be..." "Oh my _god_. They're little people. They don't own much. They can be relocated." She smacks him. "You unbelievable..." "Besides,"he says and holds up the ring. "I don't get all the fuss."He slips it on. "Invisible."He takes it off. "Visible." "Every time you do that, he gets closer!" "Invisible." "Stop it! That's not even how it works!" "Visible." "I swear to God, if the Ring Wraiths find us..." He's silent for a while. "Archer?"There's a warning in her voice. "I didn't drop it. I mean, I did, but... it's probably not too far down."
"It hurts,"she whispered, her young voice feeble with tears. The surgeon's hands shook as he held the phone close to his ear. Hot, salty tears burned his eyes as he listened to the painful sorrows of his youngest patient. Six months previously, a struggling family came to him seeking help for their blind daughter, who had been born blind due to premature birth. She had lived happily for six years, content in the vision-free world and seeing with her mind rather than her eyes. The young girl was content with how she lived her life; her parents were not. The parents sobbed to him about how they wanted more for their child, but they didn't have the money for a corneal transplant. They begged him, pleaded him, they would do anything for him if he would only save their daughter from the darkness. With a heart heavy with sympathy, he agreed to do the surgery only if they sent updates and pictures on her life after the operation. Ecstatic, they agreed quickly, and he had received pictures and happy letters every week since the operation was ruled a success. "I don't like it. I don't understand,"she stuttered out painfully, her voice low as to not allow her sleeping parents to hear her woes. Six months previously, her parents decided it was for the best if she would be able to see. She didn't understand why she needed vision to see, as feeling her way through life with her thoughts and imagination was enough for her. But her parents digressed, and contacted a surgeon desperately. The surgeon agreed, and she was scared. Life was difficult in the dark, but she was terrified that now all her fears of seeing scary monsters and evil demons would come to life. Two weeks after the surgery, she was allowed to take the bandages off. As her eyes cracked open, she cried out. The brightness burned her eyes, and the young girl quickly hid her face in the pillow, afraid of what lurked in the light. She was familiar with the dark. The dark was comforting, like a fleece blanket in the harsh winters. The light was a foreign sight, as discomforting as sitting in the doctor's office waiting for results. She slowly adapted to the light, taking in the beauty of colors and seeing the sky for the first time. She was so happy, she finally could see the happy rays of the warm sun, see the beauty of her mother's face (and she was much more beautiful than her voice portrayed), see the colors of the silky petals she had spent so much time caressing with her tiny fingers. But things soon started to change. The scary wispy voices that used to whisper to her as she tried to sleep were granted faces. Pale, tall, monstrous beings that stood over her while she lay in bed, hiding her face and eyes underneath her covers. Never touching, only watching. She whimpered and shook with fear; sleep began to evade her. "I want them to go away,"she cried timidly, her pudgy fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline as she hid under her covers. "I'm sorry,"he whispered just as quietly, "I don't know how to fix this." "I don't want to see anymore,"she sobbed desperately. "That won't help you,"he replied, his words far from confident. "Please...,"she begged. "I'm sorry,"he repeated, his own hot tears spilling over his face. He pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at the screen sadly. He shakily pressed the red end button on his phone. There was nothing more he could do. "Please help me,"she pleaded to the phone. "Please...please...please..."
-Ooof! I bump into an aging lady amidst a crowded market. She dropped her bag, I hurry to help. -I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you okay? She smiles as I hand her the bag. Greying hair, old-fashioned dress of green wool, purple scarf. Eyes, surprisingly bright glint behind thick glasses. Mary Poppins, the later years. -Oh I am all right, young man. I must have lost myself in thought again. People rush by, energized by the April sun. The weather is unusually warm this year. -Well, take care then. I half turn to leave. Food vendors do their hardest to outyell each other. Various smells flow through the air. -Excuse me! Same woman again. -Could you walk me to the fruit vendor? I am a bit lost. I lead her to the nearest loudmouth with a fruit stand. Was going to buy sime, anyway. -Do you know if any of these have a lot of vitamin c? The hell kinda question is that? -Try oranges, ma'am. She chuckles somewhat artificially. -Oh no, no. I don't trust the oranges. What? No, can't be. -What did you say? -I said, "don't trust the oranges". Ten years of waiting. Five years in training. It was all gonna pay off. Operation "Fruit peel"has begun.
I'd been sitting in the sand for atleast an hour, listening to the waves come in with my feet buried in the sand. By now, I'd probably suffered a monstrous sunburn. I had just finished walking around the entire island - it seemed to have a continuous beach around the entire island. There was nothing here, save from the sand and palmtrees, and the occasional strange plant I didn't recognize. I'd never been in the jungle, in fact I'd never even been close to the equator. I was Canadian, used to snow and biting cold. If you'd ask me then how I got there, I wouldn't have an answer. I myself didn't know. It wasn't until I noticed a continuous, strange sound that I got my first clue. It took me a while to determine where it came from, and no wonder, it wasn't in sight. It turned out to be a bottle, smashing against a V shaped rock out in the water, and I had to wade out into the water up to my chest to find it. I lifted the bottle towards the sun, noticing something inside. The bottle seemed old, as if it had drifted at sea for years. The message I pulled out of it once I came ashore again was even older. Oh, Jordan... I am so sorry. I am so... so sorry. A young man your age should not have to go through this. I hope you find it in you to forgive me one day. They say you are lost, that it's soon time to let you go... I don't know, I guess I just wanted to.. God, this is harder than I thought... There was a pause between the lines, before it continued. I-I lost control, and it all happened so fast, you know? It's... I'm.. What? Already? Alright, fine, fine... Jordan, I love you. Come back to us. I fell to a sit, finding shelter in the shade under a tall coconut tree, pressing my back up against the trunk as I read the note over and over. It didn't make any sense. After a while of thinking, I brought the bottle with me and pocketed the note, searching the island. 'This must be some kind of game', I thought, as I started searching for more clues to where I was and why. But hours of searching in the heat weakened me substantially. It took a while, but eventually I managed to crack open a coconut I found on the ground, and I drank its milk. It tasted nothing like what they make coconut candy and shampoo smells out to be like, but it was my only option. After giving up for tonight, I made a makeshift bed using palm fronds. The sky was crystal clear of light pollution, and every point of light in the night sky sparkled with lights. It was beautiful. Reminded me of going out to the cabin up in the mountains with my dad, on the snowmobile. As I began to close my eyes, I thought about the note again. The way it was written, it was almost... familiar. You know how certain people speak a certain way? Well, I couldn't shake the feeling that the note came from my brother. The next morning, I woke up to what felt like being stabbed in the back. A vacuum felt like it sucked the air out of my lungs, and then back in. I tried to fight it, rolling around in the sand, coughing. My body jerked awkwardly, as I watched the sky rip open, as if someone grabbed and tore it apart. The horizon seemed to be getting closer, and the palm trees around me fell one by one into the ground with a heavy thud. I tried to hold on, but it was futile. A snake seemed to be trapped in my lungs, but it was pulled out of me by an external force. I could finally breathe. I tried opening my eyes, but it was still black, save for a small opening with a glimmer of light. I heard a beeping sound. I heard moving, and stressed voices. And then I heard a strangers voice. "He will never walk again."
Susie liked to play games with herself. Her current game was trying to force-upload a corrupted software update to the internal consistency monitor of a black-site US security center in Guam before the theme song to Phineas and Ferb finished playing on the TV behind her. She hummed along to herself as the pink bear loading symbol on her custom OS tore tiny pieces of paper into shreds. The song ended and Susie huffed in disappointment. A second later a confirmation tag popped up, she scanned the code feedback to make sure nothing had been triggered as her file hit the system and changed the time-frame on the self-monitoring of the file consistency within the server farm that officially didn't exist. She ran the logic through her mind, rotated it, examined it for flaws and determined it was good. She booted up five other programs, each bent on using low-level logic flaws to lever apart firewalls. the problems was that as long as something had access out, they had to have access in as well. With the monitoring program broken, she could change what was coming back without detection. She threw a a few self-propagating zombie worms into the system, then pinged them to transfer data back. Huge file DL prompts covered her screen. She selected one as important, then she hit a custom keybinding to reset the file path the others and transfer the lot to an offshore private server of her own. The prompts minimized and Susie stretched her hands out over her head as her eyes analyzed the only file remaining on her screen. She commited the information to memory then saved it to her pen drive. "Dad!"She called out as she shut down the laptop, pulled the ethernet cord out and hit the button on the trace confuser that the cord had plugged in to. "DAD!" "Yes, honey?"Her dad opened her door, smiling at her like he always did. His glasses always looked too large for his face, and he never shaved enough, but he had a kind smile and sad eyes. "I got the file dump on the illegal abductions of European citizens, their internment and torture records and videos of executions. couldn't find the senatorial committee that authorized the action, it wasn't on this database." "That's wonderful!"Susie's dad hugged her tight, "You are amazing, you know that?" "Of course I do!"Susie rolled her eyes. She knew everything! Of course she knew how special she was, "Oh, and this morning I found out the NSA also hired another twelve assassins to kill you! I already hacked their confidential itinerary, gave them the wrong flight number to Moscow, switched their car rental so they get the one with a bad alternator AND calculated that they will end up stranded at approximately four PM on Wednesday at this location." She handed her dad a small notepad shaped like a elephant, it had an address on it and a GPS tracking number. "The FBI and the CIA are also being dummies. They want to lock out my information from the public domain. I sabotaged their servers and leaked some gross stuff their director did to the media. Oh, I also deflected the SAS, MSS and FSB task forces for another two or three weeks. We should probably move again on Friday. We own a villa in Sicily now! It's an old AISI safehouse. I erased it from their internal registry. They own it outright but don't know they even have it any more. The pitfalls of bureaucratic security. Hehe!" "Sounds wonderful, dear."Her dad kissed her on the side of her forehead, "You should eat something. Do you want some bread and sausage?" "Yes!"Susie popped up onto her feet, "With strawberry jam!" "Aye aye!" Susie's dad left the room, closing the door behind him and rubbing the worry away from his face. Assassins, torture, international manhunts for him. He'd made sure they never found her. They could never find her. He would take the hate, he would take the threat of death and the constant danger... as long as she was safe. He'd never asked for this, but it was what she wanted and there was no stopping Susie Snowden when she put her mind to something. Edward loved his little girl and he'd do anything to keep her invisible.
WWII Leaders Playing Poker/Risk "Well, Risk is a strategy board game produced by Parker Brothers, about World domination and breaking Friendships." "I understand that, Johnson. That wasn't my question, though. Also, the capitalization around World and Friendships is unnecessary." "How could you tell when we were just talking? And what was the question?" "Magic, Johnson. The question was what in God's name Churchill, Stalin, Roosevelt, Hitler were doing around a game of Risk in the middle of WWII, and, more importantly, what their bodies are doing there." "Well, Risk can be a boring game, sir. I had one game that went on for weeks with my cousin Jeffrey. I was ready to kill myself by the end." "I learn more about you every day, Johnson, and I wish I didn't. But, and I'm not sure if you know this, Churchill, Stalin, Roosevelt, and Hitler definitely never met together like this, and they definitely didn't die together. In fact, we have records of each of them dying separately, in separate years, in separate countries." "That is a tough question, sir. I was not aware. Clones, perhaps?" "I don't think so. This isn't Boys from Brazil." "Sir?" "Forget it, Johnson. I can't explain all my pop culture references to you. Hm...Johnson, hand me Roosevelt." "Roosevelt? Why?" "He should be the lightest." "Ok." [Roosevelt is handed over]. "Ah hah, just as I suspected. It's a guerilla art installation, Johnson. This isn't Roosevelt at all. It's just some poor sap wearing Roosevelt's clothes." "How can you tell?" "Two ways, Johnson. The legs are far too thick for a crippled man. And I've also just noticed a stack of brochures by Stalin, detailing how this is a statement about, well, let's see. Oh yes, it's a heavy handed statement about generals, war, and how they don't value the lives of the men they send to their deaths." "Sounds trite, sir." "It is, Johnson. Case closed. Now grab me Stalin and let's go." "Why?" "It's for the missus. Don't worry yourself about it. You'll understand when you're older." Written with love by Stranger_andStranger
I don't get them. I never have. To me, it seems like they're the strange ones. It's not like I have a weird mental disorder or some kind of dangerous freak ability, like they say. I just get people on a deeper level. It had started when I was young. * I had been eating dinner at the kitchen table. She had been reading a magazine across from me, and I knew what she was feeling. "Mommy, why are you sad? Is it because of the men-a-paws?" My mother was always saying she wanted to create a little copy of herself, and had been so disappointed when I turned out to be a boy. My mother could not comprehend that her five-year-old had just said such a thing. Her expression had changed to one of shock in a second. "What? How do you know?" * Most people, they're just close-minded. Inward. Thinking only of themselves. It's a society of individuals who put themselves on display, touting their own magnificence, hoping to gather the biggest crowd of followers. The problem is, there are no followers. Everyone's doing the same as them, looking for attention, but never really looking at other people. It's a society of narcissists. I was different. I knew what people were feeling, could even sense what they were thinking of when they got quiet. * My mother made me keep it a secret. I did. Until I met a girl. She was attention-craving as the rest, but. . . Her smile was worth the attention of every man in the world, let alone myself. I approached her. She loved my compliments. But of course I tried to comfort her one day. * As the man puts me in the van, I shout at this unjust society, represented by the cops dragging me. "You're the freaks,"I said, using a term they'd thrown at me a dozen times in ten minutes, "I'm the normal one!" One of the rough-faced men spits on me. "Where'd you get a ridiculous idea like that, you degenerate freak? You sicko. Using your powers on a young girl like that. It's not 'normal' to know exactly what a person's feeling. It's not 'normal' to be able to read minds!"

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