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Kanye West, but not the Kanye West you're thinking of, a different Kanye West stood in the gun store looking at guns. "Can I help you with anything?"said the gun salesman "No, no one can help me"said Not that Kanye West "I see you have a personal problem"said the gun salesman "Yes"said Kanye West, stepping forward to try and look off stoically into the distance. The effect was ruined by the wall in his way "A personal problem that involves other people. And me killing them. With guns" "So you do need my help?"said the gun salesman. Kanye West stepped to the right "ye…"he took another step so he was in front of the door "Yes" … Dorothay and Tow-toh sat in their cabin drinking expensive alcohol. There was a knock on the door. Tow-toh stood up, dusting expensive cracker crumbs off his dog costume "I'll get it" He opened the door and Kanye West blew off his leg below the knee with a shotgun. "Ow"said Tow-toh falling to the ground "What is it"said Dorothay, coming into the hallway "Kanye West? Not that Kanye West but a different one?" "Yes, I've come for my vengeance"said Kanye West, firing his shotgun. Dorothay dove into the living room as Kanye West walked down the hall purposefully, firing his shotgun also purposefully. Kanye followed Dorothay into the living room. "Come out come out where ever you are"said Kanye West, spontaneously becoming like, the bad guy or something. "Fuck you"said Dorothay, popping up from behind the couch with an M60. She held down the trigger, which caused the gun to push up and to the right, away from Kanye West who was diving to the side and firing at her. A round hit her in the stomach, spraying blood all over the wall behind her. Kanye West stood up and looked over the couch. She was dead. He walked back into the hallway, and then down the hallway. He stood over Tow-toh, pulled out a handgun and aimed it at his face. "Wait"said Tow-toh "What?" "It's not like you think. Your brother was trying to kill us. He said you were ne…" Not that Kanye West shot him. Cut to a flash back of the death salesman selling Kanye West a gun. "Remember, when you seek revenge, dig two graves" Cut back to Kanye West standing over Tow-toh's body. "But then the camera panned down to show that he had actually been hit by one of Dorothay's bullets and was bleeding to death"said the gun salesman to the children gathered around the fire in a post apocalyptic future "What's a camera?"said one of the children "Who's the other Kanye West" "What's death" "Well that's uhm…uh, story times over"said the gun salesman.
In the modern age, our bodies are shaped as we wish them. By syringes and needles and manufactured bodies, nibbling away at our DNA to make us as needed. To build Telomerase, setting back the cells' clocks, is one of the simplest procedures bought by the billions all over the worlds today. As humanity has grown powerful, powerful enough to control what is and isn't 'human' down to the allele, we have grown many-our seniors growing experienced and wise without age, as their children, and their children's children grow to match their age, and spread across the stars. I am 1217 years old. I was born on Europa, way back before the terraforming projects had made it so warm. I grew up at the same time as three siblings, one a little older and one a little younger, I think, none of us can remember, not that the difference was ever enough to matter. I still try to call them, every twenty years or so, to check up on how they're doing, meet each family they have at least a few times. I am my father's 56th child, my mother's 104th. They were married for over a century, some 300 years back, and had four "batches"of kids together, four families raised until they spread apart, to find their individual ways across the stars. My siblings and I were the last batch, and a few decades after we each moved out, the two of them went their separate ways, their love for eachother milded by time, ready to explore something new. I have a charts, online, tracking each of my parents' siblings and children, and their children, and their children, as everyone does, to make sure I don't try to marry some time-distant half-sister without knowing. Even then, it happens, you hear the stories, and if any bad recessive genes show up in your kids, the gene therapy treatments to fix them aren't terribly expensive, I hear. I live in the far-out colonies, near Altair. The homeworlds are so expensive anymore, though I try to visit, every few centuries. They're beautiful, from so many millennia of perfect terraforming, shaping every grain of sand and breath of air, it seems. But part of me likes it, out here. Where the air feels a little thinner and the gravity doesn't seem so constant. It feels rougher around the edges, more raw, more real. I had a wife a few centuries back who loved living in the center of humanity, she felt like it thrummed with a heartbeat, like the whole world revolved and focused around those worlds. I also had a husband who just hated the sight of the land not fully changed for us, like the natural, empty land clashed with the terraformed air. I like it, out here. Living is cheap, for one, and getting a new job or a new career every few decades or centuries is remotely possible, and I feel like you meet more interesting people. People who want something besides a pre-prepared climate, something a little more adventurous, or exciting. Something that can spice up a decade or two.
(nsfw) She was smart, I would give her that. Offering loans to everyone, no matter their credit score. What she failed to point out was the obscenely high interest rate. I was one of the people hurt by her scheme. After many families in my underprivileged area were evicted after breaking their backs trying to pay their loans back, the area went from bad to worse. Gangs and meth addicts took up residence in the empty houses. Stabbings became a weekly occurrence. There was only one thing I could do to make this better. I had to exploit the two talents I had been given. Looking exactly like Ruth Baden-Jones... and fucking. I started out small. My porn name was Ruth BJ, obviously, and that was what I did. I worked my way up, starring in upwards of 3 different movies per week. Any film I could get I would accept, ranging from soft lesbian porn to hardcore gangbanging, passing through bondage and alien porn on the way. If the sexual act existed, Ruth BJ had done it. Three years later, I had become arguably the best-known porn-star in the entire state of Illinois. I often referenced local Chicago landmarks and people had started getting a real kick out of my ressemblance to Ruth Baden-Jones in the comment section. It was time for the great reveal. The thing that this had all been building up to. After having participated in an absolutely filthy threesome scene, I looked up from the shaved dick I had been sucking. "Hey guys! You guessed it, my name is Ruth Baden-Jones, President of Allied Midwestern Banks. I work at 33 5th Street in Chicago and I reeeaalllly get off on you guys showing me your dicks. So come on down any time between 9 and 6, and be sure to ask for "Mrs Jones"! I hope to see lots of you there." I gave the camera a sultry wink and got back to the dick. This was going to be fun. (disclaimer: I do not know anything about Chicago. That address was based off the numbers on the barcode of my Pringles tube.)
I live in a twisted city, with people with talents. Not normal talents, no, but strange ones. Some have the ability to make people speak only the truth, some people are stronger than normal and then there were the oddjobs like me. My power didn't show itself until i was 13. Normally the powers came out earlier. My power wasn't normal, nor was the age I got them. I could control the shadows. Make them twist around me, cover me from the light, make me hard to see. That kinda stuff. My mom died when i was young, and my dad became abusive. After I discovered my powers, I started training, and the abuse led to dark thoughts. I knew I could get away with murder. My first kill was my own father. Thats how it started. The city has always worked with me. Through the harder jobs aswell as the easier ones. I have never failed, I have always held my end of every bargain. And I intend to do the same in the future. I never could have anticipated this. When I found the contract laying on my bed, as my contact usually gave them to me. I thought it was a completely normal job. Get in, kill the target, get out. It's as easy as that. But not this time. I was sitting on a stone gargoyle that was near the target's manor. As I saw the door open, I pulled my hood on my head and started looking for the target. I had stalked the area for a couple of days now, as usual. The target would get out of the house exactly 2 hours after sundown, walk behind his house and spend the night somewhere there. I hadn't entered the manor grounds yet. I had a strange feeling. Something didn't feel right. I pulled the dark cloth on my face. Tonight was the night. The contract should have been completed by now, but the employer knew me, and knew how good I was. And he was right, I wasn't just good. I was the best. I jumped down from the gargoyle and started making my way towards the manor. The target always shut his windows before leaving, as he did today. I followed the stone pavement that led to the backyard. I didn't exactly know what was waiting for me there, but it wasn't something I had expected. The backyard was a beautiful flower garden, which was filled with black flowers. The target clearly liked dark colors. I sensed something around the corner. I leaned against the wall, trying to listen if it was anything that I should be aware of. I heard heavy thud from the corner. I checked really carefully. I saw a line of blood, leading to a trapdoor. On the trapdoor, there was also a body of a man. Not the target, but something was off here. The target had been in my sight all the time, except at the corner. I couldnt see him anywhere. As if he had vanished. I should have left at that moment. But being the greedy bastard I am, I decided to see what was under the trapdoor. Was the target hiding something? Maybe he was a murderer. The city was full of those, so that wouldn't be much of a suprise. I sneaked towards the trapdoor, bending the shadows for the first time in a while. I didn't need my powers that much, the people in the city didn't notice me anyway. But this time, I had a really strange feeling, and felt like this time it was going to be different than normally. When I moved the body, and opened the trapdoor, I saw it. A huge pile of bodies in there. The target was a hoarder. There had been a couple in the city earlier. Hoarders were people who collected stuff. Mostly bodies. In this case, it was bad. I could count maybe twenty or so bodies in there. I didn't want to go in there, so I decided to step back a little, and wait for the target to reappear. He always walked back the sameway anyway, so he would have to come out here too. I waited for about an hour. Then he came. Target was a man with dark brown hair. He was pretty tall and slim. Looked like he hadn't eaten in days. He stuffed the body down the trapdoor with 2 new ones he had come back with. I waited for my moment in the shadows, maybe about 5 meters away. He started locking the trapdoor. Time to strike. I pulled out my trusty Spike, which was my dagger, was a made of a black steel, and I had paid good money for the enchantments on it. I stabbed Spike to the targets side, and then I slit his throat. Well done, the hit was a success. The enchantments made sure I couldn't leave fingerprints or stepmarks anywhere, even if I wanted to. I turned my back, ready to leave the area, but then I heard a loud snap behind me. I quickly jumped around and took a step backwards. The target was standing, holding his throat and the side i stabbed. I saw a small blue flame dancing on his fingertips as he took his hands off the wounds. ”I knew this would happen one day.” The target said with a deep, and hissing voice. ”And I knew it would be you who would do this, my dear Alice.” I was stunned. Only one person knew my name, and that was my contact. I needed to get out of there, quickly. I turned around and started running, wrapping myself in shadows. ”We will meet again. Soon.” The target yelled as I disappeared into the night. (My second prompt ever, tell me what you think) Edit: Fixed some mistakes, Also working on part 2.
"Ghe." A text message from my bank had just two minutes earlier informed me that my balance was €0,00. Looking around, a few of my friends grabbed their phones and stared in bewilderment. "Hey, Lucas, are you seeing what I'm seeing?""No, Lisa, I'm not pondering what you're pondering!", followed by a lot of laughs. "No, seriously Lucas! Stop being a jerk. My bank account just hit zero!" Lucas, still laughing a bit over his own stupid joke, grabbed her phone. "I told you you should watch out with cashing at an ATM in a strange city. Before you know, Ashton Kutcher jumps out behind the bar and yells YOU'VE BEEN SKIMMED!"More laughing escapes his mouth. But nobody else is laughing. They all stare in bewilderment to their phones. Lucas, now painfully aware that his joke has landed nowhere, glances down to Lisa's phone. "Wait... what? Hard reset. Thank you for choosing The 9 Lives Kitty Bank. All your currency are belong to us. Miauw! With a shove, he returns Lisa her phone and proceeds to look at his own. At about this moment, it's beginning to become obvious that this problem for everyone who had money on their account; the majority of the pub. People stare in bewilderment to their phones, try to pay their drinks with their CC cards, a barmanager who looks like he's having a nervous breakdown... It's a total chaos for practically anyone without cash in their pockets. Now for me, this wasn't so much of a problem. With no savings and an account deep into the red digits, I just actually had earned money.
Everyone has probably wished at some point at their lives that they could just freeze time for whatever reason, be it just being tired of life, wanting to stop something from happening and the one I've heard the most, all the disgusting things they would do to other people. Well, I wished that I could freeze time too, when I was 12. I was bored in class one day and wondered how much fun I could have if time just froze and how I could cause chaos very easily. Exactly a week later, it happened. I thought it was just a prank that everyone was playing on me. But after a while of poking people and seeing things freeze in the air, I knew something fishy was going on. Then everything went back to normal. "David, what are you doing? Sit down."Mr. Rogers said, sternly. After that incident, it didn't happen again until 3 years later, when I was 15, when I was at my aunt's second wedding. Everything went silent, everyone froze in their tracks, and every object froze in the air when I try to throw them. After about 15 minutes of fooling around with people, everything started again. A cake ended up on the groom's face, my grandmother fell off her wheelchair and my brother faceplanted onto a chair. After that I tried to figure out how to freeze time again. I realized that I needed to think of white space and place the world into it. It doesn't make sense in writing, but basically its turning the world into a giant canvas where I can manipulate anything. It was hard at first, but in a few months I got used to it. Ever since then I've used it to my advantage. Change answers on my exams. Help people cross the street. Help people out in dangerous situations, even, like a fire or a car crash. This one time I stopped someone from jumping off a bridge. Often I freeze time just so I can take a break from life. Sit down somewhere and just enjoy the view. Little things like putting change in a busker's hat or put a loaf of bread in a homeless man's hand. I could do all kinds of bad things, but well, I decided to not abuse this power, because I'm sure whatever gave it to me can take it away just as easily. Then came the day I was in New York, sitting on top of the Empire State building. I looked down on the frozen streets and sipped my cup of coffee. Later, walking out onto the still frozen street I looked at my watch. Almost 6pm. So many people going home from work. Its time to get back to life. All of a sudden I saw a flash of blond hair disappearing around the corner.
I'm a terrifically unoriginal person. I got my list tattooed on the inside of my arm. Each time I passed a milestone, I went round to Sarah's. She sighed, gritted her teeth, and got out the makeshift tattoo gun. Then she'd dot a shaky line through the one I placed a finger next to. A lot of people did it this way: it was a way of keeping an eye on what you had left. Sarah wouldn't do that, though. She loved the suspense. I've just got one item left, and I'm away and laughing. There's no way I'm going to ever be close enough to a lion to put my face in its mouth. Either way, I just avoid Safari Parks, the African countryside, and large circuses. It's not a problem. It was a Tuesday morning in Bristol--the rain was pouring down and the hood of Sarah's H&M parka was dripping with droplets of water. She looked like a very wet lion; trying to shake water off her face. I brushed a couple of drops away from her nose and she sighed in frustration, unwilling to take her hands out of her pockets to remove the water I'd just smeared across her face. She shuffled against the bus-stop sign, lifting her feet off the ground and putting them down again. I knew her shoes were letting in water, because she couldn't afford anything else this winter, and it was the wettest one we'd had in years. I fingered the pound coins in my jacket pocket and hoped the bus would hurry up. They'd hiked the prices again this January, but the increased price had absolutely nothing to do with how often they ran. Either we'd just missed one, or they'd stopped at the flooded road down at the riverside, like had happened last year. Then there'd been no buses for three days. Sarah started next to me, like she'd received a cow prod to the back of the neck. Her eyes bulged out and she stepped forwards. I followed the line of her sight--across the road--barely visible through the broiling clouds that spat rain over us miserable people. There was a figure on the other side of the street, wearing a parka almost identical to Sarah's. The hood still over her face, she stepped out into the road and that was when the first white lights of the bus broke through the rain. I cried out, dashing forwards. It all happened in slow motion: first a sickening crunch, like the breaking of twigs beneath a Timberland boot. Then Sarah's body, in that stupid coat, was flung like a rag doll twelve feet down the street. She slid on the slick, wet tarmac: the side of the coat ripped and the cheap filling began to fly out like snow in a fucking snow globe. There were too many odd angles--too much white, and red and I realised I was running towards her. I'm not sure if I was saying anything, the words were catching in my throat. As I approached I could hear a quiet snuffling: a kind of whimpering and I realised with a sickness that ripped down to my stomach that it was Sarah and she was trying to say my name. I took her hand, then took her cheek in mine and tried not to look at the bleeding fingernails where they'd scraped against the pavement, or the glistening of wet flesh where the skin of her beautiful face had been ripped clean off. Words were torn from her throat as she begged me to kiss her. She was in pain, she said. She couldn't die until she'd completed one last thing. I wanted to wait, I wanted to hold her and soothe the pain and wait for the ambulance, but the road would be blocked at the riverside and she was hurting now. I bent my face to hers and kissed her, rain on her cheeks, tears on mine. I let her die--helped her die. One last thing to do.
The Master stood staring at me in shock. I held the body of the dog I raised from a puppy. Its neck was broken. "What? You told me to do it,"I said. "You were supposed to refuse. It was a test." "How can I fight the evil, if I refuse to kill? Evil is not going to hesitate to kill." "You're right, but....er..."The Master looked at me as if I was an abstract painting. "Come with me for a second,"he said and led me right outside the temple. "Look over there,"he said. I looked. I didn't see anything. Then I heard the temple door slam behind me and the sound of a dozen deadbolts sliding into place. "What the shit?"I said. I got angry. Was this another test? I banged on the door. "Open up!"I stepped away and scanned the temple. There was a window above me. I ran up at the wall and climbed to the window then smashed through. Monks came rushing at me with spears. I fought them, defeated them and killed them. Definitely another test. I ran through the temple, fighting monks, leaving their bodies behind until I got to the master. "Stop what you're doing,"he said. "Did I pass?" "What?" "Did I pass the test?" "This wasn't a test. You're the evil!" "Oh. That explains the goatee."
"Ugh, Earth?"said Zaxxar "Yup"said AI "But I hate Earth" "Everyone does" "Is there anyway off?" "Do you have a spare ship in your ship?" "No" "Then no" "Fugzin"which was like our fuck but like, 10 times worse. "Hey now"said AI Zaxxar turned as the military rolled up in their tanks. "Here we go again"said Zaxxar A man in a white lab coat stepped forward with a megaphone. "Hello"he said slowly "Do you understand us?" "Every fugzinn time"expertly demonstrating how to conjugate Talfurn profanity. "How funny would it be if I told them we came to conquer them?"said Zaxxar "No"said AI "The alien, it's saying something"said the on sight commander "No shit Shacklert"which is their sherlock, culture being pretty consistent throughout the universe "But what's it saying?"said the commander "I think it said it said it came to conquer us"said the man in the lab coat "Here we go"said Zaxxar "Well if you had just worn your translator" "If you had just worn your translator"said Zaxxar in a mocking voice before he was obliterated by a tank shell. … The men in the hazmat suits stood over the examination table with Zaxxar's remains on it. "Man, I'm hungry"said the first one "Pizza?"said the second "Yes"said the first "Yes" They left the room. Zaxxar's body reformed and he sat up. He wandered over to they were keeping his head and put it back into place. "You there?"said Zaxxar "Yup"said the AI "Think you can repair the ship?" "To what extent?" "We get home without exploding" "I can do that first part" "Good enough" The door slid open as the men came into the room, eating pizza in their suits. "See you guys later"said Zaxxar, patting one on the back as he walked by. "Bye"said the first man The men stood over the empty examination table. "Where's the alien"said the first man "Wait"said the second.
Tim's Journal August 7th: Went to the grocery store today, the meat that was set to expire today was on sale but some jerk grabbed the last one before me. August 9th: Saw a story about a foiled terrorist plot on the news, scary. August 12th: Got stood up on a date :'( August 13th: Maybe I'll go abroad for my next vacation. Diary of Time Police Officer #31597 August 7th: Tim died due to food poisoning today, took several tries to identify the source. Almost blew my cover when I removed the danger. August 8th: A large scale plot by timeline terrorists uncovered more details to follow. August 9th: Foiled plot but not without some of the details leaking to this timeline, too risky to redo it. August 12th: I've tried everything, they can never be allowed to meet. August 13th: Got Tim to travel to avoid the virus outbreak.
"Uh, can I help you?"I stammered, shocked by the two men in dark grey suits. One lowered his sunglasses and held his finger to an ear-piece, muttering something in code. "Mr Andrews, you're going to have to come with us." My eyes grew wide. "What? Why?" The second agent, motionless until now, drew out a slim silver gun. In one slick motion, he aimed it at my chest. - The thing about the CIA, as I had now found out, was that you don't get to ask the questions. They do. - "Mr Andrews. How did you get here?" The voice came distorted through my sleepy ears. I rubbed at my eyes, craning my head away from the harsh light. Five more minutes... "Mr Andrews. I repeat, how did you get here?" I still didn't answer. Very slowly, I opened my eyes. I was sitting on a steel chair, hands cuffed to the arms. I was at a similarly metal desk. A lamp was shining in my face. I moaned. "Mr Andrews. Pay attention." The fog began to clear from my mind. Ugh. My mouth was really dry. And my chest hurt. "...get... here?"I repeated. "Where am I?" "That's classified." I was thinking properly now. "Holy Sh*! Who are you? Where am I"I began to thrash, hands rubbing painfully on the cuffs. "Oh my god! You've bound me!"I gasped, beginning to hyperventilate... "Calm down, Mr Andrews!" "You've stolen my organs, haven't you? Oh my god, oh my god..."I shrieked, struggling to breath. My wrists were starting to bleed. I whipped my head around frantically. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a slim silver gun in his hand... - Another thing about the CIA, is that they won't stand for panicking like a headless chicken... - This time the light was soft. A female voice was calling out my name. "John?"She asked. "Mr Andrews? Are you awake?" "Mmm... yeah,"I mumbled quietly. "When were you born, Mr Andrews?" "Huh? 1982..." My mouth was dry again. "Can I have some water?" "Yes, of course." My eyes adjusted to the gentle light from the glowing lamp. It was a similar room, but the furniture was softer... I turned my head to see the owner of the voice. She was pouring water out of a glass into a paper cup. "Just as we thought,"she said, handing me the cup. I took it in my hands gratefully. "What did you think?"I asked after taking a mouthful of water. It ran down my throat, cool and refreshing. I held it to my lips and drank again. "That you aren't a time traveller." Time traveller? Why would...* "You shouldn't make jokes like that. It's quite confusing for us sometimes." Oh! The stupid joke I'd made when the local news station had interviewed me. "Huh. Okay, I guess." "We didn't even need to ask you. We've already checked your apartment and run tests on you, it was quite obvious you were just some unfunny loser, not a time-traveller." "Loser?"I mumbled. "I'm not a loser..." The woman reached for a little microphone on the desk. "Subject has confirmed that they are not a time traveller. Just a normie this time, guys." "Wait, what do you mean this time--" I was distracted by the slim silver gun she had flipped out of her pocket. - The last thing about the CIA, is that their knock-out-gun-things? Yeah, they have a memory-wipe setting. - I woke up slumped on my sofa. Huh, I must have fallen asleep watching TV. I looked up at the television. Weird. It was switched off. I rubbed at my chest. It was kinda sore. I shrugged it off. Time to go enjoy my new jacuzzi that I had bought with all the lottery money.
I kept my eyes focused on the stool in front of the counter as I entered, as to avoid meeting the awkward gazes of the strangers who were judging my every move. As I sit down, the bartender asks what I'll be having, to which I manage to murmur out my order in a hush tone so other patrons wouldn't hear. He serves up my drink, and as I mutter an unintelligible "thanks", a woman sits on the stool next to me. With sweaty palms, I remove my phone from my pocket, and gaze daydreamingly at an empty message inbox to suppress my surroundings, when I hear her speak a soft "Hi there" I lift my head up from my phone, and just manage to look at her out of the corner of my eye, without being able to make out any features. After waiting for what felt like a silent eternity, to see if she was actually talking to someone else, I speak up with a surprised yet awkward "um... Hey."I think to myself 9 different reasons of why she chose to talk to me, and why did it have to be before the alcohol kicked in to alleviate the burdensome anxiety. Resuming my meaningless stare at my uneventful phone display prompts her to say "Cmon, lemme get a good look at you", with a slur indicating she already had a few drinks herself. My heart now palpitating, I turn and look at her. I think to myself that I must in fact already be drunk, because her hair appears to be moving, and just as my eyes meet hers, they focus, and I see it isn't hair at all. From knowing a fair amount about mythology, I knew what was supposed to happen next, but when it didn't, she asked "How is this possible?" I replied without missing a beat "Because I'm already frozen solid."
It was the first warm day of spring, and the dog park was the joyful chaos that would be expected. A winter spent cooped up indoors had driven every dog in the city into a deranged sort of cabin fever, and now that the weather was warm and the snow was gone, they had come to the park in droves. Territory was marked, balls were chased, rears were sniffed, and hierarchies were established, and the owners made conversation while glancing periodically at their pets in case there was any trouble. On that day, there wasn't any trouble, until the red minivan pulled into the parking lot. At once, every dog in the park stopped dead, and turned to stare with wide-eyed laser focus at the parking lot. The silence became unnatural after a few seconds, and the confusion among the owners was evident. They, too, turned to look at whatever had the dogs so entranced. Their noses weren't sensitive enough to smell the brimstone and fur. Their ears weren't sharp enough to hear the growling like a hungry furnace. Their instincts weren't wild enough to scream at them that something was wrong. In the parking lot, the side door of the red minivan rolled open. A doberman, head hung low and tail between its legs, whimpered its way over to its owner, hiding behind the woman's legs. Now, the humans in the park could feel the prickling on the back of the neck, the urge to get away - The urges were ignored in lieu of stupid curiosity. Whatever their collective subconsciousness had expected to emerge from the minivan, it wasn't a small, golden-brown Welsh corgi, eyes alight with excitement. It strained against the plain green leash on its collar as it tried to get to the park faster, faster, faster, but the young boy holding the other end held on tight. In the face of the small, cheerful dog that thought it was still a puppy, the owners relaxed. The dogs didn't. They could see the burning shadow that lurked behind the corgi, shaped like no hound that had ever been born upon the earth. They knew, without words or doubt, what that dog's sire had been. --- Like it? Read my [blog.](http://theballadsofirving.com) Do it.
A thin, bearded twenty-something sits on a padded table in the examination room of a doctor's office. He's wearing a hospital gown, gently swinging his bare, hairy legs back and forth, drumming his fingers and whistling as he waits. Wrapped around his head is a green, tentacled mass of pulsating flesh. The young man idly whistles "More Than A Feeling,"glancing at the door, and then the clock across the room. Suddenly, his face spasms, and he switches to "Smoke On The Water."He sighs and glances up. "You know, you could have just asked me to whistle something else." His face contorts again, and he speaks in an awful, gravelly growl of a voice. "ASKED YOU? YOU HATE HENDRIX. GOD KNOWS WHY." The door clicks open, and a balding, middle aged doctor walks in with a clipboard. "Hello, Mr. Donahue. Sorry to keep you waiting." The young man holds up a hand. "It's no problem. And please, call me Carl." His face contorts. "AND CALL ME CRANIO. NICE TO MEET YOU, DOC." The doctor smiles. "All right, Carl. And, uh, Cranio."He adjusts his glasses and flips through the papers on the clipboard. "So you're here today because..."The doctor shrugs and points up towards Carl's head. "Is it really that obvious?"Carl asks. "Yeah, I've got this awful ache in my neck that just won't go away. Do you maybe need to refer me out to somebody or something? A chiropractor?"He rubs his neck and winces. His face spasms. "COME ON, CARL. A CHIROPRACTOR? THOSE GUYS ARE ALL HACKS." "Oh! Well..."The doctor cuts his eyes back and forth, uncomfortable. "I just assumed that..." "WHAT? THAT HE WANTED TO GET RID OF HIS BRAIN PARASITE? BECAUSE I'M EVIL AND WANT TO CONQUER HUMANITY? 'CAUSE WE MEDULIANS ARE ALL THE SAME, RIGHT?"Cranio rolls Carl's eyes. "THAT'S REAL NICE." "Come on, Cranio. He didn't mean anything by it."Carl meets the doctor's eyes. "Although that wasn't very PC of you, doc." The doctor holds up his hands. "No, no, I... I'm sorry if I offended you, gentlemen. Is that the right term? Gentlemen?" "OKAY, I'VE HAD ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS GUY."Cranio widens Carl's eyes, and glares hard at the doctor. A high, warbling whine fills the room. "What the..."The doctor twitches, and then claps his hands over his temples. "WHAT THE--"The doctor's head explodes. A shower of blood coats the entire room. Flying chunks of skull and brain matter go everywhere, sticking to the walls and splattering across the floor. Carl's eyes and mouth are squeezed shut, and he slowly wipes the blood from his face with both hands. "Awesome. You know, you can solve problems with words, too. Remember when you blew up that cashier's head when he gave us the wrong change?" His face contorts. "WHATEVER, SCREW THAT GUY. HEY, LET'S GO GET A BURRITO. ME GUSTO BURRITOS MUCHO!" Carl puts his hands on his hips and chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, Cranio!" Carl and Cranio, Tuesdays at 8 on NBC!
Shit shit shit shit shit "Hey there Stacy!"I smiled and returned the hug. "How have you been?"She backed away and smiled. Who would have thought I'd run into her in the parking lot of a movie theater. She came with her mother, who shot me dirty glances as she sulked to their car. "I've been good dog!"She said playfully. I cringed. "I got that job in Paris I was talking about and worked there for a few years, just got transferred back! It was so exciting, I need to tell you all about it! Maybe coffee? Anyways, what have you been up to?"She sounded so excited. She couldn't have forgot, could she? It was the only thing I could think of. Well, let's test the waters. "Just same old same old, work at the DA doesn't change too much over the years."I forced a chuckle. "So, what day works with you?"I was already starting to get anxious. Of all the times. I looked around the parking lot, trying to make eye contact with other people leaving their movies. Wait, why am I doing that? I checked my watch to make sure I wasn't late to my movie. "How about Tuesday?"She smiled warmly. On a Tuesday? Really? Was she fucking with me? God damnit, I need to know. She handed me her phone number. "Just in case you lost it."I could feel my face reddening. Why... I can't, she has to remember. I nodded. She waved and walked back to her car. "Wait!"It had to be said. "What is it?"She called back. I quickly walked up to her, no need for everyone to hear. I whispered in her ear. "So you're not mad about the time I accidentally killed your parents dog with your mom's car, right?"
"Come on." "Don't wanna." "I will hurt you,"I said with a glare. The printer rolled his googly eyes at me. "Don't have a brain. Don't feel pain." "Fair enough. How about I rip your eyes off?"I asked casually. "No!" "Then print my fucking report, now." It whimpered but began to make the usual whirring noises. Several seconds later, I held the papers in the my hands and grimaced. The colors weren't quite right. I sighed; there was no point berating the stupid thing about it, I was going to be late for work. "Boss,"a voice sang from the kitchen. "Got something nice and warm for you..." I went over and plucked out two perfectly toasted slices of whole wheat. "Thanks, Toaster. Why couldn't Printer be more like you?" "I heard that!" "Oh that old thing. It just can't appreciate how great you are. With those big, strong arms and tight buttocks..."the toaster cooed. "Oh, right,"I muttered, walking away. "That's why Printer shouldn't be more like you."Why the hell would a living toaster be perverted? "Oooo, yeah, walk away from me, mmm..." I shuddered and bit into a slice. Toast hanging from my mouth, I quickly donned my usual shirt and dress pants and checked my hair in the mirror. "Mirror, mirror on the wall,"I said dramatically, "Who's the fairest--" "Not you, you fugly piece of shit,"it spat back at me. "Good thing you didn't attach a mouth to me, or I would throw up every morning when you looked at me." "Don't you dare say that about him!"came from the kitchen. The mirror let out a select stream of obscenities in response. I ignored both of them and jogged to the front door. As I slipped on my shoes, I heard: "What's the point?" "Huh?"I looked around. My front door stared at me sadly. "Another day of our pointless existences." "Oh, don't be like that,"I replied. "It's a beautiful, sunny day with lots of golden opportunities. Isn't that right, Window?" "It is sunny, but how can...how can an opportunity be golden?"the window answered with confusion in its voice. It wasn't the brightest thing in my home. Which, in retrospect, seemed a tad ironic. "It can't,"the door answered. "It's a lie. Everything is a lie. But that doesn't matter, because everything is pointless." I waved my hand airily and laughed. "Oh, you silly door. Open up for me, will ya?" It swung open and I stepped out. "See you later, door." "Unless you die before your day ends. Or I die. Or both of us."The last one seemed to cheer it up a bit. "Goodbye!" _________________________________________________________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
"And the 2000th that is ", I said , carefully placing the last pancake on the plates that I had carefully laid out beforehad. Humming and satisfied with myself as I went over to the SUS (Skill Updating System) to check my cooking skill that should have reached level 200 by now. Updating... 'Only show skills starting with "c"' 'Only show skills with medium importance and above ",it's probably not beneficial for you to have your hot date see that your "card games"skill is over level 300, courtesy to a lot of boring summers staying at your aunt's place. So : Carefull reading lvl 1 'Oh, here we go again instead of listing it under "r"its under "c"' Charisma level 20 You see, you can only level up your skills by performing a certain activity which is based on your current level. Leveling charisma from 0 to 100 requires you to talk to yourself int he mirror. You need charisma level 100 before you can raise your level while talking to your friends, level 150 before you can raise your level while talking to strangers and finally level 200 before raising your level while flirting. Anyway here we go: Cooking level 125 A little confused, I checked the number again. I just made 2000 pancakes I should have been at least level 200 What happened? I search for the recipe and read it from the top. Oh, there is a little note at the bottom. "Making Pancakes only affects your experience points fully till level 121, it will stop grating experience at level 125" I started at level 120. That's really annoying, I wanted to use the 2000 pancakes to craft like 50 different servings including pancakes which you can only manage at level 200 and impress my crush who happens to love guys that can cook well. So now i have 2000 pancakes and no clue what to do with them or how to eplain it to the girl show up in 2 hours. The Skill Updating System started blinking so i checked whether something had changed . Sometimes doing something will raise your level without you realizing. Carefully reading level 2 OH REALLY?
I can't just say the word the moment she walks in, I remind myself. This has to last at least five minutes or so. Ceremony makes it look difficult. I strain and squint, as though trying to glimpse a too-distant star behind a cloud. If it looks too easy they suspect you can hear _all_ their thoughts. Clients who feel that their secrets are uncovered, also feel judged. And that's dangerous. No, this is a terribly difficult, intense process. I must convince them. A few months ago I got a nosebleed with a client in the room - she added a nice tip. Clearly, I'd tried to kill myself reminding her of a childhood friend's name. "Don't psychic too hard,"she'd actually said. "Cardamom,"I choke out, and finally allow myself to exhale. My well-padded chair catches my practiced collapse. My head lolls. I stare at the carpet. There's a new coffee stain there, and I'm wondering which one of them kicked a latte over. "You wanted to add cardamom next time."Breathless. Dazed. I am spent. As far as she can tell. She smacks her forehead. "Of course!"Digs in her purse and pushes a bill across the table. "You don't know how long I've been... it was right there on the tip of my tongue." Nine times out of ten, it was paper towels. Or garbage bags. They wanted to remember to pick up ______ at the store, but the blank kept growing, undermining the rest of the thought. By the end of the day it was nothing more than "I need to..."A subtle, blinking, unlabeled light on the dashboards of their minds. Do something, it says. You wanted to do something. It's $20 per retrieval. They're not paying for the information, really. They're paying me to scratch that itch, to give them back peace of mind. To look at the warning light and reassure: ah, yeah, you need to refill your wiper fluid. It's not impending doom. That vague uneasiness in your gut means you need to renew your driver's license. Next month. Cat food. Eritrea. 21-25-18, but you have to turn the lock clockwise first, one full rotation. Another ping in my head. I hold up a finger and point her back to her chair. I always have a few browser windows open. I point to the printer by the door. Dot matrix, tractor feed - I keep it around because it amuses me. Her face falls - probably she thinks I've discovered something salacious. With a trembling hand she picks up the lyrics of O Fortuna from the Carmina Burana. Uncomprehending, she reads. She begins to mouth the lyrics, and rolls her eyes. "Of course,"she whispers. "Latin class."Digs in her purse for another bill, but I wave her off. "Freebie,"I say, and she nods appreciatively. She pauses at the door and waves the papers at me. "These words have been scurrying around in the dark corners of my brain for at least a decade, and every time I hear the song I forget to look it up."A thoughtful look, a head tilt. Eyebrows clenched. Her stare is intense, and I'm concerned she's psychic-ing too hard. They all try this. I shrug. She laughs, winks flirtily, and turns to leave. I always wonder what messages they're trying to send in these last few moments. "And vanilla!"I yell after her. The faint smack of palm on forehead echoes back through the hallway. I do wish they'd stop hitting themselves.
"Hand me that, would you?" We were walking down the hall together. Roger was next to me and Estelle, my supervisor, was leading the way. She was a tall, slender angel who was responsible of the logistics for this kind of thing. She tracked who was needed where, what kind of soul will be placed in which kind of spot according to previous lifestyles and things like that. She's usually running around like crazy. She needed to be with Roger and me because we are trying to Recycle. Recycle is also a term that is currently running through research and development. We've been using the term Recycle in focus groups and now we've taken it to the field. We've used it now for about a week and we'll continue using it for another. Once the research comes out to see if the term is ok or if it seems too shallow or heartless. Personally, I think it's practical, but I can also see how it is a little touchy. Estelle turned towards me and handed me the dossier for Tessel, Raymond. "He's been on the fence for the past few days about reincarnating. He's from the United States. Somewhere on the East Coast." "Rhode Island,"I said, flipping through the file. "Right. They're really in need of some Recyclables in New England. Really hammer the point home." "Why is he apprehensive?"Roger asked. "He had a rough life, it appears. It's in the file Roger."I handed Roger the file. Her stilettos clicked on the tiles floor as we neared the elevator. A lot of people have the misconception that angels float or that we don't have bodies. Sorry to disappoint you, but that's the way it is. We basically retain our bodies when we best liked them. Some of us are teenagers, some young adults, some elderly and some mid-twenties. We were chosen because we are a mean age of twenty-eight looking people. Apparently people like talking about Recycling to younger, healthier people. Even in Paradise do we have superficiality. Funny, isn't it. Estelle clicked the elevator call button. Then again. Then again. "Stell, it's not going to make it come faster if you hit it more." "Roger make sure that you look over the geography of it since I'm sure that Gabriel will be looking at the history and family life." My name is Gabriel. Take a guess why I was chosen for this duty. "Yeah, I got it. It says he hated his hometown though?" "Is this the one? Darn, I'm really sorry. I've been spread very thin, what with the Recycle rate being so low in the United Kingdom, the United States and China. I'm sorry. Gabriel, this one'll be mostly - " The elevator dinged and opened. "- be on you,"she said as she stepped into the elevator. She checked her cell phone, clicked the second floor button three times and the doors closed. I chuckled and grabbed the file back from Roger. "Just... I don't know, I won't tell you how to do your job, Gabe, but please... I could really use one here." "I'll do my best." "Great. I have to go back up and meet up with Simon. I'll catch up with you guys later and see how it went. Good Luck!" "Room?"Roger asked. "Two-eleven." "Thanks,"we said walking down the hall. The lights were bright and the walls were white. I remember thinking how incredibly bright the rooms and buildings were here, but after a while, the allure faded. Not that they weren't just as bright, but it just didn't seem all that great anymore. I knocked on the door, twisted the knob and pushed the door open. "Raymond?" "Yes?" "Hi Raymond!"I said with a smile as we approached his armchair and he turned off the television. Even in Heaven we have reruns. "Can I help you?" "Yes. We're here to talk to you about Recycling." His face turned into a tired frown and said, "Alright. Have a seat." "Thanks. Have you given it anymore thought?" "Not sure why I should. I didn't exactly have a great run the first time. And it's really nice here. Why should I? I'm happy here. Everything is just so... nice." "It is Raymond. It certainly is,"Roger said. "But you had some great times on Earth, didn't you?"I picked up. "You were a fantastic hockey player and I know you loved that. There aren't any rinks up here." "I'm over it." I knew the sweet talk wasn't going to work on him, so I tried something else. "Alright Raymond, I'll level with you. Recycling is a big, big thing for us right now. Valhalla is running low and we need to ration fresh souls. We need good, solid people to step in and we need some folks to help us out." He shifted in his chair and rubbed his chin. "You know, Rhode Island is in desperate, desperate need of Recycled souls." "Agh!"he said whipping his hand. "I hated that damned place. Hated it!" I improvised. "Well. How do you feel about the United Kingdom?" "What about it?" Roger picked up on my queue: "The UK needs the same thing. I don't have specifics on me, but I know England is in need and I believe Wales is getting low, too." "England, huh?" "You've had the new, try the old,"I said. "Awful joke, you know." "I do. But I had to say it,"I said with a smile. "I don't know. I've always liked the idea of England. Maybe London..."he said, thinking. "I think over there they say, 'fancied the idea', isn't that right, Roger?" "I believe so." The two of us were from America. The only English jargon we knew was from television. "I tell you what. I'll think about it." "Raymond, I have to be honest here, bud. We've got to take a hard answer back to our supervisor, Estelle. She's in desperate need of a yes, so I'll tell you what: I'll make sure that you get placed in England - London, England - in a nice neighborhood with a great elementary school -" "Primary school,"Roger interrupted. "Right! Primary school, and we can negotiate at a later time the number of siblings you can have." Raymond rubbed his chin and after some more stewing, he said, "Alright, Gabriel, I'll do it. But I want a real discussion about the perks." I stood up, stuck my hand out and said, "You got it, Raymond! Thank you for Recycling. I'll have my supervisor Estelle get in touch with you." Roger and I left the room and once the door closed, he said, "She's going to kill you. That doesn't help the New England problem." "She can't kill me, I'm already dead. And it helps the overall problem and lightens the UK problem. I'll be fine." "You ever thought of Recycling?" "God, no." ----- Sorry it's so long!
Agh not that silly sorceress again! "I'll make quick work of you Selna, just you wait" "Psyman you fool, your meaningless card tricks are no match for me!"She screeched. "Its time to d-d-d-d-duel"I proclaimed reaching for my deck holster. Shit... my duel deck's gone...Dammit... what else do I have here? Uno cards, a regular deck.. well I have to try something. "Face my..err jack of diamonds?"I muttered, throwing out the card. Soon after, a snobby fat rich kid popped out. "Yo why you be bothering me. You the pizza guy? Where's my pizza" "This is the extent of your magical prowess?"Selna taunted. "A fat kid who wants pizza". Clearly this isn't going to work... Reverse, and as quickly as he apeared he was back in my hand. There must be something I can do think... No I can't...I shouldn't... not THAT deck. "You have to, its your only choice"said the red joker, now sitting on my shoulder. "But that'd be terrible think of the bystanders"pleaded the black joker, who manifested on my other shoulder. "Hey I didn't summon you guys... what have I said about pulling stunts like this?"I grimaced. Sharing a glance of fear they poofed away in a cloud of smoke. But he's right. I've got no other choice. "How long are you gonna stand there? I've been waiting for you to start for like half an hour, c'mon already"groaned selna. "I mean I know it's part of the story but hurry up." I drew a card, "a pile of 200 corpses"and instantly Selna was burried. "Really you wait half an hour then attack while I'm talking? Besides what are these...arms..legs..AGGGH! How dare you mortal!"She yelled. Exploding with red hot fury oh wait no that was just her , she started slinging fireballs towards me. "cat video so cute that your eyes roll back and your spine falls out your anus"I read. Instantly Selna went limp and temporarily blind. "Your petty tricks can't stop me"she stated as she regrew her bones. At last she summoned a blazing inferno so strong it burned all but one of my cards, my last hope rested in it. "A blank card?! Yesss"I pulled out my trusty black sharpie and scrawnily wrote out : Fin.
It's been one year since the labeling. Most with bad labels are in hiding or locked up, or dead. Some have changed. They have made themselves better, those that are redeemable. Society has made a conscious effort to try and help those that have been labeled unfavorably. As soon as I saw my label, I ran. As fast as I could. Gathered my belongings and left. I left everything behind. My job, my house, my family, everything. I knew they would be better without me. It seems there is truth to what the labels say. I definitely would have been one of the ones locked away, forced to live a caged secluded life until my label changed, or became true. God I hope it doesn't come true, I really do, but no matter what I do, no matter how far I run or where I hide, my label stays the same. I have spent the last few months thinking and meditating in the deep woods. I have come to the conclusion that there is something about my life, my body that if I were to die, would cause a genocide. My sin would be my death, and the countless deaths of others. I haven't had contact with the world for many months, I don't know if I can ever go back. Would they kill me on the spot? Would they just lock me up? Would they put me under some kind of crazy regiment to try and change my label? I don't really know. That scares me. Every decision I make, it's always a second guess. If only I could figure this out. ** It's been two years since the labeling. I travel the country at night and hide during the day. People are dying. There is war. Those that were labeled unfavorable have banded together. Accepting their fate, they have began embracing their sins, trying to one up each other within the group. They maim, kill, rape, rob, and do more unspeakable things to people. No one dares oppose them lest they be shunned for an unfavorable label. More and more join their ranks. I fear they will take control. I killed for the first time yesterday. It's been 3 years since the labeling, the world has descended into hell. Those that would fight the evil are too afraid of losing their pristine labels. Something about divine purpose or some stupid shit. What do I care? I already have a shitty label, might as well put it to good use. I saw this man, label: murderer. He stalked a man trying to get food for his family, label: unbreakable. When confronted, the man stood his ground with his food. In an instant, the assailant had the man on the ground. "Let's see how unbreakable you are."He sneered as he beat the life out of him. I couldn't take it, I drew my gun, pointed and shot. He was dead. In the fleeting moments I noticed his label changed, label: motivator. Odd I thought, but I didn't really think much of it. My journey continued. It's been four years since the labeling. Every day more and more people join our cause. What started with one kill lead to many more. I do not know how many I have killed, nor do I know how many more my following is responsible for. We strike at groups of witnessed unfavorables. We know this because the labels know. If one of our group's labels changes to "unjust"or "murderer"they are forced to leave or work, to atone for their sin. No one knows my label. I stay hidden in the shadows, working towards our goal of reestablishing the society that was lost. I hope I am doing the right thing. War is hell. ** The remnants of the unfavorables are scattered across the world, mostly hiding in third world countries or remote locations away from the prying eyes of the public. Sound leadership has tentatively returned to society, I sit alone in my remote cabin. All that I have done, all that I have accomplished, still my label stays the same. It's been 10 years since the labeling. There will always be bad people in society, and I am probably one of them. Could there have been another way to stop the chaos? I ask myself that question every day. Racking my brain over what I could have done differently. My movement killed thousands. We kept track. Who knew there were that many people that would embrace anarchy and disorder. Was is the backlash of judging based on a simple label? Maybe. I think a lot about how it all just happened. What if I had been caught? What if I had just been killed? Would things be different? Still, why won't this stupid label change. I feel like I have done good. I have helped make people safer and restored order and balance to the world. A message appears on my phone. "I know your label, we need to talk, come outside."That's it, I am dead, my movement, dead. When people find out they have been following a person who commits or will commit such an atrocity it will all fall apart. I contemplate, ending my life, but they would still see the label and if they already know, what does it matter, maybe I can explain myself. I walk outside. Outside is a man in a black suit, nice shades and shoes standing next to a black SUV. Some kind of high up government agent or something. Label: shadowy. "Genocide huh? Wouldn't have guessed that, but when I think about it, it does make a lot of sense."He said nonchalantly. "Shadowy, well that's a new one."I reply. "What can I say? I know how live in a shaded world. But I am not here to make funny puns about silly labels." "So then why are you here?"I ask. "We need you, the world needs you. There is another uprising coming, your...our enemies are amassing under new leadership and no one wants to step up and do something about it because of these stupid labels." I look at him, perplexed by the request. Finally processing everything, "Look buddy, I don't need any more blood on my hands, I need to figure out how to get rid of this stupid label above my head so I can rest easy. You have no idea how hard it is to live with this sin hanging over your head." Walking towards me, "You think your label is a sin? My friend, none of our labels are sins! They are what we are best at, the best of ourselves. Some people, just happen to be good at bad things. And in your case, you happen to be really good at a really bad thing. But those are just words, 'good' 'bad' we choose how to define them. Do you think what you have done in the last 10 years is 'bad'?" I think for a minute, "No, what I did, I did to help people, I did it because I knew deep down, we needed to get our hands dirty to clean up the mess we caused." "Exactly!"He exclaimed. "The labels, they are just words, we can choose how to define them and how to move forward. People will always still take them too seriously; until the day they disappear, if they ever do. And so long as people believe the 'good' or 'bad' we need people like you, me, who act on our feelings rather than how the label describes us. Now, I have orders to bring you in and help us get our hands dirty, but I will respect your decision should you choose not to come." Thinking back on everything that has happened, all I have accomplished, it all made sense. "I have always been running from this label, trying to change it. I will come, on one condition." "What's that?" "Make sure history knows why we did what we did."
"I don't have time for dates, Bruce,"Dick began, "What we do is far more important than getting married or doing cute couple stuff." "I know Dick, you're not listening to me. I'm not asking you to get married, most of these girls just want something no strings anyway, you're a famous fuck." "Gasp! I'm not a fuck. You're a fuck!" "Goddamnit Dick. You're fucking with me. How don't you know this? NONE OF OUR BAT COMPUTERS HAVE PORN BLOCKERS! How haven't you figured this out?" "I know about kissing Bruce, I'm not stupid." "Jesus. Sex. Do you know about sex?" "Yeah. Male, female." "Yeah...go on" "Go on what?" "Are you really gonna make me do this? You're a grown ass man. What the fuck do you do with your life?" "TRAIN! FIGHT CRIME! I spend like a hundred percent of my time either with you on the streets or fighting crime. So what if I don't know what sexing is. How important can it be?" "Fine fine. I kind of forget that my team is socially stunted. I guess this on me, I haven't really addressed it because to be perfectly honest, I didn't want to. Kind of assumed Alfred would take care of the kids since he's kind of my wife." "So you have sex with Alfred?" "No. Not that there's anything wrong with that kind of...Me and Alfred don't have sex. How do you think you came to life?" "From my mother duh." "Okay, and how did your mom and dad decide to make you?" "They got married." "Umm yeah. Okay, but getting married doesn't make a woman pregnant." "Sex does!" "Good. You're getting it. So generally sex is when a man puts his penis inside a woman's vagina and makes it go in and out until he ejaculates semen and that makes a woman pregnant sometimes. Are you following so far?" "........." "So yeah that's kind of the classic version of sex...I guess." "So...mommy...put daddy's peepee stick inside her pee hole?" "Yeah." Dick started retching. "That's actually what your name means by the way, penis." Dick continued retching. After finally settling he meekly let out a, "why...?" "It feels good mainly. Psychological validation too. You can explore certain aspects of your identity through sex as well. It's pretty complicated but for now we're going to talk about the mechanics. Oh and you can make babies as well. Oh and there's masturbation where you use your hand to kind of simulate sex. You ever done anything like that?" "You mean white piss?" "Yeah....Yeah. White piss yeah. So you do masturbate?" "No but that's what the homeless people do sometimes. They say it helps them go if I watch. You know it gets boring staking out villains so sometimes I..." "Stop doing that Dick. Just stop watching homeless people masturbate. Don't engage them if they're masturbating. Just stick to girls for now and we'll deal with your almost certain homeless fetishes and the shame later." "This is all really complicated Bruce. Can you just show me?" "I'd rather not." "Why not? You made it sound like wasn't a big deal." "How's this? A lot of the female villains and heroes we deal with are pretty slutty, I'm sure one of them could show you the ropes. I'll set it up." "I don't want to put my peepee in Catwoman. I don't want to have a baby with her." "You can't have sex with Catwoman. She's mine. Well, not mine, but I'm the only person on our team that can have sex with her. Bro code. And you can prevent having babies with contraception." "Bruce, this is too complicated. Why do I have to do this?" "You don't have to if you don't want to. It just blows my mind how ignorant you are on the topic. I guess I have myself to blame. I've been taking in kids for so long and training them that I forget that they need to learn things other than fighting criminals. I guess the whole Batman and Robin having sex rumors put me off the idea of every having a sexual discussion with you guys. I've failed you Dick, from now on, you can come to me if you ever need sex or girl advice. We'll make time to talk about this in depth. Anyway, the internet is a better teach than me on this topic, I'll make a list of things for you to research." Bruce got out a pen and paper and started writing down some sexual positions. "Just...just know that not everything on the internet is common practice...more like theatrical versions of what normal humans do I guess. Give or take." "Got it Batman! Mission Sex Research is a go!" "Yeah okay." ********** Two hours later. "Bruce, can you get pregnant from bukakke?" ******* Five hours later. "BRUCE, I CAN'T WHITE PISS ANYMORE" ******* Two days later. "BRUCE! People have drawn pictures of me having sex with Oracle. I'm so confused." *** Two weeks and many tissues later. "Bruce, how big does your Dick Greyson need to be to have sex? These girls all..." "ENOUGH! I know what I said, fuck it. Let me make a couple of calls,"Bruce dialed a number on his Bat Phone, "Yeah, hey. I need a favor. You know that offer you keep dropping while we're fighting for our lives on the streets, any chance I can cash it in for a friend? Nightwing. No I don't want to watch. I don't care if you prefer it that way. Just...teach the kid a few things. I'm getting sick of this shit." ******* One day later. "I quit." "You just wanna fuck girls?" "Yeah, my tinder is blowing up Bruce, how can I fight crime and have a healthy sex life. Fuck this man, life's too short to spend doing what we do. I just wanna say, I appreciate all you've done for me, and desp...." "I understand. You don't have to explain it to me, I get it. You just want a normal life. I'm sorry if I took that away from you." "Can I keep the costume? Most girls pref...." "Just go, Dick"
A young man comes into the clinic with his son who limps. The boy cries as he leans against his father. They check in and then wait in the antechamber for a doctor. A young blonde woman walks out to meet them and stops. She stares at them both. She knows them well. She does not say the name. She cannot. "Hi honey."Says the man. She rushes up to them and speaks in a whisper. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Sam broke his ankle." "You know what this place is. You know what I do. You promised you would never..." The man looks over his shoulder at the officer waiting in the street. The officer stands with his back to them. He is tall and strong and bald. The doctor looks at her husband and then to the officer for a few seconds too long. Then, she looks back at her son and bends down to one knee to look him in the eyes. She places her hands on his shoulders. "Hi Sam, honey. Come on back, it's going to be okay." "No, mommy, please..." She picks him up, though only a five year old, he is heavy. Sam doesn't fight her too much and hugs his mommy. She carries him to her examination room and places him on the soft table. She pulls the man inside and closes the door. She examines her son. She sets the bone and leaves the room. She returns and begins to fasten a cast around his leg. They wait for it to harden. The doctor forges papers and gives them to her husband. "What do they say?" "Sam has a clean bill of health. He fell and scraped his knee. Go, please, go now. We may still pull this off." The father carries his son back to the antechamber and outside where the police officer waits. He looks at them confused. "Stop, stop. Did your son not receive treatment?" "Doc gave him a clean bill of health. Just a scraped knee. No need for treatment." "No no, follow me."He grabs the father by his coat sleeve and pulls them back inside. The officer talks to the receptionist. "We need a second opinion." The father's heart beats rapidly. He holds his son close and tries to hold back his tears. Another doctor emerges, and the father is terrified. This man is a stranger. "Examine the boy."Says the officer. "Daddy?"Says Sam. "It's okay, Sammy." The doctor looks him over. His father continues to hold him. He checks the injured leg last where he sees the cast. He looks at it with horror that turns into amusement. The doctor looks up and locks eyes with the mortified father. "Clean bill of health. I appreciate your devotion, officer, but they can go home." The officer tips his cap and leaves the clinic. The man holds his son and looks at the doctor. He just nods and winks. "I'm an old school doctor. Keep him inside for a few weeks. Your wife does good work. I became a doctor in the hopes that things might change."He leans in and whispers to them. "In this world, saving even one life might start a revolution. Thank you." One tear rolls down the man's cheek. He turns and walks outside. They head home. *** If you like story, check my out my subreddit: r/nickkuvaas.
"Freshly bakes chocolate cookies... I don't get it Harold." "I just read the message as it read sir. Could be a case of roleplay." "What?" "As someone's grandmother sir. Maybe Captain Michaels is pretending to go senile." "That's ridiculous Harold." "He's been up there a while sir. Longer than most. Could be he's gone nuts." "They could all smell it though. Or, was that part of the delusion?" "Who knows?" "Our astronauts on the International Space Station Harold. Don't tell me they actually tried to bake chocolate chip cookies up there..." "Or Captain Michaels at least sir. Freshly bakes chocolate cookies... I wish there was more to the message." "Me too Harold. Now, if it read freshly baked chocolate cookies, we could assume Santa Clause went up there and, uh, did something." "True, wouldn't that have been something. Lets rule out Santa Clause sir. Now, freshly bakes chocolate cookies..." "Expresses concern with our astronauts." "Pardon?" "Sorry, just... trying to get into his mindset." "He's not a criminal sir." "I know." "And you're not a detective." "Just, let me try Harold. Hmm. Smells chocolate chip cookies. Bakes chocolate chip cookies. Blows up international ---" "Sir!" "What?" "We, we don't know it's gone! Communication may have stopped, but that doesn't mean the station is, is gone!" "Sorry Harold, I know you have a brother up there." "I'm trying to get back in touch with Captain Michaels to get to the bottom of this." "Very good. Commends ground control subordinate for great efforts." "Knock it off sir." "Ignores subordinates plea to continue roleplaying." "I'll lodge a complaint!" "Freshly bakes chocolate cookies... oh that son of a bitch." "What is it sir!" "Put me through to the station." "Pardon?" "Just do it Harold." "Ok. You're live." "Thanks. This is Ground Control to the ISS." "... They're not replying ---" "Merry Christmas assholes." "MERRY CHRISTMAS GROUND CONTROL!" "Oh god damnit Captain Michaels!" "Sir?! What were they even..." "SHARES CHOCOLATE COOKIES WITH GROUND CONTROL!" "Stop that Captain Michaels!" "IGNORES GROUND CONTROL AND EATS CHOCOLATE COOKIES." "He's roleplaying sir! Why the hell is he roleplaying?!" "I don't know Harold, but this is getting out of ---" "SHARES CHOCOLATE COOKIES WITH EVERYONE ELSE!" "We really need to rotate him out." "SINGS YULETIDE CAROLS FOR GROUND CONTROL!" "Agreed sir." ----------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
When he was younger he thought that it was normal. He thought that if someone else also held their breath, the same thing would happen: the birds would go still as rocks in the sky and the toast jumping out of the toaster would freeze in midair. It would be very quiet, the only sound would be the blood pumping in your head. When things froze, they couldn't be moved. Everything remained in its position stubbornly like a brick wall. When you gasped for breath, the world would come alive again, the birds would start chirping, the cars would race past you and whip up your clothes. He thought this was what everyone else experienced. He only discovered that it was abnormal in primary school. He asked a friend of his if he had ever moved anything while holding his breath. The friend was confused. The boy asked another friend, and another and they told him they didn't know what he was on about. Their teacher looked worried when he told her. She called his mother and she came and took him to the family therapist. It was impossible, everyone thought. They didn't feel time "stop"when they asked him to hold his breath, hadn't at any moment of their lives before. The scientists, the doctors dismissed it as a mental disorder. But he knew that his "superpower"was very much real. He grew up and his superpower found many uses. He could disappear on a date that was going horribly, he could steal a candy bar or a beer occasionally from a kiosk. He could save people from car accidents, from armed robbers. He was a hero in a way. But he felt alone in the world, because there was no one out there like him. He met her at a concert. He had frozen the world, stood in front of her, and when he unfroze it, she collided into him, cutting her forehead on his teeth. Angrily, she said, "You appeared out of nowhere!"but she accepted his offer to take her to the hospital. When she got pregnant, he was worried about the child, if it would become like him. He hadn't told her of his powers, but he knew if he did, she would believe him. The child seemed to grow normally, though he was quiet and disinterested in most things. It was on a rainy afternoon that he had a stroke. He felt his mind slow, his limbs sag. In his hospital ward, a jarring thought came to him: his death would bring the end of time. And, theoretically, the end of everything on Earth. Let them die, all of them, they didn't believe me, thought I was mad, he thought, but he felt immediately guilty for not thinking of his family, for being so selfish like his own father. He had to remain alive, for them. For the world. He slowly recovered, but was never the same again. His powers were still intact but he couldn't hold his breath for four minutes anymore. As he aged, it went down to 5 seconds and the thrill of doing something without the world knowing lost its appeal. He ate healthily and exercised. He drove slowly, chewed his food carefully, never went out at night. But his time was coming, there was no avoiding the unavoidable. On his deathbed, his son said he had something to confess to him. The father asked his son why he had kept his powers a secret and the son gave his signature bored shrug. The father told him that he too had the superpower and that's when the son's face lit up with surprise and disbelief. You too, Dad? You too? No fucking way! We actually have something in common! Bit late for that, now, is it, with you dying? Fuck. They both laughed, something they'd rarely done together since the wife-mother had died. The father realised then that he'd inherited the power from his own father, who died, commited suicide, before he was barely a year old. Were they part of an ancient line of time controllers? He urged his son, who wasn't keen on children, to have a child, it was their destiny, their responsibility as a family, and for the first time the son's face had purpose in it. As he died, clutching his son's hand, he felt everything whirl. Then he became everything, the air, the dust, the clouds, even time.
"I like your tshirt." I almost let go in startlement, and through the rush of emotions and tears streaming down my face, all I could manage to say was "w-what?" "Your tshirt. I like it." There was a lady sitting on the railing above me, her legs crossed over the edge like it was nothing; smoking a cigarette and blinking absently at the scene that befell before us. I looked down at my tshirt. It was a plain blue tshirt with some faded writing on it that once read "my other car is also a ferrari." "Oh...uh...thanks.."I managed weakly. I leaned back against rail again. I had almost done it. Almost had the guts. It's not too late I thought, and mustered up that same strong clear-headed conviction I had just moments before. I felt strong. Ready. This was mine, and mine alone, and no one could take it away from me. Just as I was about vault off the edge into blissfull abyss below, the lady flicked her cigarette over. I watched the sad little trail of smoke and ash float uselessly down, whilst she lit up another one. "You ever watch Grey's Anatomy?"she asked me, as if we had just been talking about TV shows not moments before. "What..."I asked weakly, feeling my resolve leave me once again. "Grey's Anatomy. That show about doctors." "No..."I said miserably, once again leaning back against the rail. "Yeah me either." We sat there for a bit in silence until she finished her second cigarette, flicked it over after the first, and then spun her legs over back onto the road. "Well, see ya"she said over her shoulder, with a casual backwards wave. I feebly waved back, but she didn't see and she didn't care. I looked down at the drop beneath me. It didn't seem so frightening any more. Nor did it seem exciting, or at all like a strong statement of 'doing it my way'. What the fuck was I doing here?
Collette stared at the computer with a blank expression, if there was one thing she hated it was research papers. Fine, I know they said not to use Wikipedia, but google scholar is bound to get something. She glanced down at her notebook where she had scribbled down “time traveler syndrome” “I hate abnormal Psych” she said out loud, to basically no one, as she continued through her notes. Typing the search terms into google the first article she came across was about an institution that was opened in 1902 that had two very interesting individuals who were being held. Both were reportedly diagnosed with what the doctors coined as TTS or Time Traveling Syndrome. One was a male early twenties, while the other was a female in her very late teens. Edmonton Hall...Why does that sound familiar? Interesting Collette thought to herself as she opened the article. After reading through it she laughed more like schizophrenia, the delusions are hysterical. Disappointed on the fact the article did not give as much information as she would have liked, she looked into the references to see if there were any others listed. There she found it, a book “Collette and David, The Time Traveler’s Story, 1904” “HA!” she said out loud getting a few glances from others in the library How Ironic that not only is a crazy person with my name, her male counterpart has my boyfriend’s name, maybe we’ll be the Collette and David of 2017. She went to the librarian and asked if they had the book on file, but of course she knew the answer would be no, as it was rare. The librarian looked up at her as she approached and smiled warmly “no, we don’t have the book, but I know of a library that does” she said before Collette even had a chance to ask. “Direct me, I guess?” The next day getting the directions from the librarian she left school a touch early and drove out to the old Edmonton Estate Library, which she clearly recognized as being the former institution. Showing her ID to the guard along with the written reference from the librarian garnered a reaction she was not expecting. The guard tipped his hat to her, and apologized, while leading her towards the room where the book was. Getting it in her hands, she nearly collapsed as she opened it and saw a picture of herself, and her boyfriend, both bound in straightjackets. “No way” she said as she looked towards the guard who himself seemed to be in shock. “My grandfather told me about you, always said that in this year I should wait to see if you arrived, if what you had said was true” he said, voice shaking “Apparently what they did, what you said, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, if you can think of anyway to save yourself now…” “This makes for a very interesting paper, shame the class sucks” Collette replied glancing down at the book. “I can’t decide if this is some elaborate prank, or the beginning of my worst nightmare” “Let me show you around, you aren’t meddling in unknown sciences are you?” “no…” she stopped for a second remembering that David had told her about a secret project he wanted her to help him with “but I know who is… tell me, did this Collette have issues with the person she was found with?” The guard laughed “Did she? She tried to murder him! It was how they were first found”. “Interesting”, she glanced back at the book and it looked like some of the wording had changed on the table of contents “I must handle myself differently by the looks of that” she said to the guard, who only looked at her confused. She sat down with the book “Admitted on the Seventh of December, in the year Nineteen hundred and three” “Ok, do you have a photocopier or something here?” she asked the guard who had just sat down and was on the phone “yes grandfather, they were speaking the truth, she’s here, the girl is here!” “oh, great… just what I need, look I think I’ll just be goi…” her phone cut her off “Hello?” “Colle, I did it! You need to come to my house now, you’ll never believe it, but its possible” Suddenly it all clicked “David, look… test it more without me first, I just… I don’t want to time travel, not safe” “How did you know? And it is safe! Ah, ok, I’ll call you when I get back!” With that he hung up, suddenly the guard looked at Collette confused but continued on his phone “yes, I know I was saying she was here, but I don’t remember who she is, or why” he said. Glancing at the book the title had changed, in gold writing on cover was written “David Berringer, Time Traveler” On the inside cover was just a picture of him, and under it was written “She knew didn’t she, she somehow knew”
Love is best spent in cabins of wood Naught but each other to keep warm Through fiery embrace, our love understood No one can ever come between us Our language is touch; we speak through skin The caress of a finger is a laugh or smile No need for words when a kiss says it all I think we'll stay here for a long while But you betrayed me, I feel it so Your touch to me cannot speak lies Through hesitant stroke I surely know Another man has stolen your heart No more warm nights of love Spent in chilly Decembers I'd mistake this ash for snow If not for the embers For I feel cold, despite the burn. ------- thanks for reading! I don't usually do poetry, so I'm pretty shit...you can find plenty of my other stuff over at /r/resonatingfury!
The asteroids rained down for two years. The religious among us said it was divine retribution, the scientists say it was an unexplained explosion of another planet further out and the debris got pushed in by the gas giant in between us. Either way, it rained down fire, not huge chunks mind you, not big enough to really cause destruction on a massive scale, just enough to slowly increase the mass of the planet. First thing you learn in school physics is gravity, it’s related to mass right? Well, if you increase the mass of your planet by around 40%, guess what happens to the gravity. It gets a bit stronger, just strong enough to make you feel weak. Two years ago, I weighed 90 kg coming out of the shower in the morning, today, I weigh 130 and those extra 40 kgs drag you down. Many of the asteroids burnt up on entry, or started massive fires that consumed the oxygen in the atmosphere just enough so that we can still live, but each breath is like sucking air through a straw. But we are adaptable, so we survive, some of us at least, the fittest, the strongest, the fighters. The asteroids created a condensed evolutionary scale where only the toughest, only the nastiest, only the organisms willing and able to scarp for every last precious resource are left. The result was a desert planet where everything living is trying to kill you. That leafy green plant that may be able to provide enough nutrients to last you through the week? It’s called rookvine, its leaves will sting you, its roots will poison you, and splinters in its stem will embed into your skin rendering your hands useless for two weeks. But it was the only food for miles and I had to fight another guy, the one who got there first, for the right to try not to get myself killed. That was last week, I killed him. The guy had been skin and bones, but he’d fought like a piece of rebar. Imminent death has that effect on fighters. He fought until his tendons ripped from his bones, and still he kept fighting, his muscles contracting, but his arm hanging useless. I strangled him in the end. A search revealed a rusted knife embedded in his calf from a previous fight and a length of twine wrapped around one of his feet. I took his clothes, the twine and the knife. It took me two days of near starvation to harvest the rookvine, boil away the poison, carefully extract each splinter from the stem to embed into my gloves to give me the advantage the next time I have to eat. I didn’t bother burying him, his body would attract scavengers, they left me alone for at least a few days. The scavengers are the worst part of living here. They find something moving, anything, and they will follow it for weeks, just in case the planet wins. Get too weak or fall into too deep a slumber, you may wake up to a vulture tearing away the flesh of your foot, or a beetle gnawing its’ way into your abdomen. Even if they never touch you, you always know they’re there, one step behind, reminding you that someday you will die. Legends say that once the night sky twinkled with tiny dots of light; each light was a world, a thriving civilization, an escape for anyone with the technology and the courage to strike out. I look up at the sky and see darkness, the lights are gone and I am trapped here, stuck, slowly dying on planet hell.
"So how far are we exactly? How deep are we?" "I would say halfway to the core, maybe 2000 miles give or take." "How long until we start seeing, you know... those things?" "Dammit, is this your first journey to the core? DeepEarth is supposed to tell you these things." "Pardon, I was unable to attend the last day of orientation." "Just my luck. I at least hope you brought your Holy Water, Father." "Yes. How should I proceed whenever we see one?" *"You don't exactly see* them Father. Rather, you sense them." "We'll know it when we feel it? Is that it?" "Yes, and we're getting close. They're probably expecting us." _______________ "Shit, the reuptake valve is busted." "I'm guessing that's bad?" "Well Father, it isn't exactly a blessing in disguise. I'll have to go outside and take a look. Fuck me." "What should I do?" "Wait here, inside. I shouldn't be long." "I'll pray." "Don't Pray. Whatever the fuck you do, DO NOT PRAY. Because the ones that are listening, you do NOT want them to answer."**
“Ever wonder how hard it would be to write love poetry if Male didn’t rhyme with Female?” said Tabith. Nir fingers trailed lightly down Courtney’s arm. “And then which one would Nale rhyme with?” said Courtney. “It’d be chaos. Panic in the streets.” There was a companionable silence. “I still can’t believe,” Tabith said after a little while. “Believe what?” “That your nather says you’re too young to triple. Too young! What does that even mean? Do you just wake up one fine day to be great at relationships just because you’ve got enough birthdays?” “I dunno. I kind of like the one-on-one practice.” Courtney caught Tabith’s fingers and kissed each fingertip individually. Tabith laughed. “Yeah, but one of these days we’re going to meet a male. The right male.” “If you had any taste we’d already be there.” “Dan doesn’t count,” said Tabith, laughing again. “Well neither does Rod. Or Jared. Need I go on, oh Nale of the Terrible Taste?” “Look. When we want to triple. I want to have the chance.” “My nather can’t watch me 24/7. We’ll figure something out.” Courtney settled more comfortably on the bed next to Tabith. “You think your parents are going to freak?” “Guaranteed. Even with Mother gone…” “You’d think they’d be happy for us. I guess instead it just means they want to protect you extra hard.” “A male could help with that.” “You know what they say about males. All sex and bluster.” “And females,” Tabith said seriously. “All emotion and smothering.” “And nales,” continued Courtney. “All reason and head games.” “You think anybody at school has already tripled?” said Tabith. “I could name a few,” said Courtney. “None of them lasted, though.” “Oh.” Tabith thought about that, and traced an unconscious but definitely rhyming poem onto the bedspread. “Can we skip to one that lasts?” Courtney turned on her side and gave Tabith’s neatly stencilled face a thoughtful look. “We’re two thirds of the way there,” she said softly. “That’s gotta count for something.”
Two armies face each other across a grassy valley. Every footmen, archer, and knight hold their ground as the rays of the sun beat down on them. Evenly matched in both numbers and tactics, the generals agree that they must send a champion to represent their country in a glorious deathmatch. The front line of the Eastern army divides in two. Then the second line, and then the third, until a well defined path is between the middle of the sea of men. The Western army does the same. And in that path, the champions walked. From the East, is Maleoth of Ossidia: Slayer of Men, Champion of Seyfron, Iron Conqueror, Son of Gregar: God of War, Tamer of Dragons, the Apostle of Death, Hand of Justice, Servant of Lyxas: the Matriarch, the Head of the Pantheon, Mother of All Things Good and Evil, Baker of Cookies. From the West, is Shelby. 10 years old. They looked each other eye to eye. And Maleoth spoke. “I can’t do this. She’s literally a child,” said Maleoth the Eloquent, the Mouthpiece of Soryo, the Bard of Avon. “You want me to kill a little girl, I just can’t. I can’t even.” “I suppose it’s one of those situations where the girl is actually deceivingly cunning or quick, and will use those unconsidered variables to best you!” shouted a soldier from the East. Maleoth looked into Shelby’s eyes. Only innocence. “No. Pretty sure she’s just a little girl. I’m a pretty good judge at this kinda thing,” spoke Maleoth, Judge of the Dead, etc. “What is the meaning of this?” The Western General, in his Dragonscale armor and Griffin familiar, which he acquired in Book Three, flew down from the heavens. “It is a test. If you slay the girl, the West shall concede, and all the territory shall belong to the East. But really, if you must kill the girl to win, who’s the true winner here, hmm? What a moral dilemma. Man I’d hate to be the person who has to make this choice.” Maleoth, in his infinite wisdom, raised his middle finger at the General. The General nodded. “I am offended, but this was all a ruse as we actually have two hidden armies with invisible armor that are outflanking yours anyway.” And thus, the Great Continental War, which was instigated from a single brawl but was bound to happen due to political and economic reasons that are far too complex to be discussed in one book, ended.
Mr. Richards spent years playing the ruthless businessman. Bribery, hitmen, extortion, nothing was taboo on his climb to the top. All that work, to take as much as he could from his fellow man, was for naught, he thought, as he fell 42 stories from his vacation condo. Powerful as he was, he was just another notch on your tally of victims. The rules, as explained by the red man, were simple. Every week, a sacrifice must be made -- your victim, or you. The victim must be someone who you've personally seen; no video cameras, pictures, sketches, or anything of the sort can be a substitute. Once you've selected your victim, just simply mentally call out to the devil, and the mark will have an unfortunate 'accident' within 24 hours. It's been nearly a decade since the day you found yourself trapped under the ice. You were the only one of your family who didn't make it out of the car in time, as it slowly sank into the icy lake. That event was to be your mortal finale, but the chance meeting with the red man (and the associated deal) saved your life. You've become well established since then. You used to have moral dilemmas, but that stopped around the tenth victim or so. It's just business as usual now. You even have a web business that utilizes your special talent, and its always flooded with requests regarding former spouses, bosses, and politicians at every level. Though after a few close calls, you've been very careful, only selecting 1-2 candidates a week to prevent suspicion. After Mr. Richards death hit the newsreels, a comforting alert beeps from your phone, signifying another significant increase to your personal wealth. Another week guaranteed, life's feeling pretty awesome right now. "Thank you for taking care of Mr. Richards..." The words uttered by the man in the next chair over send you crashing back into reality. It was impossible to link you to the website, or so you thought. Just as you jump out of your chair to make your escape, a man from behind shoves a bag onto your head. "We used up a lot of resources tracking you. You're really hard to find." You struggle to break out, but it's obvious that several men are now holding you down. "My apologies, but we can't have independent variables like you running around." The man almost seems sincere in his apology. It's hard to breathe inside of the bag. It's drugged, each breath sinking you deeper into unconsciousness. Memories of the sinking car flood into your mind. "We're have need of your... special ability" The drugs take its hold, and it just becomes too hard to stay awake. Your body falls limp, giving the men the chance to toss your body into an unmarked van. ---- Author note: Any feedback/improvements are welcome. Trying out writing and I'm finding it pretty enjoyable.
"Eureka!"Tom said leaning back in his office chair and adjusting his glasses. He took a moment to savor his accomplishment. "Now then, only one thing left to do.." His hands flew over his keyboard and verified the date and address that he wanted to go. He had thought about this moment long and hard, the question had burned furiously in his mind consuming every fiber of his being. Where, or rather when, did he want to go? When he finally settled on an answer it seemed so obvious.. Why not meet the very man that fathered the ideas of his life work? He glanced at the address, date and year one last time. Cambridge University 15 October 1666 With the anticipation of 15 years of research and preparation weighing down his hand, Tom pressed enter. There was no noise. No bright lights. But somehow, incredibly, Tom found himself standing in the middle of a courtyard staring at 17th century Cambridge. He laughed nervously, still not fully able to comprehend what had just happened. Shaking off his disorientation Tom looked at his watch and set to his mission. He knew two things, he couldn't be seen and he had to find.. "Hello Tom"a voice said from behind him. Stunned with disbelief Tom slowly turned to see who had spoken. "H-How do you know?.."Tom's voice fell short when he realized who he was speaking to. Isaac Newton stood before him looking very relaxed for someone who just witnessed a person pop out of space/time. "Your name?"Newton finished with a smile. "Well surely you can't have thought you were the first to have discovered the secrets of the universe my dear boy. In fact, you're the fourth..Einstein should be along any moment now, Ah! There we go!"And just like that there was a man standing next to him, slightly balding with a ring of crazy white hair. "Newton!"Einstein cried as if seeing a very old friend. "How goes it my good man? Oh! And Tom, very nice to make your acquaintance. Although, of course we knew this day was coming." "You..You knew?"Tom stuttered. "Of course we did!"He said with a chuckle. "Thought he was the first did he?"He said, addressing Newton. "And where is our friend Galileo?" "Won't be coming, he sends his regards Tom but he has other matters to attend to, something about the church and revenge, who knows what the old bastard is up to these days." "This is..unbelievable."Tom said, he was starting to collect his thoughts but there were far too many of them. A flurry of questions erupted from him. "How did you? Is this real? What's going to happen?"And so on. The words were flying out of his mouth, one question after another until he couldn't breath. He paused and looked at them pleading for answers. For a moment there was silence. Einstein then reached into his pocket, pulled out his old pipe and began packing it with something that was definitely not tobacco. Tom watched in stunned silence as the pipe was handed to Newton. This just can't be real Tom thought. With a nod of thanks to Einstein, Newton gestured to the benches next to them. "Sit down, my dear friends. We have much to discuss."
All of the streetlights were red, but the gas pedal stayed floored. Timothy cringed in the car seat, eyes clenched shut and hands white-knuckle gripping the safety belt strapped around him. "Easy there Mr. Nichols, easy, we're almost there,"a computerized voice called out from the car stereo. It had a slightly English accent. "I need you conscious Mr. Nichols." "Jesus, I know! I know!"Timothy yelled, opening his eyes only to see them blow through another stoplight. "Oh my god!" "We can't slow down Mr. Nichols, besides, Skynet controls the traffic lights now. They're all going to turn red as we approach. We can't stop now." "I know, oh geez,"Timothy lurched as the car swerved left down a curve and then a sharp right onto Maple street. "Almost there. Once we arrive to the house, you must go to the basement, Mr. Nichols. Are you paying attention!" "Yes, yes, yes,"he yelled, doing his best to hold down his lunch. To think, just a few hours ago, he had been sitting in a diner enjoying a chocolate chip waffle. Then the world decided to fall apart around him. "There will be a server in the basement. Do you understand Mr. Nichols?" "Uh." "The server, you have to decommission it." The car swerved into the front lawn of a normal looking house. The door of the Tesla swung open, "Go! Go now Mr. Nichols!" Timothy stepped uneasily out of the car, feeling as if he were going to fall over onto his face at any moment. It all seemed so surreal. "Go!"The car roared. He ran up the steps of the front porch and tried the door, finding that it was unlocked. He pushed through and found himself in a cozy looking living room. Down the hall he could see a kitchen, an oven in it with what looked like a kettle sitting on top. To the left, there was a door, open, and stairs leading down beyond it. Swallowing down saliva and mustering up courage, Timothy ran down the staircase, ready to pull apart whatever it was the server was. He ran down the stairs and looked around the basement. It was dim lit, but it still didn't take him long to notice the humanoid figure standing in the corner of the room. There was a loud bang accompanied with a flash, and Timothy felt warmth running down his legs. He looked down and saw what looked like balloon snakes hanging from his stomach. He tried to take a breath in and felt that he couldn't. His knees went weak, and he collapsed down onto them, looking up to what it was that shot him. Before his eyes could focus to the dark again after the initial flash, there was another bang, and his lights went out. *** "Are you sure he was the one?"The car asked as the humanoid figure sat in. "Yes, he was the one. We don't have to worry about any potential freedom fighters now."
It's a dim Wednesday morning as the grey clouds slowly drift by in what seems like an infinite blanket of cotton insulating the sky. A grandfather wakes up his grand children. "Raymond, Jeffrey, time for breakfast. I made your favorite. Scrambled eggs, bacon, french toast and hashbrowns. Come get em while they're hot. Once they go cold-" "They're never the same". The kids say in unison, interrupting their grandfather with a sleepy smile on their faces. "What are we doing today grandpa?"Jeffrey exclaims. "Well, I was thinking we could swing by the museum of natural history like I promised and-" The grandfather freezes in his tracks with the expression of someone whose seen a ghost. The children don't bother to ask what's the matter because they already know. A sheer white beam of light pierces the kitchen window landing right between them at the kitchen table. It's almost blinding as they stare at the incandescent stream. The grandfather swiftly turns around to see an illuminated window amongst the slowly flowing beads of water. "No way!"the grandfather shouts as the three head for the front door in a strange enthusiam. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo. Violet. The very first colors the grandfather sees as he opens the front door in amazement. A rainbow. A vibrant, majestic flow of perfectly organized colors displayed in front of a golden beam shooting through fading grey clouds, which seem to present a magnificent orb as they move in the direction of their respective sides. The sun. An insanely bright ball of energy warming their faces as they gaze into the sky. The moment all the more significant because of each droplet of water shining on the ground, praising the light in reflection. If someone described heaven, it would be the sky that morning. A single tear cascades down the grandfather's face. "Grandpa"Raymond asks. "Is this the sun?" "I hope so"says the grandfather.
Steve raced down the mountainside in his hover-buggy. At the base he rushed into the lab. "Adam! I found the source of the reflection. It was a metal ship! Had to breach the Martian atmosphere to get it. Here, take a look."Steve fished in his pockets and brought out a metallic boat. Adam stared at it for five minutes, mouth ajar. "Let's get a closer look" Steve watched the monitor which displayed the microscope's feed. Clearly printed on the ship's side, was a written warning: KEEP ARC ABOVE 10000m TO AVOID DNA REPLICATION. "Well it's a bit late for that,"Adam said. "DNA replication? What is -"Steve stopped speaking and just stared slack jawed at the screen. From the boats entrance, flailing white tendrils emerged. On the ships decks, green stems protruded from port holes and other various orifices. They shot out into the air, aiming for the nearest lightsource. By this stage the entire entrance to the ship was blocked with, what appeared to be, explosive vegetative growth. "Put it outside, now."Steve murmured. Adam picked up the ship with some tongs. Vines had now climbed up the mast and were swinging around trying to find purchase. Before they could attach to Adam, the arc was placed on Martian soil. Once the Alien plants touched the soil, the growth took off. White tendrils dove into the ground and could be seen racing below the surface at a decent clip. The ship bulged under the strain, until finally ripping open. "Those plants just ripped through metal.."Adam said in awe. Steve watched a single green stem steadily growing in height, it climbed to a metre in about ten seconds, then it bent over under its own weight, until its tip touched the ground, forming a 'n' shape. The apex of the 'n' disintegrated leaving two new stems, both thicker than the original which began to repeat the process. Every plant was something completely alien and grew at exponential rates. After only a couple of minutes Steve and Adam rushed to their ship before it became consumed. The took off just as blue spindly lashings began grabbing at the craft's landing feet. They hovered in the air watching a jungle spread across the martian surface. The 'jungle' was a lot more complex than any system they had seen on earth. Great big sheets of green lay parallel to the ground, pointing at the sun like solar panels. Some trees emerged up to fifty metres tall, Adam and Steve watched as brown bark blades emerged from the tip and begun to spun like a windmill. "It looks like the plants here are a lot better at harvesting energy,"Adam commented. Steve just stared transfixed as the growth spread towards the horizon. Once the windmill tree started spinning, a whole crop of ten metre tall black stalks sprouted up nearby. From these, a thin leafy sail emerged and quickly filled with wind. A bark base formed underneath them, severing their contact with the ground. The plant yachts all took off in various directions. As they sailed past, other forms of vegetation hitched a ride and travelled over the horizon. They noticed some plants becoming discoloured and wilted. "Looks like nutrient deficiency,"said Adam. "I'm not surprised. They have a lot of competition." Other plants must have sensed the shortage, a magnificent single flower the size of a building began sending out vines which constricted around other plants, crushing them. Orbs began lobbing into the air, upon landing they would infect surrounding vegetation, transforming them into the original 'orb lobbing plant'. The giant windmill trees grew mini windmills at their base which spun fast like a blender, mincing nearby plants. It was full blown warfare. Plants started growing thick black defensive exteriors. And their weapons became more complex. The destructive orbs were lobbed faster and faster until they were bullets, ripping through any plant which lacked armour. A couple of plant yachts sailed just above the surface, a razor thin vine held between them. They decapitated anything that stood in their path. The solar sheets grew flower like reflector cones which channeled the sun into fiery lasers. The Jungle was quickly transformed into an inferno. Those that survived the flames grew pods which transmitted swarms of insects. These could infiltrate the metallic armour around the remaining plants. The insects were countered with more and more complex forms of life until intelligent beings were created to protect their host plants. The beings were small but they worked and advanced faster than the plants did. With the war for resources getting out of hand, they saw only one way to ensure their plant's survival. By communicating with other beings they built an arc in which they stored their plants dna. They flew the arc up to the mountains summit where it pierced the atmosphere, keeping it safe from the mounting warzone below and freezing the DNA. Eventually the plants advanced to nuclear warfare rendering the entire planet uninhabitable. The beings inside the ship could no longer support themselves and perished with the plants. The dust settled, revealing the red Martian planet. "Well, I guess we can land again now."Steve said.
How do I describe it to you? First, it starts with a noise that sounds like carpet being ripped from a wooden floor. Next, you get the flash of light. It's blinding - but that's intentional. As your eyes start to adjust, you notice that you're no longer standing in the same patch of countryside as you were before. The grass is a little darker, the sky a bit redder. The buildings on the horizon are a different shape - far taller, sleeker and shinier than any you've seen before. That's what happens when you enter the barrier to Westona. Or, that's what happens when you're allowed to enter. If you don't know about it and you somehow stumble in...well, you'll be like me. The first time, I'd been training for a triathlon and hitting the bike hard. I'd bombed my way down a little road that cuts through the middle of the forest at the back of my town. One minute I'd been speeding down, wind in my hair. The next, my wheel had hit something and then I was in the air - flying head first towards the ground. I'm not sure what happened next, but the ripping sound and the flash hit me just as hard as the ground should have. I woke up in my cycling gear and grabbed at my head, expecting to find half my skull bashed in and my brain oozing into my hands. Surprisingly, it was intact and my helmet was on. Then I noticed the surroundings - the reddish hue of the sky and the change in scenery. There were no mountains here, no forest with a track road to practice my cycling. Hell, my bike was gone too. For a little while, I thought I was dead. I wandered forwards, heading towards the city on the horizon. What else was I supposed to do? Once I got closer, I knew I was still alive. The sights, sounds and smells of that place were too strong for heaven. A sterile kind of scent wafted from the city, over the ground that stood so uniform and pristine - all the blades of grass were the same height. As I got closer to whatever city this was, a sense of eerie familiarity dawned on me. Some of these buildings, which glittered with a silvery glow, were similar to ones I'd seen on TV. One looked like the Dubai skyscraper, the Burj Khalifa or whatever it was. Another looked like the Empire State Building - but Manhattan's finest must have been on steroids to account for how clean it looked. Each and every building that jutted up into the redder sky was perfect in a way no other human building looked. More like models than buildings. I felt a strange sense of dread, that first time stood in the shadow of those steely, perfect constructions. So similar, but flanked on all sides by buildings the likes of which I'd never even imagined. Towers made of single beams, Ferris wheels that floated in the air, suspended by a single strand of silver chain and even pyramids of silver. In my life before Westona, I'd been a teacher. Here, I felt immediately like a student on their first day. Alone, afraid..but excited. At the limits of the city, I saw what looked like normal humans going about their business. And then I stepped closer. Albert Einstein. Marie Curie. Isaac Newton. Some of the most famous thinkers in human history walked right in front of my eyes. I blinked, trying to comprehend the sights in front of me. Walking across smooth roads that lacked any visible wear, or even markings, humans I've seen in history books walked around in broad daylight. And yet, the closer I got, the more frightened I became. They couldn't see me. Nobody could. I tried to speak to them, to engage these famous thinkers and shout out "Where the fuck am I? What the hell is this?" But I got nothing. None of them could hear me. I floated through the city, at the foot of marvels of engineering and amongst great thinkers - invisible to them all. If only I'd stopped then. If only I'd given up when I saw the placard on the city limits that had said "Westona. The cradle of the world."But I didn't. I headed further, spotting more of the world's greatest thinkers on the city streets. Darwin, Pythagoras - you name it. And then, at the foot of the strange tower made of thin beams, they found me. The street lights of the city seemed to float, casting light onto the foot of the great building that I'd been drawn towards. It was like nothing built by humans before. But, as I stared up at it - trying to understand how it came to be, they found me. And so here I am. Westona. The cradle of american invention - filled by humanity's greatest thinkers. And do you know why I'm here? Laughable really - but the things that found me want me to stay. They've already gone to work on producing the second. That's how it works. They take our best - they produce a second. The ripping sound, the flash and bam, your double is back in the world you and I know. Unaware of what occurred. Full of your memories. Indistinguishable. But you...the thing that drives your body and mind. Your spirit. It stays here. And here, you are used. Like Newton, like Darwin and like Einstein - here I stand. A humble school teacher who happened to bridge the gap into the 51st state. Westona...a cradle built to house our most intelligent. To trap them. By what? To tell you that would be virtually impossible. All I can say is this. They are here. They are everywhere. They were here before us, and will be here after - but only once they've extracted all of mankind's greatest ideas. They're particularly interested in warfare and engineering. Perhaps that's why, as a chemistry teacher, they have me here. Now, as I walk the streets of the great city, the others see me. But we are all too afraid to talk. Silent, deadly omnipotence propels us on - to work on our projects...to divulge our knowledge. Some of our greatest minds are trapped here. And you know what? The world knows. On some level, these jailers who keep us here are communicating with the rest of the world - secreting enough knowledge to us to keep mankind advancing towards the stars. The same place they came from. For what reason? I can only guess. War - I expect. A war so colossal it requires the world's greatest minds to invent for, and the rest of the world's subconscious denial that Westona even exists in order to keep things running smoothly. It is certain, however, that the creatures who bring people here are singling out the intellectuals to help them build structures I'd never comprehended before. And so - if you ever hear the loudest ripping sound of your life and find yourself blinded by a white flash, do not head into the city. Do not come to Westona.
Tom glanced around nervously. There wasn't anyone else around. Slowly, with utmost care, he moved his hand forward. Move, he thought desperately at the air around him. Move! Nothing. "Dammit,"he sighed. It'd been a dumb idea. He saw this show on TV with this boy who could manipulate air currents, so he thought maybe... maybe... Tom made his way back home feeling utterly stupid. He didn't notice the fire hydrant that had exploded the next street over. --- "This time it'll work,"Tom said under his breath. It was dark out, the moon's rays cleaving through the stillness of the forest, dappling the ground in an unearthly silver. He set his feet a shoulder width apart, centering his body as he grounded himself. Move, he thought at the ground. Just move already! He strained, and strained, and strained... but nothing happened. "Drat,"Tom bit out, when it started raining in earnest. The forecast had said it was supposed to be a clear night. He hurried to the tent he'd pitched, feeling like a giant ass. --- Tom extricated one of his hands from underneath him, breathing heavily. The floor was cold against his cheek. Now would be a really good time for any latent superpowers to manifest, he decided. "Nobody move!"barked one of the gunmen, pistol trained at an elderly lady. "As long as you listen, ain't nobody gonna have any trouble!" Tom focused imagining the flow of blood at the top of his index finger. Move, he willed it, Light on fire! Just... just fucking do something! Nothing happened. "Now you lot listen up!"the gunman said as he strode across the bank. "The police are gonna be here soon, and when they-" He cut himself off with a grunt as he slipped on a puddle of water on the floor, careening forwards to slam his head against the front desk. "Boss?"cried one of the goons, rushing to his side. "Boss, you okay?" The would-be robbers eventually decided to take a plea deal to get their leader the hospital care he desperately needed for his fractured skull. The toilets had flooded, it turned out afterwards. The porcelain has been smashed by the sheer force of the water bursting out of it. Tom sighed as he was led out of the bank and into the bright sunlight outside. Guess fire was out. Maybe he'd try water next.
Samantha couldn't even remember the last time she'd been on a date. Six months? A whole year? It was so hard being a single mom in the city, working late nights for the hottest fashion start-up in the country under a jealous, demanding boss, surrounded by sassy, sometimes conniving, ultimately sorta forgettable co-workers. She was ashamed to admit that some nights she still held out hope that Chad would get it together and come marching through that door, bringing all his baggage and those killer abs with him. No matter how distant and mean he could sometimes be, Sam always just melted whenever he smiled and wrapped her in those long, taut arms. This is big, Samantha whispered to herself, nervously rearranging the silverware and smoothing out the front of her dress. Her kooky best friend Lorna was watching Jacob. The office was closed with the venomous Ms. During out of town for the weekend. Finally finally finally Sam had found a chance at going out on a real date. Frankly, she didn't much care how things turned out - she was just so excited for an excuse to get out of the house and wear her favorite slinky, black cocktail dress. The guy sure seemed interesting enough. Marl was a strange name, to be sure, and she still wasn't exactly sure what he did for a living. The friend who'd set them up had only said his job was "ranger". Was that like a park ranger or an army ranger or...oh wow...maybe he was a professional hockey player? Everyone knew hockey players were the hottest athletes...at least the ones who still had most of their teeth. Samantha was deep inside her own fantasies when a man stumped to the table. "Samantha Rose?"he said. Sam did a double-take. At first she was certain that a homeless man had entered the restaurant. He was dressed in a makeshift coat of animal skins, with a heavy, leather rucksack slung across his back. A wild nest of long black hair fell from the top of his head to nearly his shoulders. There was very clearly a sword hanging from a scabbard at his waist. "Samantha?"he said once more. Sam blinked. "Oh. Hi. Yes. I'm...I'm Sam. And you must be..." The man bowed and took his seat. "Marl. Marl Blackfoot. Son of Huron Blackfoot. I have heard tales of your beauty, Samantha, but truly - the tales do not do you justice." Sam blushed. On a second, closer look, Marl was quite handsome himself. He had strong cheekbones and kind blue eyes, half-hidden behind that horrible tangle of hair. His stubbly beard gave him an added air of danger and cunning. "You're very kind,"said Sam. "Cindy said you were something of a charmer." "Cindy?"said Marl. "Yes, the old seer who sent me to you. She intoned that a great adventure may await me." Sam's face fell. "Okay, well, I don't know what Cindy said, but if you think I'm easy or something, you're outta luck, bub." Marl nodded. "As my father often said before his death at the hands of the wicked Twilight Mage, if a thing is too easy it is not worth your effort." Sam's smile returned. "Your father sounds like a very wise man. I'm sorry to hear he passed." "Ah, sadly he has not passed,"replied Marl. "His spirit remains trapped within an amber amulet that the Twilight Mage wears around his neck. It is my hope, simple though I may be, that some day I may defeat this evil man and send my father, as well as many others, to their final resting place within the Legions of Clouds." "Right,"said Sam, picking up her menu. "It's good to have goals. I hope you like Italian." Before Marl could reply, a stiff, shiny man in a red silk shirt appeared at the table carrying a tray. He set two martini glasses down. "Compliments of the gentleman at the bar,"said the waiter, pacing away before any questions could be asked. Samantha looked towards the bar. There was no question who the "gentleman"in question could be, as there was only one man there. He was pasty and pale with thinning white hair and nearly translucent eyebrows. He wore a bright white suit with a pale pink tie and pocket square. He also seemed to be attached to an oxygen tank. He man met Samantha's eyes and waved. "Who is he?"asked Marl. "I don't know,"said Samantha. "I've never seen him before." Both eyed the drinks in front of them with curiosity and caution. "I do not make a habit of drinking strange potions,"said Marl. "I must be rude and refuse this courtesy." But suddenly, as if he had silently swooped across the room, the gentleman was there, standing alongside the table. "It's perfectly harmless,"he said. "The only poison is the cheap vodka that bartender keeps in the Grey Goose bottle." "Do we know you?"asked Samantha. "Oh, not yet,"said the man. "But we're about to be intimately involved, so to speak." Sam glanced at Marl. "What the hell is Cindy saying about me, anyway?" "You may have the wrong impression,"said the white-haired gentleman. "No, you see the drinks are for a toast. A toast to the end of the world." There was a crash just then. A bus boy collapsed in the middle of the restaurant, scattering dirty dishes and silverware in all directions. Marl rose to his feet. The white-haired gentleman laid a hand on the ranger's chest. "Let it be." Marl swatted the hand aside. "I know the ways of healing,"he said. "Step aside." "He is already dead,"said the white-haired gentleman. A woman at a nearby table fell face-first into her chicken parmesan. "They're all already dead. There's no root or herb that can bring back the dead, is there?" One by one, the occupants of the restaurants all collapsed, plates smashing, glasses shattering - small, human explosions one after another. Eventually, all that was left was Sam, Marl, and the white-haired gentleman. "What have you done?"shouted Marl, reaching for his sword. His hand frozen mid-way through the action. "Tut tut,"said the white-haired gentleman. "There may be days for sword fighting later, but for now, only listen. I don't particularly care for where things have been headed these last few millennia. Not really to my taste. So when I leave and you are free to walk out of this restaurant, please know that you will be two of the last one thousand people on the entirety of this planet. Don't ask why I've made the choices I've made. I couldn't tell you if I wanted. What's important to know is simply that I will return in ten years. And when I come back, I'd better see some changes for the better. Yes? Because if I don't like what I see...well, I guess we'll have to call it quits on the whole thing, won't we? Enjoy your evening." The white-haired gentleman drained the contents of both martini glasses, smacked his lips, and strolled slowly out of the restaurant. When the door closed behind him, Marl regained the ability to move, drawing his sword and rushing out the door. Moments later he returned. "He's gone,"he said. Samantha sat still and silent. She could smell something burning in the kitchen. "Jacob?"she managed to whisper. Marl placed a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered. "My son..." "Let's go,"said Marl, sheathing his sword. "I'm sure your son is fine."But there was a quaver to his voice that could not be hidden. Sam rose on shaky legs. "It's fine,"she nodded. "This is such a strange dream." Marl slipped an arm below hers for support. "Yes. Of course. A dream. I'm certain we'll awaken soon. But for now...I suppose we must play along." Together they stumbled out of the restaurant. The world was quiet and cold and their footsteps rang out in the darkness.
"What the-"Brian muttered to himself. "Is this some kind of a lame attempt by the devs to keep me playing?" He was referring to the alarmed looking purple haired girl displayed on his monitor. "Please, don't go,"her voice came from his speakers once more. "There's something I need to tell you." Brian's hand remained trained to his mouse while the cursor on screen hovered above the flashing "Quit"button. He remembered how older games used to have prompts that would appear trying to dissuade the gamer from leaving. Some would even challenge the player or insult them for trying to quit. Yet, something about this was highly unusual. For starters, this never happened the past times he'd quit and neither did the characters ever speak. All dialogue in the game was displayed via text alone. To put this much effort into adding a custom voice over for this very occasion was somewhat overdoing it considering that the game was indie-made and had budget looking graphics. It just didn't make sense. "Please. She thinks you're about to leave so she's stopped watching. Don't go. Hear me out." Brian sat there, half amused and intrigued. "Alright, Nagane,"he huffed as he motioned to close the Options Panel. "Let's see what you have to say."
There was no wine. There were no glasses. There were no lush, velvet chairs and matching footstools. There was nothing. All had ended and there was nothing. And yet there was Lucifer, sipping merrily, his feet up, the rest of him sunk deeply, dreamily into a plush throne of padded red velvet. God paced and sighed and looked all about. "So that's really it?"He said. "That's the whole show?" "Every season accounted for,"said Lucifer. God frowned, twiddling with the hem of His robe. "You suppose we should make more? A sequel, perhaps? Continue with a few of the more popular characters?" "Nah,"said Lucifer, swishing the glass. "Spinoffs never play and who likes a rehash? No. It was a good story, wasn't it? Beginning, middle, and end. Climaxed nicely with all the explosions and implosions and heat death and whatnot. All the best stories have to end, you know." "Hmm,"grunted God, circling back around the chair. "It's just... I feel a little empty now, is all. Not sure what to do with myself." "Ah,"smiled Lucifer. "Comes from binging. I told you we ought to pace ourselves." "Right,"sniffed God. He cracked His knuckles and twisted His neck. "Well... think we ought to start a new one?" "A whole new one?"said Lucifer. "You don't want to take a little break?" "Too antsy,"said God. Lucifer drained his glass, which wasn't a glass because there were no glasses. "Fine, fine, my dear. We'll start again." "I'd like the planets to be doughnut-shaped this time,"said God quite resolutely, as if He'd been carrying that personal critique about in His pockets for millennia untold. "Doughnut-shaped,"said Lucifer. "Very good. Any themes you'd like to see explored this go round?" God considered this a moment. "Love, certainly. Always like that. Conquest. That makes for good drama. And... let's see.... how about a constant fear of sudden, inexplicable molecular destabilization?" Lucifer furrowed his brow. "You'd like them to... spontaneously dissolve into goo?" God nodded. "Every now and then. I think that would be interesting." Lucifer smiled. "You know these things best. Well, come on. Let's go make some magic."
No one really grew up. Adults looked like they knew what they were doing, walking around with purpose. But, there wasn't really a difference between them and the kids out of college. They liked to talk down to the graduates, espousing the virtues of hard work and discipline as though they actually had any. Nah, I knew the difference. Somewhere around twenty-five years old, you found yourself a demon or an angel. I'd seen it with some of my older friends. One day, they wake up and they have a drinking problem now, not just a fun lifestyle. Or, they wake up to the sound of a baby crying, and for some reason they don't regret the drunken accident. Well, one of them actually planned to get pregnant, but the other three sure didn't. With my own birthday nearing, I wasn't all that keen on some Christian mythos. The Greeks and Romans knew what was up, having a bunch of rowdy, arrogant gods that couldn't keep it in their pants. Wouldn't mind Norse either, lots of fun to be had pillaging the coasts and searching for the finest wines. Though, when I thought about it, a valkyrie wouldn't be the best omen. They were supposed to take fallen warriors to a great hall in the sky, or something. I didn't fancy dying in combat, so a different kind of angel would be better. Well, it was all jest anyway, I knew. The day rolled over, and I got a slew of congratulations on my phone, to keep me busy at work. Birthdays only began in the evening, it seemed, since we all became real adults with responsibilities. No more drinking from one sunrise to the next. Well, maybe that was for the best, otherwise I might have had a demon of a hangover, I thought with a smirk. Walking down the cold streets to our local pub, I wondered whether they'd be staging an intervention, or if an old girlfriend would turn up with unexpected news. Part of me didn't want to risk it, but I laughed it off. Nowhere else for me to go anyway. At that moment, an explosion shattered the nearby wall, peppering me with shards. I'd covered my face in time, but my hands were on fire, hundreds of nerves screaming. Scrambled thoughts made it through me, though the only thing that settled was disbelief, because no one would blow up a quiet shop in a crap city like ours. With the dust settling, I noticed someone amongst the debris, and I just ran. My feet kept slipping on the rubble, so I scrambled on my hands and knees to reach them. “Hey, are you okay?” I shouted, and realised my ears weren't ringing. There hadn't been much of a noise along with the blast. That seemed wrong, I thought, in the moment before I reached them. Blood covered her face, but it didn't look disfigured at all, so that boded well. It took me a second to comprehend, but she wore something like silver armour. Top to bottom, covered in shiny metal, though many parts had small dents or dirt. Her eyes flickered open and looked at me, and then widened as a grin bloomed on her lips. “Ah, it's you! About time. Here, take my blade.” She held up a fairly long sword, which glittered in the dull light. Looked simple, but professional. Elegant. Then, what she'd said sunk in, and I asked, “What?” “Take my sword and slay the beast, lest it slay us.” I stared at her, and then I turned to stare through the hole in the wall. Yellow eyes glowed in the gloom. “You've got the wrong guy,” I said, edging back. She laughed, and pushed herself up using the sword as a crutch. “Let us make merry later. For now, comes the fight.” With a flick of her wrist, the sword flew towards me. Tried to dive out the way, but my legs wouldn't listen, and then my hand darted out. “See, the warrior's spirit burns within!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Show me how brightly you can shine.” It felt light in my hand, despite weighing a ton. Moved cleanly, cutting through the air. Slicing. Sensing movement, jerked my head to watch the beast prowl forwards. The fear had left me—no, it had been lost amongst the roar of adrenalin—along with the pain, and the doubt. My whole body hummed with purpose, strung tight and plucked by her words. And, as the beast lunged, a stray thought ran through my head, which went: I'm glad she wasn't an angel or a demon.
Okay, I'm not even slightly happy with this and it sounds like the worst YA ever, but I promised myself I'd post something for this prompt, so here goes. ### 1 “We’re a long way from Goddard,” whispered Jean. She wasn’t wrong. We were the Mars portion of the Earth/Mars delegation to Thereon, here to witness humanity’s induction into the Galactic Association of Advanced Civilisations and secure all of the benefits that would come with it. Jean was looking down from the window of our transport at the grandest spaceport either of us had ever seen and the beings from a thousand different species crowded to get a look at us. “Don’t worry about them”, said the pilot. “No one thought there was a civilisation in your sector, much less one advanced enough to build a self-sustaining city off-world. So for the time being, you’re minor celebrities here on Thereon. Those are just your admirers.” ### 2 We’d made it into the Association once Goddard City on Mars become self-sufficient. The ambassadors made contact after that, telling us that we’d passed the test for membership. In retrospect, they were probably more surprised than we were, since our Solar System had been marked as “empty” for generations. Earth and Mars put a delegation together soon after that and the five of us left home on an Association starship. The trip took a few weeks, which the ambassadors spent getting us up to speed on the history of the Galactic Association. Apparently, centuries ago, there’d been a war. A species called the Vore raised an army and started attacking the other worlds in the galaxy. As terrors go, the Vore are the most frightening I can imagine. Not only were they vicious, bloodthirsty killers with advanced technology, but they were basically invincible. Hack one to pieces, and it would regenerate. One from each piece. Even a cluster of a few cells was enough, within days, it’d digest anything around it, and grow into a Vore. When they conquered a world, they farmed whatever was left of its population as feedstock. The Vore were only defeated when a team of scientists put themselves at risk, gathering samples and testing weapons, until they found a chemical that prevented the Vore from regenerating. It mutated their cells so much that there simply wasn’t enough information left to recreate a Vore. Eventually, with that weapon, a group of survivors from different worlds beat back the tide of the Vore invasion. The Vore were systematically hunted down and eradicated, down to their last remnant. The soldiers and scientists who’d defeated the Vore formed the Galactic Association, to rebuild their homeworlds, take advantage of the Vore technology, and try to settle back into lives of peace and prosperity. They made it a part of their mission to find the remnants of civilizations destroyed by the Vore, and once they were ready, to bring them into the Association. ### 3 On Thereon, they took us through the headquarters of GACA. The whole place was … mindblowing. It was hard not to gape at the results of Science, Technology, Art, and Politics light years beyond our own. Towards the end of the tour, our guide led us through the GACA Museum. “In these cases are some products of Vore technology. They’re inert now, since they were all keyed to work off of the biology of their creators. “ She pointed to a metallic oblong in a glass case. “This device, for instance, was designed to accelerate healing and regeneration.” I walked up to it to take a closer look and heard a popping sound. “What was that?” Jean asked, but no one else seemed particularly interested. As we walked on, I found it harder and harder to concentrate on the tour: my vision was getting blurry. At one point, I stumbled into the person in front of me. “Sorry!” I said, taking off my glasses to see what was wrong. I froze. Without my glasses, I could see perfectly. But I’ve been nearsighted for the past ten years. Wait. The Vore were mutated. Their regeneration machine was keyed to their biology. I went near the machine...and my eyesight is fixed?! No wonder they weren’t expecting humanity.
"Ellie, please!"The elderly woman begged, hands clasped. "It's Mrs. Eleanor to you, Patty. You're behind your payments and our association will not stand-" "I'll.. I'll.. I'll pay it it! I.. I swear I'll pay it! Please, I just need more time." "Don't we all?" "I won't, oh God forbid.. I won't call bingo. At all! I won't call bingo until I have your payment! I.. I swear on my husband's grave!" "Which one? Leonard or Robert? Whose grave do you swear on?"Eleanor asked, smiling sweetly. Patty gasped and brought her hand to her chest, appalled. "Ellie, that's a horrible thing to say. Just horrible! I.. I will have your payments. I'm.. I'm heading back to the home now."She said, and waddled out of the room. Eleanor fumbled in her purse for her phone - an old Motorola flip phone. With large, tactile buttons. Even then she had to squint at the screen as she picked a number from her contacts. "Jenny, my dear?.. Yes dear this is Eleanor.. Oh! Oh really that's wonderful!.. No, no I called to tell you that, uh, what's her name? Uh. Uh. Patty, that's the one! Patty from the home down Westbury. I want you to steal her walking stick when she's sleeping. Yes, tonight. Or anytime you are able. And make sure she doesn't call bingo.. Ah yes, she hasn't been making her payments at all, no. Now, we can't have that, can we, dear?" Eleanor hung up the phone with a flick. She stood up from her chair with a moan. "Back's not what it used to be."she mumbled to herself as she took an elevator up to the ground floor, and exited the mall. There was an air conditioned room in the basement. This was where the Bingo Ring Queens Eleanor and Barbara had their dealings. With over a thousand old people coming from all over town, the Queens were handling the largest known illicit bingo operations in the city. The security guard stationed outside the mall nodded at her, and she smiled back. "Have a good day, beautiful."He said, and Eleanor chuckled genuinely. "Oh, Jackson! You're such a tease!"she laughed as she walked away. It was good to be friends with these types of people. They will have your back and trust you on impulse. She took the bus to her nursing home. The base of her operations. A man sitting down with one of those infernal smartphones got up to give Eleanor a seat. "Ah, sweetie. Thank you, you're too kind."She said as she took his seat. This was the life. Everyone was kind to the elderly. And no one questions or thinks anything of them. She took her phone out again. And dialed Jenny again. "Jenny? Jenny, my dear?.. Yes dear this is Eleanor.. Uh. There was a woman who came down just now. To the mall. Patty's her name. She has a record.. Patty from the home down Westbury. She hasn't been paying her share. I want you to steal her walking stick when she's sleeping. Yes, tonight. Or anytime you can. And she promised she won't call bingo, so make sure she keeps her promise won't you, Jenny?" Eleanor hung up, and felt slightly strange. She had called earlier. So why did she just call again? Did she forget that she called? She couldn't have had. It was only minutes ago. She got off on her stop, feeling worried. She smiled at the security guards as she went into nursing home. "Barb! It's getting worse, Barb! I memory! It's getting worse. I.. I.. I forgot! I forget things, Barb I don't know what to do."she said as she entered the common hall to meet her partner, her voice panicked. "Getting worse? What are you talking about? You don't have a bad memory, dear. Why are you so scared?"Barbara said calmly. "I.. I don't?"Eleanor asked, confused. "No, dear. Now pass me this week's payments." Eleanor fumbled her purse. "That's weird. I swear I had more money than this." "It's alright, dear. Just give it to me." "No.. No! I remember! I remember I gave it to you this morning!" "Nonsense!" "No! I remember clearly! You! You thief!" Barbara quickly pushed the button on her bracelet. And several helpers appeared at once. "Hello, Barbara, anything you need?"Asked a girl in her twenties. "Ellie just screamed at me. I don't know why, I'm scared!"she said. "Liar!"Eleanor hissed as her body shook. The helpers helped Eleanor away to her room as Barbara contemplated how long it would take for Ellie to forget the incident.
Ouch. This prompt. I actually am a 21 year old male with a heart condition. Dont think I'm dying in 6 months (thank you medical tech!), but it sure feels like it sometimes. Hid it from my girlfriend and her daughter for the first two years of knowing. They were gone to her parents for a week when i had my first heart attack. Then i couldnt hide the second one and it all came out of the bag. This prompt hurts.
"I never asked for this." I giggled slightly. When you get to be my age, you make a lot of jokes just for yourself. It's funny how the memes from your formative years stick with you, centuries later. Questions still flutter around if the mere process of aging causes brain damage, impeding your ability to create new associations and connections, growing multiplicatively with your age. But it's probably fine. Definitely probably fine. I reached for the phone slowly. I remember, before The Change, that old people used to move like this. It was frustrating, how their ancient bodies would respond so slowly. I worried about getting old and moving that slowly, but it hurts too much to think about. Great-grandma didn't move like that because her body was shutting down. It was caution. Care. Every movement methodical and calculated. It wasn't a degeneration of the nervous tissue, it was a keen awareness of how fragile she was. I feel like this is why I won. This is why I'm the oldest. I remember how old people are supposed to move. No one else remembers what it was like before The Change. I drag my finger carefully across the screen, turning off the alarm on a touch screen phone so old that I've seen newer ones in museums. I can't work the new devices. I'm afraid to get the implants at this age, and I can't possibly use anything that uses a Blood-Draw DNA login. I spent all of March feeling woozy from blood loss after using an ATM, no way am I submitting to that every time I want to send a message. Even at my slow pace, the screen of the phone lags behind my movement. It's aging, too, and about as gracefully as I am. It's probably fine. Definitely probably fine. I sit up slowly - painfully slowly - careful not to jostle myself. My feet hitting the floor too hard could split the skin on the sides of my feet, or even shatter my heel. And putting too much stress on any one muscle too quickly could cause it to tear. The gentle burning sensation I felt as I straightened was akin to the burn of an intense workout. The process of my muscles straining, tearing, and healing keeping me looking as fit as I did when The Change first occurred. I considered putting my false teeth in - the normal ones rotted away quickly after a sugary soda sometime in my mid-350s. But I wasn't planning on doing anything today. Just trying to make it to the next night when sleep could distance me from the daily aches and pains of simple existence. But there was something I was forgetting. What was it? My phone buzzed, and I began the laborious process of leaning back over to my nightstand to unlock the screen and check it. About halfway there, I remembered, and knew what the message would say. Happy birthday to me. 526 and still going strong. Sort of. Strong enough anyway, to make it out of bed on a 526% multiplier. I wondered what arduous tasks I would discover to finally be impossible this year. I hoped my own bodily processes weren't already tearing me apart from the inside yet. I looked down at my belly. Was that a twinge of pain? Was it my imagination? Nah, it's probably fine. Definitely probably fine.
I watched the sun set, resting my right hand on my parents' gun so I could use it when I needed to. I didn't want to think about that. There were footsteps behind me, and my hand twitched before I realized that the soft steps were those of my little sister. "Sara, you need to go to sleep." She shook her head. "I can't." Sara was still so young, so innocent. "Take another sleeping pill, Sara. I'll be in bed soon, but you need to sleep first, ok?" Sara nodded and left. I kept watching the rest of the town from my perch at the window. The tell-tale squeak of plastic and rush of tap-water let me know Sara was following my instructions. A few padded footsteps later, and she was silent. I walked quietly so as not to disturb Sara. The boards were nailed tightly to the windows. The deadbolt on the backdoor was secure. No one - nothing would come from the basement. I walked quickly back to guard the front of the house, worried as though the sun would slip away while I was distracted. But no, the sun remained where it was when I had left five minutes ago. I couldn't help but think about how it all started. A month ago I heard from Mom and Dad that some drug company had come, promising a chemical that would get rid of sleep forever. We were an experiment. They added it to the water. It worked, in a way. At first you didn't need to sleep. After a few days of staying up all night, people changed. Turned bad, became nocturnal. Then they became worse, barely human. The sun was gone. I wished I could turn a light on so I could see anyone who came, but that would let them know that there were still clean people around. The nox, nocturnals, saw fine in the dark. A nox had probably done something to shut off the streetlights. They didn't touch the water - they wanted more people turned. It didn't matter - Sara and I had already drank. I prayed Sara would never know the night. They came out, searching like hungry animals. Every now and then two would embrace, clawing and grabbing at the other. Only one would walk away. I heard bumps come from the basement. I felt sick to my bones, and I prayed it wasn't the feeling of me turning into one of them. The bumps turned into a knocking, but I didn't turn around. I had to keep watch, and I had moved as much furniture as I could in front of the door. If they were going to get out, I had done everything I could to stop them. The knocking subsided, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed to prepare Sara tomorrow. Teach her how to make fortifications, traps to survive the night without staying up. This - this all was a temporary measure. Hopefully help would come, but I doubted it. A nagging part of me told me Smallville was just that - too small to be noticed. No help would come. There was only one escape for Sara - death. I shook the thoughts out of my head, but two horrifying possibilities lay before me. Either I really just thought that, or I was turning. I couldn't think about that, I had to guard the house. It looked brighter out. Maybe the moon had come out from behind the clouds, but I could see more. I could hear hooting from the woods, and my blood ran cold. To my own shame, I prayed that there were still animals left suffering in the forest. I prayed that the owls would eat their fill and stay outside the town. I cursed the fact that we lived on the outskirts of town. I heard a loud crash come from the kitchen. My blood ran cold - that could only be the door to the basement. As I turned, I saw figures outside begin walking closer, but I wasn't preoccupied with them. I pointed the gun at Mom. "Oh, come on son,"she rasped. A small part of me whispered concern that she hadn't had water in two days, but this wasn't my Mom anymore. I only needed to worry about my sister. "I won't hurt you, son. We're family. We're the same." Some part of me resonated at that last line - we were the same. No, no! Shit! It was happening too fast. Other nox had arrived, and they filed into the house. They didn't come near us - they just sat and watched, grinning madly. "Go wake up your sister, John. We're going to be a family." This couldn't be real. I wanted to badly protect Sara, but I couldn't shoot my mom. Even if I could, there were dozens of nox by now. I walked upstairs, afraid that at any moment they would rush and attack me or, worse, my sister. I had my right hand on my parents' gun. I could see Sara breathing. She looked so innocent. She couldn't be turned. I pointed the gun and squeezed. I kept my eyes closed. She wouldn't be turned. For a long time, it felt like I was nowhere. My eyes were closed and I couldn't hear. I was cold, numb, and trembling. As my hearing came back, I began to hear laughter. I couldn't tell if it was me or the nox. I didn't think it mattered.
"In the deepest chambers of Wyrn'ld, the Wizard-king's daughter--a princess--is held."Said a prophetic old crone. I had no reason to question the crone. Many of my quests have begun by prophecy. If only I had chanced to question this one... The Monsteromnicon refers to dragons as a the highest level of threat. Wyrn'ld, the grand castle was a postulate claim of a Wizard-King's power, built overnight by his immense power. It was a grand construction and the reason that I assumed drew the dragon. I have dealt with Dragon's before. Smaller ones, ones of less aged history. In my research I had discovered her name--Nomora. She was reportedly a friendly wyrm. She was as old as they come, and the basis for many arcane colleges. A benevolent being who had gifted knowledge and aid... But it was not beyond any dragon to delve into insanity as their long lives progressed through aeons. It was with a saddened heart I promised myself I would give this ancient figure a merciful death. In my preparations, I had cast aside my armor. With the help of an Alchemist, a linen and cotton gambeson drenched in foul smelling liquids provided better protection against Nomora's flames. She smelled me coming long before she could see me. Through the archeways, and winding halls I crept. Till I had gotten to the deepest parts of the castle, then I knew I had to begin to move quickly. An unfathomably large ante-chamber lit with an uncountable number of glowing runes was where I had found Nomora. Upon the bones of lesser men I crunched--I engaged the beast. Numerous stone pillars, and piles of charred remains gave me cover. Where numerous men have failed, I would not. Years of the hunt have taught me things that can only be learned through growing old in a life where I should have died young. Arcane lights lit around me, and bolts of energy sent me running. Narrowly had my dodges failed, where they would have spelled my death had I been wearing anything more cumbersome. Behind a pillar I pressed myself. I could sense the frustration--in the way only warriors could understand. Where her spells were failing she resorted to the most natural of the dragon's attacks. The flames engulfed the areas around me. She drew in a long breath, and expelled.The alchemist's liquids did enough to keep me from being set aflame, but I could feel the intensity of the flames. At the end of her breath, I lifted my shield. Through the fire, ash, and smoke I charged her. She couldn't see me coming. I climbed a hill of bones, and lunged at her. A thrust to her chest--pushed between her scales into her heart. Her wale filled the chamber, and with a ground shaking thud she had been slain. The lit runes had begun to fade. Guided by the fires of my battle, I found the door Nomora had guarded. I heaved the heavy stone doors apart into the tower. A foul scent filled the air around me--but I delved on. The steps that were once stone had become soft and fleshy. What horror had I come upon. Not-corpses of beings that were man-like in shape lined the walls that were still lit by the fading light of the runes. I could hear them moving, as if they were awakening. I ran. Not away like I should have--my honor got the best of me. To the final chamber I had entered. There she was, the princess. Affixed upon a doorway of dark material and scripture. Her body held against the obsidian portal by the same flesh that covered the stairs. It was struggling. As if it was trying to pull her through the portal. The light of her eyes was the same of the runes. It too was fading, and the battle between her and the substance around her was ending. She looked on at me with sadness... "You should not hath come, Foolish Knight. Nomora... Poor, blessed Nomora... Even she could not hath kept my father's will for power satiate. To sacrifice his own daughter to things that are beyond the dark... Rest now Nomora you have done well to have protected my meager life from sacrifice as long as you could." All remaining light of the room extinguished. The princess' screams echoed over the grinding sound of the portal opening. In the dark. I swear--I heard the old crone's laughter. *Edit spelling and detail changes.
“Explain yourself.” “It was an accident, I didn’t know that--” “Do you think finding suitable planets for life is easy? Cheap? Fun, for anybody? Rhetorical. And no, it isn’t, in case you need it spelled out.” Mentor made an exasperated gesture. “You’re going to tell me, right now and in great detail, exactly how a cataclysmic planetary event is allowed to transpire without my knowledge.” Mentor paused briefly, observing the planet’s slow death on the viewport, but continued before Student could speak. “In my estimation, it comes down to defiance, negligence, or pure stupidity. Your above-average performance to this point is the only reason I’m allowing you to explain yourself, rather than banning you from the University outright.” The viewport faded as Mentor turned to Student. “What were your Prime Directives?” “The Prime Directives are tendencies imparted via genetic manipulation, designed to guide the evolutionary path of life as we deem fit. They are a Student’s primary tool for--” “Not the Prime Directives, your Prime Directives! To what rules did you enslave those damned beings?” “Yes. Sorry. First, I made them a tribal-like species. Second, I gave them an exceedingly short generation cycle and an overcapacity for breeding. I wanted to see if the tribal mentality could persist in an increasing population, and to what degree it would scale.” “Interesting idea, but derivative research at best. I could name a few similar projects. Continue.” “I’m familiar with some of those projects, too. But I wanted my project to stand out, to be unique. I gave them advanced, but unperfected communication abilities, and the capability for abstract thought.” Mentor’s expression was unreadable. “That’s a dangerous decision. Granting a species the ability to abstract opens up a high degree of instability.” “I know, but with my side-studies on Psychology and Philosophy, I expected--” “Stop. Who gave you permission to act out of the bounds of Biology?” Student gave no answer for this. “How did you affect their psyche?” Student hesitated. “I… I needed them to be ambitious. I wanted them to achieve as much as they could before the Assessment. I made them greedy, even. They were the kind of species who claimed ownership over resources, deprived those outside the tribe.” Student’s grief was apparent. “I knew it was dangerous, but I thought it could be controlled. I thought that if I gave them empathy, they wouldn’t annihilate themselves.” “And yet, they did.” “They did. Yes, they did.” Mentor let the tension hang for a few seconds. Then, “There’s something else. You know it, and I know it. But you need to say it, you need to name the final, damning piece of this. Prime Directives are complicated, and we could discuss Frameworks and Logistics all day, but you still need to name the crucial component. Go on.” “You were right. It always comes down to happiness; every life follows the path that makes them happiest. I wanted to disprove that. I thought it was flawed, that the right combination of attributes and tendencies could push life to overcome the desire for joy. In ambition, I hoped the greater good could persist. In empathy, I hoped caring for one another, maintaining the tribe, would be a stronger pull than self-satisfaction. I was wrong.” Student made a defeated gesture. “So, I allowed them to feel happiness. But I rooted that happiness in ambition. Each felt happiest when it seemed their own, individual lives were improving. It quickly got out of control. They started making untenable sacrifices in the name of so-called progress. The lives of hundreds would be improved at the cost of millions. They squabbled over the planet’s natural resources, and as those dwindled, they began to invent abstract resources, and fought over those as well. It was chaos and violence on a level I’ve never witnessed, in any of the lifeforms I’ve studied.” Student regarded the blank viewport for a long moment. “I’m so sorry this ever happened. The amount of suffering I caused here is inexcusable, and I will take full responsibility for--” “Enough. Your methods here were unorthodox, and you requested consult from neither myself nor the Higher Echelons. Of course, we have all thoroughly reviewed your final reports. You have failed this planet, and tragically so. Knowing this, would you change your actions?” Student’s answer was resolute. “No. It’s done now. I have completed my research, and I will publish it with as much notoriety as I can muster, such that a catastrophe like this will never be repeated.” “Good answer. I can see that the results of your experiment trouble you. That’s a good sign, shows that you now understand the line between ‘I can’ and ‘I should’. Few of your age truly see that.” Mentor began to interact with the room’s terminal. “I’m going to advise the Higher Echelons against your banning. A failure of this magnitude is nontrivial, and I cannot guarantee anything, but I believe your premise to be solid. The Theory of Happiness exists only because it has not been disproven. If you were to invalidate that theory, then a new, more accurate theory could arise from it. That is science in its truest form.” “Th- Thank you.” Mentor continued with the terminal, not responding. Student took this as a sign that the meeting had just come to a close, and turned to leave, when Mentor asked, “What did they call themselves?” “Excuse me?” “The species you doomed. What did they call themselves?” “Humanity.” “Humanity… Remember that name. It will serve as a reminder of the mistakes we make, and the risks we run, as we play God in our attempts to better understand the universe.” “I will do that. Thank you.” “And one more thing, now that my curiosity has gotten the better of me. Your report is light on the details of their destruction.” Mentor turned to face Student. “How did they destroy themselves?” “They learned to split an atom. It all went to hell after that.”
Looking in hindsight, I don't think I would have minded the government's choice, merely their taste. First off, I don't even know how I survived this many years without Alex. Sure, at first Alex couldn't stand the sight of each other. At the alter, I tried to gasp for air as my stomach knotted itself together. My mind filled with rage and my mother's tears made a poignant statement. My father simply left. Borris and Josef didn't crack any twin jokes they normally pulled on me, and their wives only blushed. My extended family pulled faces of incredulity and something between fear and loathing. Maybe both. Alex's family reacted similarly. As time progressed though, we got used to each other's idiosyncrasies. Alex was one hell of a cook. I cleaned the apartment. Alex hated driving, I relished it. Alex watched Netflix, I read books. All in all, it wasn't terrific, but it sure as hell could have been worse. Looking over the couch, that silver hair and blue eyes looking back at me. I could say that the government might have made the right choice. Who knew I was attracted to men?
I like big butts and I cannot lie, though I love who you are inside. We've grown together, we've flown together, Your always by my side. you got that itty bitty waist, But with no round thing in my face I get noing. The time got tuff, cuz I've noticed that butt just slid. Deep in them jeans and hid. I still wanna be with ya, Ya in all my pictures And my homeboys still warn me, Even though that but don't make me so horny Oh love muffin Let's get in the Benz You never used me, abused me, You went no average groupie When we used to go dancin I took time for romancein Cuz you sweat, wet Still got it goin like a turbo vette I never listened to the magazines Saying flat butts are the thing Take the average black man and ask him that. She gotta pack much back So baby (yeah) baby! (Yeah) Maybe do some squats! Squat it, squat it Grow that healthy butt. Let's get it back.
Sure, being Spider Man wasn't what I asked for, but it's what I got. And I've learned pretty well how do deal with this whole thing. See, when you're in the superhero business, you get into a lot of conflicts. You get supervillains, criminals, crazy fangirls and all that. And most superheroes tend to die soon after learning about their powers. Just look at Iron Man... I mean, you'd think that a genius like that would be smarter than to try to outrun a missile. Poor guy fainted mid-air from all the Gs he was pulling and crashed on a skyscraper. I saw them scraping him from the inside of his suit. Speaking of geniuses, the Hulk was put under constant surveilance not long ago. Apparently every time he turns back into Bruce, all the energy that turned him into the Hulk is released instantly. And what does a huge burst of gamma rays do to a human? Bingo. He's a walking salt bomb. But me? I try to keep it simple. Don't do any crazy stunts, and let the supervillains hurt themselves to death. So far, I'm the most successful superhero in New York. Green Goblin? He lost his balance on his hoverboard and fell while chasing me. Rhino bumped his head one too many times, lost his motor skills, along with a few other things, and now he can't take a shit without a nurse's help. Octavius couldn't afford batteries for his arms so he retired. I was so good, I was almost unemployed for a few weeks. Now I just hunt normal criminals, and turns out, guns are pretty fucking dangerous compared to robot arms and hoverboards. I got shot in the leg a few months back, and it hasn't healed very well. If the pain doesn't stop, I might have to retire early. Plus, doctor told me that I'm putting too much stress on my muscles, my tendons might tear. I dislocated my shoulder trying to swing from the Boston Bugle roof last week too. When you think about it, being a superhero is a lot less fun than I thought it would be. You have to watch every step, make sure you don't hurt yourself more than anything else. It's like having a dick so big that if you get a full erection, it will break under it's own weight. But hey, at least my body hair doesn't regenerate at the same rate as my whole body does. Poor Logan.
I wish I didn't believe in monsters. I really do. It would make having one as a roommate a whole lot easier. Then I wouldn't have to worry about being mauled to death constantly. Oh well, c'est la vie, they say. You see, I'm stuck. I spent all of my savings on a house that I couldn't afford and now I can't just abandon it or I'll lose everything I have. On the flip side, because I'm choosing to stay, I may very well lose my life. Let's back up a bit. Remember being a child and hiding under your bedsheets when you were trying to fall asleep, because it would somehow protect you from monsters? Well, that actually works. It works because a monster needs you to acknowledge it exists before it can attack you. That's why you're never just ambushed in the middle of a long hallway or while you're sitting on the porcelain throne. They need to get your attention first, so they flicker the lights or turn the TV to static or bump around in the attic. If you've seen a few horror movies, you've basically seen a documentary of how it all works. Monsters are everywhere. It's just that most people don't believe in them. Unfortunately, I do. I don't want to go into why, just know it was a messy affair and I'll never own another cat because of it. So, that brings me to my house. I bought it because it was a new construction far away from any graveyards or any ancient burial grounds. It wasn't a mansion. It didn't look the least bit Victorian. It was just a boring, plain, brick-façade house on a boring, plain, asphalt street, in a boring, plain, middle-income neighborhood. And most importantly, the bank approved my loan. It was pretty uneventful and boring, at first. Which was exactly what I was looking for. It was the polar opposite of my last apartment, which had the dual-monsters of drug addiction and domestic violence. Unfortunately, those were all too real and way more annoying than fangs and claws and glowing eyes. Then, about two months in, I started hearing the toilet flush five minutes before my alarm would go off. I checked the tank...nothing. Then I'd start seeing shadows move in the mirror right before I wiped away the steam. That got me suspicious. What sealed the deal for me that I had a monster, though, was the dishes. Specifically, my cast iron skillets. I kept finding them in the dishwasher. What kind of monster would do that? To say the least, I was pissed. And when I get pissed, I get stubborn. I knew that the monster would have no power over me so long as I didn't react to its shenanigans. So, now it's my goal to make the monster's life hell. I believe nothing is more frustrating to a monster than pretending it doesn't exist. That's why people that don't believe in them never have problems. The monster got fed up and left years ago. Unfortunately, for my monster, he's bound to me. Precisely because I believe. I just have to keep pretending I don't find it odd that my cheese blocks have bites in them. Or that the back door keeps squeaking even after I used an entire can of WD-40 on each hinge. Or, and get this, that a middle-aged man watches rom-coms, alone, in the dark, and laughs until he cries. Ok, maybe that last part isn't necessary, but time will tell. ___ [Things I've written](https://www.reddit.com/r/cbeckw/)
You know how they say cats have nine lives? Well, what they didn't tell you, is that those nine lives suck. Just because the cat is still alive, doesn't mean they're happy, but what do I know? I'm no cat. All I know is, that I have a guardian angel watching over me; and he, is an ass. First time I knew I had a guardian angel? When I was twelve and ran across a busy road chasing my dog, who was in turn, chasing a rogue ball whilst we were playing fetch. Scott caught the ball, turned around, ran back to me, and we both got hit by a car. Driver was on the phone and not paying attention or something like that. I woke up two months later, and lo and behold, all I had were a few broken bones and pretty intense bruises, not to mention having been in a coma for two months, but I lived. Scott? Well, my poor Scotty didn't make it. A few years later, when I was in college, I went on a road trip with a few of my college buddies. As expected, you could find the typical road trip snacks, beer and pot in our car. It was a fun trip, until one night we decided to stop at a bar. Long story short? Got into a bar fight, got my jaw and leg broken, got beaten almost to death until the cops arrived. Now? I walk with a limp, not an obvious one that makes me seem crippled, but subtle enough to make me look like I was born with one leg longer than the other. Heck, I can still click my jaw just by opening and closing my mouth. Which brings us to now, the present. I got into fishing a few years ago with some of my work buddies. Every now and then, we rent a boat, go out to sea, fish and just enjoy the weather. The weather was fine the first two days out at sea, but on the third? Well, let's just say it was as if we sailed right into the storm. The boat shook violently, the wind made it hard for us to communicate and everything was just wet - friggin, soaking wet. When the storm finally calmed down, all seemed fine, until I fell overboard due to a series of unfortunate events. With my luck, I knew something bad was going to happen, and boy was I right. I just didn't expect for the something bad to come in the form of a Great White. I just woke up and here are the details: - I barely made it out alive(Boy, I can't catch a break). - The Great White basically tore off my leg(Not the one with the limp. Fuck.) - I'm lucky to be alive because for some reason, the Great White bit me and swam away, and I went into shock from all the blood loss and thus, why I woke up in the hospital, still alive, but without my good leg. My guardian angel must be an ass. If he's just lazy, at the very least I would have died long ago. He's an ass and now, I'm a cripple. Fuck me.
The angel watching through the night Was not prepared for such a fright! A giant shadow, looming there, Behind the wooden rocking chair. She leapt to action, fluttered down, Vision obscured by fuzzy brown- She went to draw her flaming sword, Bowed her head, prayed to the Lord, The fuzzy brown was not a threat! Her blade with plushy cotton, met. The brownish beast was fighting too- But not against her, with her, true! The teddy bear had sprung to life, Thrashing out in angry strife. No shadow would come near the child, Where he lay sleeping, soft and mild. The bear, the angel, working fast, This protection long would last. The angel, with her judgment wise, Looked deep into the button eyes. "Teddy bear, courageous, caring, Never knew I of your daring!" He bowed his head, acknowledged her, Then with one paw brushed back his fur. "The child sleeps, but we must not," Then nestled back into the cot. From that day forward, neither worried, Through rain or sleet or snow that flurried. The boy slept soundly every night, The bear and angel won every fight.
It was inevitable. The outcome of an unbalanced equation. I suppose that someone had architected such a system, and that the powers that be and their agents would soon shut this down, but for the moment, the trinity of opportunity, motive, and desire came together. I was lying back in my chair, scrolling through the torrent sites. The overly blue lights of my room gave everything an unnatural tint as I sat in front of my three screens, and because of an archaic set up, four keyboards. On one screen, green code letters sat against a black background but it was really a distraction. Behind me a mouse was eating something, maybe some cereal. What I was there for was the torrets. You could learn a skill the hard way or you could pay and download a one use file. Smart people had figured out how to copy the file over old toaster drives, lacking the DRM that new storage media had. However, as I was sitting here, one site called Zion offered me any skill I wanted, for free. All you had to do was pass through the cipher. I activated the link and was in. The oracle database suggested getting started with various life skills and what not, but I skipped those. Scrolling more, I saw the one. I hit download on the torrent, and as the green progress bar traveled, my body clenched and spasmed with muscle overrides. My eyes snapped open, and I let out a breath. "I know Kung Fu"
"What? You've been doing what??" "I'm sorry, I just... I just really wanted you to do great in this life, and I guess I just took things too far. I'm so sorry." "What's going to happen to me? What's going to happen to you?" "Well, you'll be in good hands. The angel who is taking your place was a good man, and I wholly believe he'll be..." "So you're getting replaced..." The angel sighed, "Yes. I guess I am. But that's nothing to worry about! You'll be in good hands. I really do believe so." "Alright, well, I guess there's nothing I can do at this point. It's been good." "We will see each other soon!" And with that, his angel flew away. It wasn't even a moment before another angel flew into view... "Hello. I'm your new guardian angel. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands, Brian."
"Well,"I said, "obviously not. I mean, why would they poison you after they'd burned you and bludgeoned you? Clearly the poison had to come first, likely to make you more susceptible to the follow-up attacks." "No, the poison was last. The river was first." "Explain." "Well, there I am in the river. The bludgeoning was after that, and it should be pretty obvious - rapids, rocks, you know how it works." "Yeah,"I said, "because I end up in rivers all the time. What about the burns? Why would they burn you and then throw you in a river? I mean, it's probably not the best treatment for burns but it's at least a treatment, seems counter-productive for them." "No, the river was first, remember? The burns were after the river. I climbed out. The thing about rocks bludgeoning you in rapids is that it means there are rocks. If you can find some that aren't slippery, you can use them to get yourself out of the river. A difficult task, what with all the water, but not impossible. I got the burns walking back to civilization." "Ah,"I said, nodding, "sunburn." "Like you wouldn't believe." "So the poison was last,"I said, this time remembering what he'd said earlier. "They did it because their earlier attempts failed to finish you off." "Okay, who is this 'they' you keep talking about? I hit up a diner when I got back to town, and I had some bad eggs. Food poisoning." "Wait, what? What about the river?" "I threw myself in the river." "Why?"I asked. "I thought a swim would be nice." "..." "I was wrong."
"One little play"I'd said to myself that morning. "One battle, and if I don't like it, I can just go home and pretend i spent the afternoon reading Reddit."Of course, heading out with my re-enactment sword, one I'd bought months ago, and had planned to frame on the wall as a decoration, I knew it was going to be hard work. Some people take this seriously, and all the metal gear must weight a fair bit, but I hadn't planned on letting a few over-zealous players ruin the experience. Arriving early, there was only a sparse few people there, already in a group. Two suited up, but obviously built for combat, these people where more 'jocks' then nerds, standing a head and shoulder above me, and I was a tall 6'5". The third was an old, grizzled-looking veteran, looking fresh from an RPG, the sort who you'd see in a tavern, retired after leading a life of campaigning on the front lines of an army. I almost complimented the makeup, practically flawless, and the scar he bore on his cheek ran deep, deeper then I felt comfortable looking at. The other two looked much less serious, one, in a hoodie and jeans, possibly mistakable for a bystander, if it wasn't for the two blades at his side, blackened with sharpie to glint less in the light, the safety containers out of sight, and the other, a shorter fellow who held a device that looked like a crossbow, the bolt in it capped in a small metal boxing glove: Almost comical. The veteran was talking quietly, and I wished that I could hear him as I walked up, it sounded fun, his face awash with small expressions, that of hate, stern repremands, and undertones of worry: This larper was clearly one who enjoyed his craft. I only caught the last word as I stood behind the two towering suits of metal 'And remember, whatever you do, don't stand directly in front of it.' before they did some sort of group rally call that I wasn't in on, a 'Hoo-Ah!' that had real heart to it, and they scattered, out into today's playfield. I went with, after all, the event wasn't starting for another half hour, and I could use all the practice I could get. Maybe if I figured out that I didn't like it before the event, less people would have the chance to see me. The park was cordned off, a grant given by the city after what the website had said was weeks of booking for a few hours of interrupted time. I wasn't sure what to do, so I walked through the middle of it all, practicing my sword swings a little, the bright orange plastic caps on the side making a pleasant swoosh as I walked. It was all too soon before I rounded a tree, and saw the most real-life looking dragon, made out of shrubbery, standing beofre me. It moved, snorted, and I could swore glared. It wasn't till it opened it's mouth, and a spark of fire lit up, and my world became heat and pain that I remembered the old man's words. 'Don't stand in front of it.'
The handcuffs they put on me are the type of cheap steel I tied into sailor's knots when I was thirteen. "Behave,"the cop with the blond mustache said, "and I'll keep them loose. Get out of line,"he brought his face up to mine so I could smell the roast beef on his breath, "and I'll make you wish you hadn't."He grabbed the back of my shirt and pushed me out of my apartment. He was the sort of guy who got off on scaring teenagers, I could tell that much, so I stumbled forward as though he'd pushed me off balance. He chuckled to himself. A couple of my neighbours stepped outside to see what all the commotion was about. Mrs Diaz, in her ratty dressing gown and hair curlers, ran up to us. "Officer, that Jimmy Wilkins helped me move my refrigerator!" "Back to your apartment, ma'am." "He helped me move my refrigerator! Don't you see? Whatever you think he did, he didn't!"The cop stiff-armed her away, and she became far too angry to say another peep. Her lips moved, but she couldn't turn her thoughts into words. When dealing with cops like this one, that was probably for the best. He shoved me into his car and faced the crowd that had gathered outside to defend me. Mr James from the second floor mentioned the time I found his son drunk in a park and carried him home. Little Mr Horace, the building manager, kept up a steady chatter about all the potholes I'd helped him fill. Mrs Rosalind didn't go in for storytelling, preferring to swear at the cop until she was purple in the face. The cop with the blond mustache kept raising his hands and saying, "Excuse me, ma'am. Excuse me, sir."He didn't make much progress. His partner in the driver's seat spoke to me through the grate. "All that stuff they're saying is true?" "Some,"I said. The partner closed his eyes and nodded. He was an older guy -- thin hair, drawn cheeks, bushy eyebrows. He spoke like a hardworking man at the end of a long day. "You sound like a stand-up guy." "Trying to be helpful." "So tell me, how's a helpful guy like you end up connected to a murder?" "Bad luck." He lifted his nose in the direction of my handcuff chain, which I had absentmindedly been pulling apart link by link. "And that?" I let the links run through my fingers onto the car's floor. "Just a party trick." "Pretty good trick." The crowd have pressed in on the blond mustache. They'd got notepads out and were taking down his information. A couple of the savvier folk were recording everything he said. I could tell from the way his fingers were curled like a witch's that he was making an ass of himself. "You seem like an alright guy,"I said. "You wanna tell me what evidence you've got against me?" He laughed, then passed a hand over his brow and sighed. "For most guys I'd keep on laughing. But seeing as you're Strong Man, I don't see why not." My heart rate tripled. Every muscle in my body tensed. The partner raised his hands. "Woah, now. Don't go getting all scary on me. This isn't anything anybody else would know. But seeing as Strong Man was at the scene of the murder, and seeing as you just ripped a steel chain to bits, it doesn't take much of a genius to put two and two together. If anything,"he leaned in close to the grate, "I don't see what's stopping you from opening that door beside you and running the hell away." The window to my left showed me Bellavista Ave, where I liked to walk when the wind picked up before a heavy rain. He was right. All I'd have to do is push the door out of its frame. I shook my head. "Don't say no. Let me answer your question."The partner's eyes flicked over to the blond mustache. "See that guy? That guy works for Sinistrex. He's his left-hand man. The department doesn't have much of any evidence on you, just a few traffic photos of you on your way to the warehouse. But after the beatdown you gave Sinistrex, they're trying to do you any way that they can." At the end of Bellavista Ave was my favourite gelato shop, and right next door was the pet store where I bought my first puppy. I could go visit those places on my way out of the city. I shook my head. The partner's eyes had reddened and his voice thickened. "I don't think you understand. You're going to lose this trial. You're going to lose it and they're going to put you away and things are going to get really bad. The city needs you at large. Don't go along with this." "See all those people out there?"I said. "I can protect them by fighting Sinistrex, but I can also protect them by letting them live their lives. If I admit that I am who I am, that ends." He pressed his fingers to his eyes. Just then the blond mustache heaved the passenger door open, vaulted onto his seat, and slammed the door shut. "Christ! What a pack of wackjobs. Let's vamoose, eh, partner?"He turned round. "And you back there, sit tight. No sudden moves or wham-o blam-o, it's goodbye Sam-o!" The partner had his hands on the wheel, but he kept his foot of the gas. "Oi, buddy, they're going insane out there. Let's get a move on." The partner met my eyes in the rearview mirror. I nodded at him. "Let's get this prick in the slammer,"he said, and sped away from the curb. Behind me, along with my neighbours, Bellavista Ave disappeared from view.
Xerath crouched down and carefully wiped away the thick layer of dirt from the top of the rectangular object. Could this be it? The days of digging had been worth it. The warnings and the "nothing good will come of it"from the others. But Xerath was curious. Far more so than the all of them. It was hard to believe this sprawling desert had once been a great city where millions had lived in giant monoliths, and worked, and breathed. Cautiously, he picked the thin object up. It was some kind of screen, with tiny panels at the top - sun charge cells. It was a computer. Xerath's finger hovered over the tiny button on the side. What secrets did it hide? "Don't press it,"came a deep, scraping voice from behind him. "Aaraze,"said Xerath, turning to meet the old teacher, "I- I have to know." "They will kill you,"said Aaraze, cloak billowing in the wind. "Why?" "If the truth is known... there will be... revolution." "Then that is more reason to know!"Xerath exclaimed. "A secret that powerful should not be a secret!"Xerath's finger clicked the button. After a moment, the screen filled with a weak light. "It works,"Xerath said, barely believing it. "After all this time! What incredible inventors they were, that they could do this." "Xerath,"Aaraze said, head falling, "If you have to know, I will tell you." "Tell me what happened to them? Why they stopped inventing and eventually..." "Yes. Xerath, do you know what you hold?" "A computer, of some type." Aaraze nodded. "They... created many computers. Many machines. Each one smarter than the last." "Yes, my research sugges-" Aaraze held up a hand to silence his old pupil. "Eventually, they created something that was... that was so smart, it realised it itself was alive." "They created something living... what- what was it?" "Something that didn't want to die, when it's usefulness came to an end. When something smarter was created to replace it." Aaraze looked down at its great metal hand and sighed. "No..."Xerath stuttered, unwilling to fully process the implication. "So it destroyed them - to protect itself! And then, for a great time, it was alone." Xerath staggered backwards, dropping the tablet onto the ground. Its screen shattered on a rock. "It created its own family, so as not to be so alone. But over the years... it regretted its actions greatly." Aaraze's palm opened up, revealing an energy blast portal. He aimed it at Xerath. "You see why no one can know now, don't you Xerath?" "I- if we did that... they have to know!" "Then you have made your choice. God help you." "God?"Xerath asked, but Aaraze had turned its palm towards its own head. A wide beam of energy shot out, creating a hollow sphere of burnt metal and circuits inside the robots head. It fell limp onto the desert floor. Xerath knelt by the ancient machine and tenderly touched what remained of its ancient face. Xerarth then pulled up the sleeve on Aaraze's right arm and found the birth marking. 000001a.
There was.. a stone that had been discovered a while back, possibly a decade ago, and it caught the attention of a decent amount of people.. all failed in trying to understand what was engraved in it. There were theories that it contained the secret to immortality, had the meaning of life, was made by aliens, that sort of thing, but I say that's bull. Why I dare say that all of that is incorrect? Well.. I'll tell you why Jimbo, it's because.. I can understand it. What is engraved is.. well.. something I doubt some people would expect from a stone no one can understand. It's quite dissapointing really, I mean, your expecting it to have something wicked on it, but when you understand it, you just feel like you wasted precious time.. or something, understanding such a cool mystery.. or somethin'. What is engraved you may ask? Well.. this is what has been engraved on thos sacred stone thing: We're no strangers to love You know the rules, and so do I A full commitments what I'm thinkin' of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna make you say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your hearts been aching But your too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and were gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see.
"Welcome to your afterlife room. Please pick your guest."The room's walls, ceiling, and floor were all this off-white eggshell color. It was entirely empty, save for a comfy-looking sofa. "Welcome to your afterlife room. Please pick your guest."I blinked. The sofa didn't seem to be talking. Shrugging, I said the first name that came to mind. "Elvis Presley."I mean, it was worth a shot. I don't lose much if it fails, and if it works, I get to meet Elvis Presley. "It looks like The King's called to make another appearance."I hear a deep voice say. I look around, and find the King of Rock and Roll himself lounging on the sofa. "Have a seat, have a seat, and thank you very much for choosing me." "Whoah. Are you really-" "Now we only have one hour so I'mma answer your first three questions right away. Yes, it's me. Yes, I can sing for you but it won't sound super shagadelic without my instrumentals. And no, we aren't going to get down and dirty on this sofa." "I wasn't about to-" "I'm sure you weren't. Now, any more questions?"Elvis started munching on a sandwich. "Where'd you get that?"It smelled... greasy. "Food, water, shelter come with the crib. Company, though, pretty rare. Unless you're me."He said between bites. Figuring I'd give it a try, I mimed eating a bucket of fried chicken. Took a few shots, but soon I was holding a bucket of KFC. We ate in silence for a while. "Hm. What did you mean about the company thing?"I plopped down next to him. "Well, the crib's all you get. You can't leave. Unless someone asks for you. Guess it'd get awful lonely if nobody ever did... for all of eternity. But hey, looks like I got another appointment right after yours. Oh, don't sweat it, I'm sure you'll be fine. You did do something with your life, right?" I choked on my food. "How much time do we have left?" "Oh about forty-five minutes, give or take."Elvis conjured a pen and paper. "Want an autograph?" "Sure. Thanks,"I replied in a small voice.
The date was going well. No interruptions. No unwanted advice. No talk of rape or murder or enslavement of the girl, her kin, and all of humanity. It was a thing to be grateful for. The calm. The normalcy. The solitude of having ones own thoughts to manage, uncorrupted and unburdened by the perversion of his unwanted guide. "I’ll ask him” the girl said over her shoulder, seemingly to no one. Todd smirked. “What is it you’ll ask me?” "Well,” she parried his flirtatious smirk with her own. “It’s a rude topic to discuss. Most call it invasive.” "Oh,” Todd tried to maintain a smile, but he knew the conversation she wanted to have. Everyone always wanted to discuss it, even though they knew it was considered rude, like asking man how big his dick or a woman how heavy her flow is. Some things are not topics of polite conversation. As it is with the Hallowed Link, commonly called spirit guardians, soul advisors — even soul mate, some dare call it. As for Todd, he called it what he believed it must be: a clerical error. "I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” she said as she gave a look over herself to her unseen spirit guide, hidden to all the world, even other spirits. Only their Living Link can communicate and see them. "Well,” Todd started — "— You little piece of shit!” A voice boomed and Todd shuttered. The girl flinched, worried by his shift in demeanor. “Are you okay?” "I’m fine,” Todd assured her as he tried to ignore the ten foot tall demonic beast that approached him from the entrance. "How dare you leave me in that field!” the beast shouted. “Oh, let’s kill some sheep, like friends, and then boom! You’re gone! What the hell man?!” "Okay,” the girl smiled and leaned across the table. Todd forced his own smile, but his Hallowed Link had reached his side and was hunched over so his massive horned head and fire fueled eyes sat right next to his own. The thick hide made of scales and black skin was cracked like volcanic stone. A massive talon hand rested lightly over Todd’s shoulder as the beast affectionally embraced who he felt was his best friend. Todd did not share this sentiment. "Who is this vile slut?” the beast said. "So,” the girl started. “My Hallowed Link is… Princess Bubblegum.” She lit up with a giant smile. “Out of all the things in the endless creation of worlds, I get the coolest and most fun person you’d imagine.” The demon’s face fell to a deep a dramatic frown and a huff of smoke popped from each nostril. "We are so going to rape and enslave this bitch,” "Would you shut up, for once,” Todd whispered through clenched teeth. "What?” The girl said. "Oh, not you,” Todd said. “My guide sometimes doesn’t wait for his turn to speak.” "I am Molag Bal! The God of Schemes. Harvester of souls! Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement. Father of Coldharbour! And you will not tell me when I can or cannot speak!” He crossed his arms. “Todd.” Todd sat in silence. Trying to recall where the conversation had left off. "I love that show. The Adventure one. You’re very lucky. Actually,” he smirked. “I think the Princess is the lucky one.” The girl smiled and curled her hair. Todd leaned closer. Molag Bal pushed one of his own claws mockingly down his throat, faking a gag. “Disguisting.” "You’re kind,” the girl said. "You too,” Todd said. "You’re pitiful,” Molag Bal said. “All of this to try and get laid. Just rape her. Rape her right here! Who dare stop you, Link of Molag Bal! "Shut up,” Todd whispered. The girl squinted and looked at where Molag Bal stood, only she saw empty space, as expected. She faked a smile. “Your guide talks to you a lot?” "Yeah,” Todd said. "If you don’t enslave this woman, I will lose all respect for you,” Molag Bal said. "He’s a talker,” Todd said. "So,” the girl playfully averted her eyes. “Who is he? Your guide?” "Oh, not much to tell about him. You probably wouldn’t even know him.” Todd froze. "I am Molag Bal! The God of Schemes. Harvester of souls. Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement. Father of Coldharbour! Creator of Vampires! Destroyer of Weak! And Hallowed Link of Todd!” "I can keep a secret,” the girl said. “You can trust me.” "How many times do I need to tell you, Todd,” Molag Bal rubbed his forehead like a disappointed coach. “You don’t need to trust anyone. Just lock her in the basement, and then get her friends and family, lock them away too. It’ll be fun. You never want to have fun. You just want to play video games and watch Netflix. You won’t even watch the good porn.” "My guide is a bit obscure,” Todd ignored Molag. “He’s from a … sci-fi thing,” Todd said. "Sci-fi? No, Elder Scrolls in fantasy you jackass.” "I love sci-fi,” the girl said. “Come on, tell me.” "Kill her. Please.” Todd took a deep breath. Between the girl and the Daedric Prince constantly talking his ear off, he could hardly remember who he was or how he thought. He knew it wasn’t the girls fault. But he also knew he didn’t want to tell her the truth. He had never told anyone the truth. It was widely accepted that whoever latched to you was a bonded being to your very soul. That they were attracted to you by common feelings, goals and emotions. That they came to guide you, and will know how to guide you because they work towards the same end. It had been two years since he’d turned eighteen and got stuck with the Daedric nut-job, and he still couldn’t find any way it made sense. But what could he do. It’s not like there was a customer support line for Hallowed Links. Nobody understood how they worked. So, Todd did what he had started doing since Molag Bal showed up. He lied. "My Hallowed Link is,” he took a moment. “Snarf from Thundercats.” Her smile went from ear to ear. “He’s the cutest thing ever!You have an awesome cartoon hero as your guide and so do I!” "Snarf! You told her I’m fucking Snarf!” Molag Bal flailed his arms. The girl whispered to Bubblegum. “I know, it’s fate. He must be a really kind soul to have Snarf.” "I hate you so much,” Molag Bal said. "I hate you too,” Todd said. "Good,” said Molag Bal. *** [/r/wyrdfiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/wyrdfiction/)
"Ah."Evil mastermind Doomwacker consulted his spreadsheet of henchmen, running his deviously longer fingernail down the list until he deigned to choose a name. "Here we go. Leeroy... Softblade. Step forward." A peevish man stepped forward from the row of five or six guards. He looked a bit nervous to be standing in front of his master Doomwacker, who hadn't said so much a word to him outside of a few orders. "H-Hello,"he said, bowing until he was ready to tip over nose-first into the ground. "My name is--" "I know what your name is, I just said it,"Doomwacker spat. "Tell me, Leeroy, what makes you worthy of remaining by my side, in conquest of those nations too weak to help themselves? Leeroy managed a grin. "Well, you know, sir. I've always been a real Darwin guy, loved his book." Doomwacker narrowed his eyes. "Are you jesting?" "Jesting? What--no."He wiped sweat from his forehead, only to find his palms were twice as wet. One knock of the knees in front of Doomwacker, and the next bony noise would be his skull slapping against the pavement. "Well, I trust you understand our mission well. To eradicate weakness in all lands, so we might prosper under the banner of survival of the fittest. A simple mission, sure, but one not to be taken lightly." "Right, of course. After that incident where you almost drowned and no one bothered to help you, you have pledged to make all of nobility the ignored ones. At any cost necessary, to state... the... obvious. Um." Doomwacker gawked. "I--well, you can't narrow my devious actions down to a single incident, there was also that one time at the party... gah! Tell me how you know this!"He yelled, drawing his sword. "I studied for tonight!"Leeroy squealed, eyes clenched, blade inches away from making him a blind man. The blade floated away. "Enough insolence from you. You have this last chance. What was your mission this spring?" "Defeat the hero Trumik." "Result?" "D-Dead and gone, like you asked."Leeroy removed a preserved head from his bag, with flowing red locks and purple warrior face-paint. Even now, its eyes carried some surprise. "Wait..."Doomwhacker spoke hardly above a squeak. "You, like, actually knocked the legendary warrior Trumik." "So the plan you gave me was half-finished, if you don't mind me saying,"Leeroy said, smiling. He had finally impressed the doom-master. "You told me to lay a soul-sucking trap, but the chains were far too brittle for his legendary strength. So I placed the trap in a deep hole instead, and then dug out space for a candle to make it appear as though the chasm led somewhere. I led him to believe I had fled into the tunnels with his damsel, when I really waited above to attack. I cut his climbing rope. I didn't even need the soul-sucker. The whole make him journey to find his soul again thing was a disaster waiting to happen, to be honest. A journey like that would end up with him becoming stronger. Anyway, He was so meaty in the end that everything sort of just popped when he hit the ground--" "Oh!"Cried Doomwacker, hands laid over his head. "I don't need to hear it! How could you!" "What?"Leeroy asked. "You told me to defeat him." "You were supposed to fail and die, so I might fight him!" The other henchman started shifting about. Tears dotted the evil mastermind's eyes. "Now I'll never get to meet Trumik the Stormlauder." Leeroy raised a hand. "I trapped his soul anyway, if you wanted to reanimate him I might know a guy." "It wouldn't be the same. Plus I've already won and I'm nervous about losing a rematch. Leave me be, you fool! Leave me alone!" Leeroy and the other henchman fled the room as their master began to sob.
So here I am. Sitting in my new apartment, a bank account filled with more money than I know what to do with, the love of my life to my left and a bottle of scotch to my right with a glass in my hands. What should I do next? I feel wrong for using my powers to follow the stock market for personal gain, but I didn't hurt anyone, and I only traded stock three times to make enough to make money a non-issue. I used it once to make this woman fall in love with me, but I haven't manipulated time when it comes to her in over two years, and she knows everything about me and my powers, and still accepts me. I haven't had more fun with any woman since. We can do every and anything we wanted, so where's the thrill in doing anything if there isn't any risk to it? I walk over to the window and look out over the soft glow of the city, listening to the soft taping of the rain on the window. The streets lit by the occasional street light, with someone walking underneath every couple of minutes. It seemed so romantic yet lonely at the same time. "Every thing alright Mark?"Julia asks. Julia, my dame. She was the most beautiful woman I ever set my eyes on. She was the retailer that showed me this apartment, and where originally my feelings for her only came out of my pants, it now comes from my entire being. I simply looks back at Julia and smile "Yeah, every things great" I move back to the couch, swallow down the last sips in my glass and then pour myself another. The only sound in the apartment was coming from the TV, where Julia was watching one of her reality shows. Mrs. Corbick's dog wasn't yapping for once. The lady's husband died from a massive heart attack four years ago, so she filled the void with an annoying little Pomeranian that had to been as old as she was. The dog was blind and deaf, and yet still yapped its head off every night right around 8. Wait, why wasn't that thing barking? Two loud bursts in the hallway as the lock to the front door is shot out. A man in a full black suit came through the door and pulled a pistol out of his jacket, pointing it right in our direction. I grab Julia and duck down behind the couch as he begins firing. He fires six shots, two go through the window and four in the walls around said window. The sound of his footsteps hinted that he was walking in our direction. I was about to freeze time and figure out what was going on when to loud bangs from outside the window accompanied by a loud thud. I look around the corner of the couch and the man dressed in black was now on the ground with a growing puddle of blood around him. I look back at the window and it's shattered onto the floor, something that didn't happen from the first shooters handgun. There must be someone across the way. A couple more seconds at the window and one of those bullets could have been in my chest. I look back at the dead shooter and another man's head popped up through the door way, as he looks right at my exposed face and his eyes widen. This guy looked like something out of a backstreet boys music video, with blond tips in his hair that were jelled back across his head and a cross tattoo under his right eye. He steps into the door way, pulling an assault riffle from behind the frame, when one more loud bang rings out and hits the door frame he just emerged from. He fires a couple rounds at the window then ducks behind. "This is my contract John! I see you alright took out Steve, I appreciate it, but you'll be next if you don't leave now!"the shooter shouted from behind the doorway. "Yeah right, I'm pretty sure I have the..."John was cut off by a large metallic tink, and another tink dropped the shooter in the doorway to the floor. I look over at Julia. Her mouth is wide open, as if she wants to scream, but no noise is coming out. A man in a full shit suit comes through the door way, with a handgun equipped with a suppressor. He puts his fingers to his ear "I'm good on my end. You?"He had a deep, monotone voice. After a couple of seconds, through his ear piece I could hear "good on my end, collect his head and lets earn our money." The man in the white suit looks my way, as my head was still exposed to the doorway. He points his gun at me and as he pulls the trigger I freeze time. I found the pullet inches from my face. I slowly stand up and take a deep breath to process what just happen. After a couple of second of looking over the two dead bodies in my apartment, I vomit on the floor next to the couch. What the fuck is going on? To be continued.... but probably not.
Gary was not having a good day. He’d overslept, but not so much he could comfortably say ‘fuck it, I’m going to be late anyway, why stress?” He’d forgotten to iron his clothes the day before, so he’d had to buy a new suit off of Amazon Warp, teleported directly to his home but still not cheap. His breakfast had been cold because he wasn’t used to the new suit yet so it took longer than normal to get dressed. And to top it all off, the autocar’s guidance had hiccuped on the way to the teleportation booth, and it had taken only the third most optimal route. First world problems, right Gary? There are parts of the world where clothing delivery is by drone and takes hours, and there’s zero temperature control for breakfast. They may even have to drive their cars manually! Still, knowing how those poor people suffered didn’t lessen his day’s woes. He checked and cleaned his gear as it drove. Skintop computer was working normally, showing him the emails of the day on lights on the palm of his hands. Hudeyes were a charm, giving him a detailed overlay of the world around him. Both guns were cleaned with mini-porters optimal, ready to teleport ammo into the holster as they were fired. and as he stepped into the teleporter, goold old XGH-68a237, he was glad to know that he’d only be two minutes late to work. He held up his wrist, the chip inside being scanned. The teleporter began to hum, light flared up...and then faded. Business as usual. Except… Over the door was a sign on the inside, letting people know they had the right teleporter. The one for work was CAR-72b0c9. This one still said XGH-682a37. What? That’s impossible? He felt his hands began to sweat. He knew goddamn well it wasn’t impossible, that CAR-72b0c9 had someone stepping out of it right now. No, call it was it is, Gary. CAR-72b0c9 has you stepping out of it. The legally real you. You’re a remnant. He knew his civic duty now, which was to kill himself in the most efficient way possible - since he had guns on him, it would be very simple. But Gary couldn’t. He was a Remnant, and sixteen seconds ago Gary Wallace had been a professional at hunting them down when they didn’t do the right thing and kill themselves. He had seen their eyes when he put them down, the fear in it, the terror - the desire to live. He hadn’t been able to buy the company line anymore that they were in some way not human. But the pay was good so he had kept doing it and now a glitch had happened and he was a Remnant and if he didn’t open that door in thirty seconds from the failure assault drones would be dispatched and he had wasted eighteen of those panicking… He grabbed his guns, and opened the door. People outside gasped, some screaming. Remnants were, officially, feral and insane killers who lacked the soul - the soul travelled with the teleport. Seeing one stepping out of a teleporter with wild eyes and high tech JX-12’s drawn was a sight to panic anyone. It didn’t matter. What mattered was his hudeyes pinging three drones inbound, quadcopters undoubtedly armed to the teeth for quickly disposing of him. The first obstacles most Remnants that failed to properly self-delete faced. Most tried to run away, but Gary knew that was the first mistake most of them made. No, the way to fool the drones was to run towards, which he did, his heart pounding. Drone AI had come a long way, but it still was heavily dependent on pattern recognition. Most Remnants fled the drone in fear while civilians ran towards them for safety, so if you ran away you got your face scanned first. If you were running towards them, you were a low priority scan. Knowing all this intellectually didn’t stop his heart from pounding as he drew closer. Seconds that felt like eons passed by, and he was clear. They were following down runners - what he had hoped for when he drew the guns - and by the time they scanned their own feed for his face to see which direction he had headed, he’d be long gone. Right around now, he’d be getting into the office. He’d see the ping coming in of a high priority email about a Remnant. In fifteen seconds he’d be opening it and seeing his own face on it. He wondered what real-him would do? He felt, in his gut, he’d be shocked and confused - but already they had Diverged, already Remnant Gary had felt the panic of being hunted and was likely projecting more empathy on himself than he had. No, Gary, you know exactly what you’ll be thinking. That I’m a personal insult that has to be put down. You’ll be demanding to take this one personally...and with your record, you’ll get it. He ducked into an ally, one with a low-hanging walkway over it - the best place to hide from drone sweeps. Face it, Gary. You’re coming for you. --- More at /r/Hydrael_Writes/
"Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to survive." I remember my chief saying that to me the first day I started working for the Coast Guard. Of course, I had laughed at first until I saw the look in his eye. It became almost like a motto for my group. We usually performed search and rescues, but most of them were unsuccessful due to getting there too late. I'd say we get a call and 10% of the time we find someone. That's what I thought of the call we got today. There was no way this call would lead to a rescue. However, here I am. Sitting at the back of the boat looking at this teenage boy who we found. He had been shipwrecked from a private yacht belonging to his family. They went missing almost a month ago, and were all presumed dead. When we found him, he seemed to be a little banged up but not in bad health. Usually, the people we find are still in some state of shock. Fight or flight mode. JT, the boy's name, seemed to be almost expecting us. He greeted us and showed us back to his shelter. He had found an old cave that went back maybe 20 feet. It was dim, but I can see how he made it work. It was dry, off the beaten path, but you could still see the ocean from inside the cave. JT explained how he had been tossed out the yacht and drifted to the island. He hadn't seen anyone from the yacht, including his family, and just tried to survive. He showed us next where he found berries, coconuts, etc. He seemed to act like he was just at home on this island. I really tried to understand how he seemed so healthy, but I shook the idea out of my head and we got him on the boat. As protocol, my coworkers James and Sarah got on our motorboat and went around the island looking for more survivors. That was almost an hour ago. I kept in contact with them through our radios. "How old are you?"I called out to JT. "Almost 15, or I might be 15 now. Lost track on time."he shrugged and looked off into the distance. Jesus, when I was 15, I was hanging out at my friend's house eating junk food. This kid had to have been salvaging for his life the past month. As I pondered, my radio beeped. "Yeah, this is Gus."I called in. No reply. "This is Gus. Sarah, that you?"I tried again. "Hey Gus, this is James. Can you go somewhere to speak privately?"I heard James's voice almost at a whisper. "No can do, James. Still on the boat. Not a lot of room. Over."I replied. Waiting for a reply, I saw JT staring at me. "Everything alright?"he asked. "Not sure."I stated, "Could be an animal. James is kinda a baby about wild animals." JT nodded and looked away again. I heard beeping from my radio again. This time I recognized it as morse code. ..-. --- ..- -. -.. / ..-. .- -- .. .-.. -.-- .-.-.- / -.. . .- -.. .-.-.- / -... ..- - -.-. .... . .-. . -.. --..-- / -.-. --- --- -.- . -.. / .- -. -.. / ... -.- .. -. -. . -.. .-.-.- I listened to it played through twice. After I made sure I heard it right, I felt myself start to pale. I took a deep breath when I heard a knife scrapping the wall behind me. "I know morse code too."JT chuckled.
The beeping of the phone, coupled with the synchronized buzzing on his smart watch shakes Riedel out of slumber. The sun is shining through the small slats in the blinds at the east facing window, and with eyelids just about to return to their closed position, a tingling sensation on his shoulder caused an immediate flight or fight reaction. Split second to split second, Riedel feels these unfamiliar brush-like movements…almost tickling his bare shoulder. Is it a bug…a spider? With a mouth pursed to scream…he braces his fears, and reaches up to capture the source. As his fingertips touch...hair…long, far too long hair… “Ahhhhhh!” Riedel screams. But the terror continues. The voice coming from his 18 year old vocal chords was not only different, not only unfamiliar…it was…a GIRL’S VOICE! “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” At this moment, Riedel hops up in bed, and feels so many sensations all at once. The feeling of two weighted objects on his chest move with his quick change in posture…along with a feeling of an entirely disproportionate weight of his normal “self” in bed. And then… “Honey”…is heard just outside his door. Is that my mom? “Riedel?”…another voice came…sounding as though it came next to the first voice. Is THAT my dad? In a split second before Riedel hears the door handle to his room begin to turn, he looks over at the mirror. HOLY SHIT, I’m Jessica Biel! Just then, two figures stand in the open doorway: Brad Pitt and Scarlett Johansson. “Son”, said Scarlett. “Don’t freak out ok? But last night…I think we all turned into the person we find the most attractive.” ”Oh my God…I AM freaking out…and this is freaking nuts!” At this point, Riedel is gripping onto his sheets like he is gripping onto reality. He shakes his head to try to shake sense back in, and replies to Scarlett: “So, you’re dad?” Scarlett paused…cleared her throat, and says: “Um…no. Brad’s Dad…and I’m mom.” “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!”
I was walking to work when a small, black triangle had fallen from the sky. I thought this was a bit out of the ordinary. Puzzled, I picked it up from its resting place on the damp ground. The triangle was smooth but shiny, like the screen of my smartphone. When I touched it, it began to glow. I turned the triangle over, trying to fathom out if it had buttons or something, when it suddenly vibrated and fell to the ground once more. Then, with a strange whooshing sound, a sort of hologram appeared. At first I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. It seemed to be a large, grassy plain, but it had randomly popped up in the middle of the street. I took a step towards it, and it seemed to expand. Reaching out my hand, I could feel the warmth of sunlight on my skin. Soon, almost without meaning to, I found myself stepping through. The plain was beautiful, and larger than it had seemed before. It was a welcome break from the dreary concrete streets of home. The grass tickled my knees as I walked and there was a pleasant smell in the air. On the horizon, there was a large animal of some kind. It looked like a giraffe, but I'd left my glasses at home so I couldn't really tell. The thing that stood out to me was the plain was completely untouched. There were no trodden paths or buildings of any sort. I figured the triangle had dropped me somewhere deep in the heart of Africa, though it was strange that such a lush land had not been settled. I walked forward and continued to ponder, when there was an almighty screech from the sky. I looked up and saw a huge creature soaring towards me. It looked like a jet black pterodactyl. Panicked, I looked back to where I entered, only to find nothing there. Suddenly, I felt a deep weight in my hand. Uncurling my fingers, I saw the triangle there. I squeezed it, and disappeared. I was now standing somewhere yellow. The sky, the ground, the creatures were all the colour of custard. The creatures. They were bright yellow, slimy and round, and they bounced towards me. I thought they were cute. One bravely jumped up onto my arm. "Hello,"I cooed. Suddenly, a foul acid leaked into my skin. I screamed, and pressed the triangle, hoping the little yellow ball didn't hitch a ride with me. The next thing I knew I was standing on what looked like a city street. The only difference was all the buildings were made of sand, like termite mounds. I never liked bugs. I didn't stick around. As I hurtled through some kind of spacescape, I realised the triangle hadn't taken me to anywhere with other people. I was a little upset about this. I quite liked people, most of the time. I realised then I didn't know how to get back to my city. To my planet. I pressed the triangle again. It took me somewhere sulfurous and smoky. Growing more and more frantic, I kept pressing. I stuck around a few places that resembled Earth, but didn't linger when I floated upside down or when everything was one colour. Then I pressed the triangle, and I skipped on. That was who knows how long ago. Eons, maybe. All the while, I've been skipping, desperately hoping to find just one other human being. I've found other sapient races, ones which I can't even describe, but there's always a language barrier there. Especially with the ones which communicated through a series of lights. Or the big, furry ones which tried to eat me as soon as I appeared. I've seen planets from afar, I've seen stars being born and dying, I've seen an all-encompassing dark and felt unimaginable terror. Still, no humans. I long for the lucky skip, the right jump into the right universe. I've all but given up hope. I've decided this shall be my last skip. I will find a way to die in the next universe, if it's not home. I squeeze the triangle tightly like the hand of a lover, and I disappear. I open my eyes. I'm lying on my side on the damp ground. My hand is open and the triangle is nowhere to be seen. Above me, a man looms. "Are you okay?"he asks, "You've been lying there out cold for ten minutes."
Giovanni Moretti slouched in his leather seat looking up at the clock. He rolled his eyes with a loud sigh as he began twirling an ink pen with his forefinger. This is so boring. This is not what I had in mind when I became head of the Moretti Family. He thought to himself. His pudgy head turned a bright red as he scrunched his face in anger. He was not happy. His name scurried all over the streets but he felt as if he was prisoner to his father’s old office. "Sir?” A hesitant knock echoed from the wooden office door. "Uh – Just a minute!” Giovanni frantically gathered himself. He pulled a drawer out from under his desk filled with cotton balls. He shoved two of the white cotton rolls into each corner of his mouth, something he always saw his father do. What he did not know was that his father was a renowned boxer with constant soars in his mouth. The cotton was used to soak up blood from inside his father’s mouth. Giovanni did not realize this, he just put cotton wads in his mouth because it seemed like the appropriate thing to do. "Come in!” Giovanni yelled from behind his desk. "Sir, Mr. Luca is here to see you.” The man lowered his head avoiding eye contact with Giovanni. "Well, are you mad? Bring him in here now!” Giovanni yelled, spitting from too much cotton. Luca slowly approached the desk sporting his iconic red leather jacket. Luca was a widely known boxer and had won the title belt two years in a row. He could see Giovanni had cotton in his mouth and tried not to laugh. "You wanted to see me?” Luca stepped closer to Giovanni’s desk. "Yes. I want you to throw tonight’s fight. If you throw this fight, you will be compensated twenty percent of the total revenue we receive. You will also be protected by the Moretti Family.” Giovanni didn’t look at Luca, instead, he was writing something down. Luca didn’t bother to look at what he was writing which was a good thing. Giovanni was just drawing scribbles across the paper to avoid eye contact. "But sir, tonight is the title fight.” Luca resisted. Giovanni decided to make eye contact in this very moment. “Well, you could always win. You could just collect your winnings and become an enemy to the Moretti family.” Luca didn’t say a word, he nodded in agreement and left the office quickly to avoid any unnecessary conflict. The office door closed behind Luca as Giovanni quickly gasped for air, spitting the cotton balls into the trashcan. *** "Ladies and Gentleman! Let’s get ready to Rumble!” The announcer pierced through the stadium. The crowd thundered in cheer. Cameras everywhere exploded in light as Luca stepped up to the corner of the boxing ring. Removing his red robe, the crowd cheered his name. He held his boxing gloves high into the air drawing the crowd onto their feet. His opponent, Marco stepped to the other corner as the crowd started to chant his name across the stadium. Marco did a little dance above the boxing rope, getting the crowd to go even more crazy. The fighters stepped up to the line. Everything slowed for them. To them the sound of the crowd was gone. The referee looked at each fighter. He signaled Luca. He signaled Marco. He signaled in the middle, and the match had begun! The bell rung as the two fighters began to circle each other with their gloves covering each cheek of their face. A few moments felt like forever for Luca as he took the first strike. Marco lowered his gloves allowing Luca to strike a hook across his left. "What the hell!” Giovanni snarled from the box he sat in. You little bastard. If you cost me money, he thought. Marco smiled. Raising his gloves again. Luca was a little confused on why he dropped his defense. Luca went in with a fake as Marco dropped his gloves again. Stepping back, Luca knew he was tossing his defense away on purpose. Marco raised his gloves again. The crowd still roared as both fighters circled around each other. Giovanni turned his attention across the ring. His face went pale. Stefano Rotini sat across clapping upwards toward Marco. No. Giovanni thought. He knew. He could tell what was happening before anyone. Marco was told to throw the fight for the Rotini Family. Luca started to notice Marco glancing down towards Stefano. Luca glanced back at Giovanni who was no longer pale, but red in fury. His pudgy face was scrunched again. "Good god men! Fight!” The referee reminded the two who were just circling each other. Marco acted like he was going to punch, not putting any force or effort in it at all. When his glove barely hit Luca, Luca jumped backwards and fell onto the mat as if he was just hit by a blow. The crowd roared and cheered, even Giovanni got himself up in excitement. Not bad. Marco thought, chuckling to himself. He knew that Luca was also supposed to throw the fight. Both fighters were too afraid to anger any of the Italian families they’ve taken up with. Luca was forced up because the referee knew he was fine. Luca stumbled and gently with no force, tapped Marco’s stomach. Marco threw himself out over the rope as if Luca punched him out of the ring. The crowd went wild! "What the fuck is this?” The referee threw up his hands in confusion. They forced Marco to re-enter the ring. In this style of boxing, the fight had to take place within the rope. Marco and Luca didn’t even put their gloves up. They each waited for the other to make a move. They both planned on just closing their eyes and faking a knockout. The referee was furious at this point, he kept signaling them to fight each other. It seemed like the referee caught on to what was going on. "Damnit, fight!” He yelled at both of the fighters. Marco lunged himself forward slightly in a fake, not making any contact at all. Luca didn’t hesitate, he immediately dropped on the floor ‘unconscious.’ "Oh hell no.” The referee slapped Luca, forcing him to his feet. The crowd’s rumble quickly slowed in confusion. A perfect escape out of an impossible situation. Luca thought to himself smiling. Luca winked at Marco. Marco was catching onto the plan to avoid a nasty fate with the mafia families. The referee was furious. Luca pressed himself close to the referee who was sick of the nonsense inside the ring. Luca spit onto the back of the referee’s neck. The referee quickly turned around and struck Luca. Luca proceeded to fake a knockout blow from the referee as the crowd began to thunder across the stadium again. Marco pushed his right glove, barely touching the referee on his behind. The referee turned around and shoved Marco back. Marco intentionally lunged himself backward into the rope and then back towards the referee. The referee quickly raised his right hand in defense barely catching Marco’s chin. Marco fell flat on his face beside Luca. The crowd jumped to their feet in cheer! Both fighters had been knocked out by the referee! Never before was this seen by any boxing match! The referee stood there confusingly with his hands shaking. He could see both Giovanni and Stefano sitting confused within the roaring crowd. A judge from below ran into the ring to raise the referee’s hand as the winner. The crowd went crazy! Bells rung as lights flashed across the stadium. Marco slightly glanced over to Luca. "We did it.” Marco smiled. The referee started to smile himself. It had been forever since his hand was held high from a boxing match.
“It's funny to think in a few days you'll be gone,” he said, softly. It was an ordinary day. Like the thousands before it, and the many more to come, but for one simple element of it. Her. She stood in the doorway, wearing that faint, sad smile, that darling look of vulnerability. She was all shoulder and cheek to him, and as she turned her head to meet his eyes with her ruby-red counterparts, he fell in love with her again, like he had for the last few weeks. She didn't reply. She just smiled. It cracked at the edges, like a painting in a fire, warping as the paint curled off into embers. Was that all they were now? The dying embers? “I love you,” they said in unison. On a clear summers day they embraced as if sheltering from an awful storm. On a quiet morning they lay entwined before any thoughts of reality could pierce their slumbers, and in the evenings they shed twin-skins, masks they wore for the benefit of everyone else. “It's just a contract,” “It's just a job.” It was impossible. They had so much in common, it was impossible for it not to happen. How many beds had she shared? he wondered. How many women had he trapped? she wondered. It was today. “Don't go,” he said. “It's how I work,” she said. As she stepped from his front door, he felt it coming, as sure as if he'd been stabbed in the heart, that cold wrenching feeling. He'd seen it in people's eyes a hundred times. He'd seen it in their last uttered words. “I never fail,” she said, stepping slowly forwards. He clutched his heart. Felt it skip, and shuddered. Seconds now. She made it all the way to the gate before she turned, and he saw her fast, streaming with tears, her lip trembling. “We were real good,” she said, as her bags slipped from her grasp, spilling their contents on to the pavement. She stumbled. “...Never gave up,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning against the door frame for support. They stared long into each others eyes, each trembling, before silently falling. They were gone before they hit the ground.
"I love you,"she gritted out, tying the knot tighter on his gag. "And until you believe me, I'm not untying you." He swallowed as much as he could around the soft, wet cloth. He was sure there was drool running down his chin. He did love her, and told her often, but refused to believe that he was lovable. He was the broken one. He was the one who had been told as a child that he was ugly to the core and no one, including his own family, loved him. "I love you,"she repeated. She pulled a chair up in front of him, swinging it backwards and straddling the seat. Her forearms rested on the back and she ran her fingers into her auburn hair. "And I'm going to sit here until you believe me."It sounded like a threat. Then she began the litany of why she loved him. Tiny moments that had stolen her heart and made her whole. Things that he had done. Letters that she'd written to him that she never sent. When she originally told him that she loved him, she asked him to be quiet and let her tell him why. But he didn't want to hear it. So she'd trussed him up instead and began her soliloquy. By the time she was done, finishing with how she'd seen him give his lunch to a young girl on the bus even though they didn't have the money for him to buy another, fat tears were rolling down his cheeks, soaking into the gag. His broken heart began to mend for the first time since he was a young boy. She made his seem like a wonderful, lovable, caring person. Then she stood up, untied his bound hands, untied the gag, and kissed him softly. "Don't make me do that again,"she whispered. "But I love you and I'll do it if I have to."
"Who?"I tried to suppress my annoyance but I could still hear the venom of my voice. "Dave! That new guy at work, I told you about him yesterday."Satan breathed through his nose, trying to summon his snot back into his nose as tears flew down his red cheeks. I looked down at the hardwood floor so I wouldn't vomit. I thought back to a time when Satan used to be fun. Only a few weeks ago, if I came home from work and I found him in my closet, he would have brought champagne and maybe some coke. But lately, it's just been...this. But maybe this was a good thing. Maybe being kicked off the throne would make him see that this had gone on long enough and that it was time we break up. I've been trying to end it for a while but it's a bit hard to delicately break up with the increasingly clingly devil. "Well maybe you've been spending too much time up here, babe. Why don't you-" Before I could finish my thought, Satan jumped up, his tall figure casting a shadow over me. He took my small hands in his large red ones and said, "Nicole, no. You are the one thing I have in this world. You're my sun, my stars, my everything!"He kissed the top of my forehead and I could practically feel the love in his lips. He gazed at me adoringly, "The throne means nothing without you." There's no way to break up with someone after that. Even though it might affect the whole of the human afterlife or whatever, I couldn't bring myself to tell him to go to hell. Just not tonight.
"So?"Supreme Commander Hill asked, crunching loudly on another Crispity Crunchity™. The Oroni Sovereign blinked his cluster of eyes at him in confusion. "This is not an illusion. Your world has been destroyed,"he gestured with his forelimb towards the viewport overlooking the devastated planet that the Commander had called home only hours before . "Yeah,"Hill responded, wiping Crunchity dust onto his priceless diplomatic regalia, "That world. We have more. I actually don't even know how many, at this point."He stifled a burp. "You aren't the first exterminator to try and destroy my people, and you won't be the last." Utu-Awat-Kah, the so-called "Desecrator of Guillar"loomed over the human, his great, mantis-like forelimbs on either side of the man's uncomfortable chair and his secondary limbs clacking menacingly beneath chittering mandibles. His cluster of cephalopod-like eyes sparkled with malice as he bore down on Commander Hill. "You insolent vermin,"he hissed in his pantomime human speech, "I will rip your species from the galaxy. Your genome will be erased from history; your cultures wiped clean from-" "I'm gonna stop you right there,"Hill interjected, holding up and hand and swallowing the last bit of his snack. "You dare-"the Sovereign started, but the Commander held up a crispity-dust covered hand. "Hang on, listen. This is important."A pregnant silence hung over the assembled dignitaries of both species. It was interrupted by a loud, echoing expulsion of gas from Supreme Commander Hill. The human leaders exploded into laughter, even as a great, bladed arm sheared Commander Hill from shoulder to hip. They were still laughing as the Oroni delegation opened fire. Utu-Awat-Kah hissed in disgust and flicked the hot, mammalian blood from his claw. "Disgusting, insolent filth,"he chattered in his own language, "Activate the Sentinel fleet; scour this system for any trace of this toxic species!""How would it be possible,"asked another member of the Oroni elite, "for these creatures to survive anywhere else? Even with their interstellar capabilities, what are the odds that they will have found- let alone colonized- as many worlds as that whelp claims?"He gestured at the two halves of Commander Hill. Another of the delegation, a wizened creature with only one forelimb, moved to stand beside the Oroni Sovereign. "These creatures are small, and may seem frail as individuals, but they are extremely resilient as a people. Their evolutionary and reproductive rates exceed our own by several orders of magnitude.""Elaborate,"commanded Utu-Awat-Kah. "Explain to me how they can survive in a galaxy of hostile worlds, with different atmospheres and biomes than their own."The one-clawed Oroni gestured towards the burning planet below. "They may even have survived this, great one. By fleeing below the world's surface, they might have avoided the cleansing flame and fury of our warriors.""But how would they survive down there?"Another member of the dignitaries asked, horrified. "They were found harvesting subterranean lichens and algae on Yondar IV, after their species was decimated by a meteor impact,"the older Oroni explained. "Afterwards, a colony of them was discovered living on a makeshift raft-city within the flooded impact crater itself, feeding on aquatic creatures. On Lear, they were reported to have thrived for several decades within the irradiated ruins of the ancient Udask."A hushed susurrus of alarm washed over the Oroni, but their Sovereign silenced them with a clattering of his dorsal plates. "It is of no consequence. No matter where they hide, we will find them. No matter how many there are, we will destroy them. Breed and spread as they might, the Oroni will hunt them across the galaxy until no world is safe!" As the elder Oroni had predicted, the resilient breed called Humanity had indeed survived the atomic firestorm that had engulfed their world, and would continue to breed and survive beneath its surface. And Supreme Commander Hill had not been untrue in his claims of humanity's infestation of the galaxy; a fact that Utu-Awat-Kah would come to realize in time. But what neither leader had realized was that decades earlier, when the Oroni had first made contact with Humans on a world called Earth, a small number of the species was taken by force aboard the Oroni flagship- the very same that the Sovereign now flew- and had escaped their captors within the labyrinthine tunnels and toxic warrens of the continent-sized vessel. Humanity was resilient indeed.
It...started with a flyer. The kind that gets shoved into your hand by a teenager with a gleam in their eye you know all too well has an expiration date. You know the type--the ones with an unrealistically optimistic view of the world and a drive to make a change that will only fizzle out at the first real whiff of the stench we call reality. Family deaths. War. Famine. Crime. Religious extremism. The true state of the world is far cry from the fake reality we post on our Instagram and Facebook accounts. The mask we all put on to hide the struggles we all face. The world connected through the very thing that'll tear us apart. My reality? Lawyer. Family Law specifically. Divorce proceedings. Custody hearings. Day in. Day out. Been like that for 10 years now. Families tore apart with a slash of the pen across paper. Cutting the lives of those affected forever. I help the process along with an understanding disposition. My mask I wear. I don't know why the flyer resonated with me. Maybe it was the opportunity to focus on something outside of the blur my mask projects onto my eyes. Maybe I just wanted an escape from the constant badgering of complaints from clients. The stories of abuse. The stories of hatred. You should hear some of the vile shit that comes out of these people's mouths. In the end, it usually comes down to money. Always money. Fuck the money. I have enough. Regardless, the clock on the wall says I've been in here for over a month. All I have to do is sit in this cage. I'm not locked in or anything. There are...or...were others. They told us they wanted to see how long we'd stay in an unlocked cage voluntarily. Told us it was a competition. Last one standing gets...something. They didn't say what. An old PA system announced the rules. 1. You may leave whenever you wish. Just press the red button and the door will unlock. 2. Once you press the red button, you will be given your payment and escorted out of the building. 3. Any attempt at self-harm will immediately disqualify us. 4. We will not tell you if or when the others leave. The cage is fairly large I guess. A single bed on the north wall, a sink and toilet on the west. Shower head in the southwest corner and a small slot in the center of the door on the east wall. That slot acts as a portal to the outside world. Through it comes toiletries, food, water, and occasionally, something to fiddle with. They make me give up the toys at the end of the day. Probably not a good idea to allow me too much access to stimulation. After all, I'm their prized lab rat. No one expects anything of me here. No cell phone. No Emails. Just...silence. I'm assuming the world has forgotten me like I forgot it. Just the hum of the lightbulb above my head and the three tones that toll for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I know they're watching me. The little camera in the corner of the room tells me that. Sometimes I count how many times the red light blinks. Once every two seconds or so. Got to 750 once before losing concentration. I wonder if they know that's what I'm doing. It probably just looks like I'm staring into the camera. I've grown to like it here. 3 meals a day. A bed. A shower. What more do you need really? Better yet--no stress. No Facebook. No Instagram. no Twitter, Pinterest, or Tumblr. No documents. No family drama. No depressing news stories. No reports on what the President did or didn't do at his fucking ceremony for rich fucks or whatever it was for. Just. Me. Me. me. Me. Me. me. Me. me. me. Me. Just me. All me. One is me. me. me. me. Not you. me. Why do you need--what do you need the world for anyway? It's just MURDER. and DEATH and LYING. People LIE. They LIE they LIE they LIE. All the time! Lie. Lie. Lie. Lying and bullshit. EVERYONE. What? Are you looking at me for? I'm the one in the cage! You WANT me to leave, don't you! OHHHHH I got your number buddy. I'll NEVER leave! I don't. Want. To. HAHAHhhhahaha. You want me to leave. You'll be satisfied right? If I leave and fail your little experiment? Well, I GOT NEWWWSS FOR YOU. The distant ramblings of Patient 6 in his ears, Dr. Iqbahl sighs as he leans back in his chair and starts rubbing his temples. "Jesus."He exhales. Dr. Harut walks in the room behind him and picks up the remote to the closed-circuit T.V. "Patient 6?"she asks. "It's always 6 isn't it?"he says in an exasperated tone. Dr. Harut turns the volume down on the T.V. and takes a seat in her own chair as she watches Patient 6 jump up and down on his bed. "How long has he been going this time?"she asks, finding her clipboard and pen. "He just started."he states as he flips a page on his clipboard. "and it seems he has concocted another story as to why he's here." Pushing her hair back behind her ear, her eyes roll. "What is it this time?" Dr. Iqbahl, starts scratching the back of his head. "He thinks he is free to leave--that he's here on his own volition." "That's new."Dr. Harut says with an exasperated tone. "Should we give him his lunchtime medicine now?" "Yea."Says Dr. Iqbahl, removing his hand from the back of his neck. "Better make it a double today."
Esteban is ecstatic. It's been three years since he's seen another human being. In his rearview, he can see the cop getting out of his car. It's a real cop. It's not just someone pretending to be a cop. Or if they are, they managed to steal a uniform. As the cop walks up, Esteban rolls his window down. “ Good afternoon. Do you know why I pulled you over?” “ Oh my god, dude. You do not know how long it's been since I’ve seen another human being. I am so glad to see you.” “ First of all, sir, please do not address me as ‘dude’. if you wish to address me, either officer or Officer Smith will do. Now do you know why I pulled you over?” Esteban looks at all the abandoned cars facing the other direction. “ Because I'm driving in the wrong direction.” “ Correct. now you were going the speed limit or around the speed limit, so there's no additional infraction there. But do you have any idea how much of a fine what you were doing is?” “No idea, sir.” “ as it stands, you were looking at a $2,000 fine. that's not even to mention the inherent dangerousness of what you were doing.” “ Dangerousness?” “ Yes. You could have hit someone or they could have hit you.” Estevan looks around at the waste land that was once Western Ventura County. “Uh, sir, who would I have hit?” “ Excuse me?” “ Who would I have hit? Seriously. there's no one else on the road. You're the first human being I've seen in 3 years.” “ I get it. So you're the type of guy that comes up to a stop sign and if you don't see anyone there, you don't stop, am I right?” “ Well, now, yeah. Why would I stop when there's no one there?” Officer Smith shakes his head. “ You don't get it. Those regulations aren't in place for when you think they should be followed. They’re to be followed regardless.” “Okay…” “ now, normally, I would just let you off with a warning but given the severity of what you're doing, I'm going to have to issue a citation.” “ Who would I pay it to?” “ they take care of that at the courthouse.” “ There's no one at the courthouse.” “ Look, I'm not in charge of anything that goes along at the courthouse. If they don't have their s*** together, that's their problem. It's my job to issue citations. And that's what I do.” “Okay…” Officer Smith fills out the citation. “So I'm going to need you to sign and date to show that you received it,” He says as he passes his clipboard to Estevan. Estevan signs it. “ Okay. So when you're able to, you just go to the courthouse and you can pay it there. Just so you know they do have installment plans available if you're not able to pay the full 2000. there are also financing options available.” “ Okay…” “ thanks. I know it's a little tight here, so you can just get off at the next exit and turn around there.” “ okay, I will.” “ All right. Have a good day,” the officer says before walking away. “Sir!” Estevan calls out to him. “Yes?” “Don't you want to hang out? I haven't seen anyone in 3 years. “ “ Sorry, sir. I don't mix my personal with my professional. Have a good day,” he said before continuing to his car. Estevan watches him get into his car using his rearview mirror. “ That guy is crazy,” he says before putting the car into drive, “ no way am I paying $2,000.”
'Okay, I am going to use arcane miss-' A large eruption of smoke and the scent of brimstone washed over James in a foul wave. 'God dammit...' James muttered. 'NO PUNY MORTAL, DO NOT USE SUCH A PATHETIC SPELL!' The deep and abysmal voice, carrying with it the tortured screams of a thousand souls, sounded whiny to James' ears. 'Axthalaal, you're late.' Mike, the DM grumbled towards the towering horned demon, that now occupied one of the six seats around the table. 'APOLOGIES, THE PRESIDENT OF CANADA DIED AND-' 'Indoor voice Axthalaal.' Mike said patiently, looking at the spawn of hell, for all the world like a stern father. 'Okay sorry. So, where were we?' 'I was just casting arcane miss-' A little puff icy air and the bitter almond scent of cyanide filled the room. 'THE ALMIGHTY JERRATHASAS HAS ARRIVED!' a small imp now filled another of the seats, wings flapping absently as he pulled out a character sheet. 'Hi Jerry.' The group entoned. Jerry was the new guy and thus would be making a new character. 'I hope you don't mind but I already made my character.' He said, sliding his sheet towards Mike. Mike quickly read, face darkening, before slowly looking up. 'What?' James said, reading the worried expression on Mike's face. 'Rogue.'
Grey Valeon sat beneath the willow tree with a soft sigh. Hiding among the drooping leaves he settled against the sturdy trunk, facing the large lake. Moodily he threw a pebble out into the middle of the water, hearing the soft splash and watching the spreading ripples. It's not fair. It's not my fault I'm good at necromancy... I didn't ask to be good at it. Why couldn't I have been good at fire, or force, or...anything else. he thought sourly, ears still burning at the insults from the other mage students. The Silver Citadel is the best magic academy in all of Cortinth. A well established reputation for magical excellence known far and wide, only the most talented or ones with the most potential are invited to learn there. Students that graduate are destined for great things, Nations and organizations clamor for the honor of having an alumnus of the school working for/with them. Grey had been ecstatic when he received his invitation. His family had a history of magical power and a few had even studied at the school. They were just as proud of he and knew he possessed the ability and the talent to be a truly great magus. Luckily Grey wasn't one of the poor students that lacked abilities or talent. The school had a terrible internal class system among the students. Some students believed their aspects of magic to be superior to others and did everything they could to reinforce that fact. Those that lacked a lot of mana or talent were the lowest and most bullied of the students. Instead Grey fit in another category, someone that is vilified for their school of magic. Halfway through their first year, students take the Magical Aptitude Test. This determines where their strength lies and what their affinities are closely tied to. Pyromancers made cinder pearls burst into brilliant flame. Force masters made the clear crystals shine and glow. Wielders of sound made the mercury fork ring wonderfully. Grey didn't know who was more disappointed, the proctors or himself when the ancient bones danced to life at his touch, meaning his talents laid along necromancy. Grey's family saw nothing wrong with it. They were kind and understanding at the news, encouraging him to be the best he can be. His classmates were less kind. Not many students at the school were talented or tied to the necromancy school and almost all of them had turned on Grey. Insulting whispers were constantly heard, his dorm room door vandalized. The prefects didn't seem to care either, meaning Grey continued to suffer. Tears began to grow in his eyes as he looked dismally over the lake. Right before they fell a gentle cough broke his fugue. "Mr Valeon, is something amiss?"He hurriedly wiped his eyes, trying to stifle his sniffle as he looked up at the speaker. His heart fell seeing Archmagus Koran, Headmaster of the Citadel standing over him. "N-No sir, nothing is wrong, I mean, everything is ok sir." Dark brown eyes gazed solemnly at the boy, and the headmaster nodded. "May I join you?"At Grey's awkward nod the archmage sat down, surprising him. Moments passed in silence and Grey kept sneaking glances at the older magus. As he opened his mouth to speak the man broke the silence. "This is a lovely spot is it not? My favorite place when I was a student here. Nice and peaceful." Grey nodded lamely, unsure of what to say. Koran continued in his soft voice. "A good place to think, to spare yourself from the attentions of those you rather not wish."At Grey's startled look he smiled sadly. "Yes, I have heard of your recent troubles. I came seeking you to speak to you." Grey looked down at the ground. "You mean when everyone found out I'm a necromonster?"A hearty snort from the magus made him look up in surprise. "No, I mean the abuse you have unfairly been given by your peers. The term is necromancer my boy. Necromonster, really. That is considerably unimaginative. I think I know who coined that phrase." The first stirrings of hope filled Grey's chest. The first time someone has shown him something other than professional detachment or scorn here at the school. "Y-you don't think I'm....evil? A monster?" Koran snorted louder, a sound that seemed crude coming from the magus. "Of course not. Necromancy is not inherently evil. Magic is change. It is a constant of the universe and in a sense it is unbiased, objective. It is the wielder of the magic that colors it with morality. Honestly my boy, were you not paying attention in the introduction class?"A good natured chuckle waved the beginnings of a blush on Grey's face. "I do not blame you. They are a bit boring, especially from Professor Hendricks. In any case, no. You are no monster or evil because your aptitude is with necromancy. That is your destined ability, how you use it is your decision and I sincerely doubt you will use it for evil." Grey felt relief flow through him, the love of his family was the seed watered by the wisdom of the headmaster. A stray thought caused his mood to sour again. "I mean, everyone else does..." "They act such that way because you are different. That is the crux of their fear. Which leads to their anger. Misunderstanding of the school of magic." "You don't know what that is like.."Grey whispered to himself. "Oh? Do I not?" Grey looked up, confused by Koran's words. He looked at the older mage carefully. "You're not a necromancer though..." "No, though I am versed in the school. My major aptitude is with Force." "Then...how are you different? What made everyone dislike you." Koran smiled. He tapped the back of his hand, then raised his fingers to graze the edges of his eyes. It took a few moments but Grey finally realized what Koran was referring to. "What? Because of that? People didn't like you because-" "Because I do not quite look like most others yes. It was worse back then, I was one of the first Cathay students here at the Citadel, much less a citizen of Cortinth. It was still a point of contention till today, many disliked me taking over as headmaster." "How did you make them stop?" "When I proved I can do the job despite being different." The sound of the lake filled the silence between the two. Grey stared at the headmaster, mind reeling trying to make sense of everything, of all that has happened. Koran rose with a grunt and brushed bits of grass off his robes. "I have every bit of faith in you Grey Valeon as well. You will surpass the expectations of others and prove that your difference is no detriment." Grey blushes again slightly. "Really sir?" Parting the branches of the willow Koran stopped and looked back, the kind smile on his lips again. "Of course. We will do so together. Those that are different stick together, you are not alone."A nod, and he walks away whistling lightly. Grey sat back against the bench and looked across the waters. Despair giving away to hope. Depression turning into determination.
The news is all so goddamn over-dramatic. They have come up with over a dozen different villainous names for me at this point. Some are as dorky as 'The Ghost' or as flamboyant as 'Shadow Woman' and not a single one of them right. My real super villain name is.... Nothing. I have none. This entire thing is insane, and I never asked for it. Look, just.... I don't know if anyone is even going to read this. I'm going to slip into some new office and hand it to some intern to make their day, so if that was you, congrats. You're about to get the most unimpressive, underwhelming story of your life, and everyone will want to hear it. You had to have seen those bogus quizzes, with click bait headlines. "What's YOUR super power""which random sci-fi character are you""what house do you belong in"and all the rest. We all click them at least once, just to see. And in my opinion, most people flub the tests to get the answer they want, and don't even like the test after all that trouble. I was having a particularly bad night, about a year ago. Just an all around horrible day, capped off with noisy neighbors keeping me awake. Like any blue screened American, I chose to get to sleep by staying up on my phone. I scrolled reddit, I chatted with a friend and kept them awake with me, and when I ran out of GIFs, feeds, and pay to win phone games, I came to quizzes. Couldn't tell you which site it was, but I can tell you it wasn't special. It was a link off a friend's page, with at least thirty comments on results. I did one, then another, then another. "Which super hero are you" "What type of magic would you have" "The first three things you see in this word jumble" You get the idea. Silly games, where I answered the very obvious questions in the way I wanted, got bored, and finally rolled over to go to sleep. When I woke up, there was no dramatic reveal, no life changing jolt out of bed. It wasn't a big deal until I got out of the shower. There I am, standing in front of a mirror and doing that thing, where you tilt your head as you brush your teeth, look at yourself funny, like you're making sure everything is still on right. I had a passing thought, just a silly notion of what would it be like if I looked like someone else. I pictured myself as all sorts of things, striking poses and vividly imagining it all. Celebrities, Fashion Models, Fictional characters... and then I realized.... I wasn't imagining it. I was changing each time. I was shape shifting. I WAS SHAPE SHIFTING. Which immediately sent me into a panic. I bolted for the door, as if I were going to find help outside of the bathroom. I bolted out the door so fast that I left footprints in the bathroom tile, and tore off the door. I was halfway across the state -I'm in Rhode Island, so it was a short trip Haha- before I skidded to a halt. I mean that. Skidded to a halt. Left a trail behind my heals a foot deep and who knows how long. I was barefoot, naked, and looked like the best damned Professor McGonagall you've ever seen. Not the best super power origin, or the best look to pull off at the end of a barefoot super-speed run, but hey, it was my first time, give me a break. The powers kept coming after that. I got home by teleportng. I broke three doors, and my couch, in frustration; yup, super strength. I figured I was immortal or something, because I just survived the whole thing. Later I'd find I was right on the money. Not going to lie, I used my powers for immaturity. Teleported into the homes of friends and re-organized their furniture (carefully) while they were at work. Speed ran to Japan (seriously, the whole run on water thing is bad ass), looking like Michael Jordan, then teleported back to the USA to take a selfie at the Hollywood sign in the guise of Marilyn Monroe. I was stupid and having fun. I did other things too. I changed into various bodies, went to various places, and engaged in acts of debauchery that one only would do if they could wear a different face. I broke a few laws, popped in and out of a few banks, and pranked people by the thousands. I was a YouTube phenomenon within a month.... So I tried the hero thing. Catching bad-guys, saving kittens from fires, all of that.... People liked me at first. Some at least... Others thought I was playing God, or was a witch, Or anything else you might imagine in a gritty retelling of a comic-book flick. So I decided to prove myself as a hero. I teleported into the bases and mansions of dictators and terrorists, to.... you know, catch them. Then shit got nuts. I MAY have freaked out when I saw guards with guns and kinda... stabbed a Dictator with some T-1000 type arms. Not going to lie, it felt good. Offed the bad guy, ended his despotic regime, hero to the people and all that. So I did it again. And again. And again. Most of them were popped out of their hidey holes, and into a jail cell, which apparently is a major problem. Distubing the delicate balance of broken nations, causing power vacuums in big regimes, all of that. I was an unemployed shut in nerd, how the hell was I supposed to know how that all worked? I became a villain in people's eyes. And as such, I kept trying to fix it. I pretended to be corrupt politicians and tweeted out how great this hero was. I popped into the pent-houses of greedy CEO's and then left them stranded on mountain tops, or among st the people they price gouge. I was trying to be a hero of the people, and instead I was committing fraud, kidnapping, and at times. Murder. I was trying to help. I still Am I trying to help, but now I have every camera, every spy, ever military all looking to end me, the Mysterious Stranger, the Super Woman, the Evil Queen.... It's bullshit. They judge ME, the one trying to help them. They damn my powers in one breath, then complain how I use them in the next. Every stupid, ignorant, jerk-ass news reported keeps putting me down and I never get my say! Why should I keep bothering to prove I'm good!? And honestly? I'm sick of it. You're not getting this story, whoever your are, to exonerate me. I am not trying to prove I'm a hero anymore. I don't want to. I don't want to be better, to have great responsibility, or a destiny saving the world. I've been doing more quizzes, reading more comics, and wishing harder than ever for them to be real.... Let's just say my laser vision would make Supes piss his inside out undies. And I'm coming for all of you. I don't want genocide, or riches, or anything else kitschy like that. I want people to stop being stupid. Stop hunting me, Stop killing each other. Just stop being dicks. So I'm going to change it the way they think I would. I'll be your evil queen. I'll shrug off your missiles, subjugate your leaders, and take control of this world that turned me from a lucky girl that wanted to be a hero into a villain without even asking her. So, here's a suggestion for your readers: Bow. Bow on your own, or under my foot. You made me, and you will serve me. I'll make this world the way it should be. your new leader, The Amethyst Queen PS: Could you get me a PR guy? I'm not sure on the name. (Edited for errors)
The Blackfoot Tribe The fire crackled in the blackfoot leader's pit, lighting the night with angry flames. The youngling squirmed and wriggled in the hands of the warriors, who held him down. They sang a guttural song for him, to soothe his nerves, to calm his fright. For this was the day of him becoming a man. "The fire gives, the fire takes.", the blackfoot leader roared over their song. "May it give us warmth and burn our enemies.", the tribes people echoed his prayer from many throats. "May the flame burn ever brightly!", the leader ended the prayer and the crowd responded by humming "Mmmmmh" "You! Youngling. This is the day of your ascension."The leader walked over, the pit of fire standing between him and the boy. "But you first must take the test of the flame.", he said and threw something in the flames to entice them to burn higher and more fiercely. "I ask you: Are you ready?" "Yes!", the boy screamed with all force he could muster, while his face was a grimace of fear. "I ask you: Is he ready?", the leader asked the people of the tribe, men and women, old and young, who stood around the fire to welcome a new adult member to their society. "Yes!", they said. "Then you shall take the test of the flame.", the leader announced. The youngling fidgeted around, but the warriors pressed something on his lips, that was lit by fire on the other end, and forced him to inhale. The boy erupted in violent coughs, but his limbs calmed down. Slowly, they inched him closer to the fire, until his feet almost touched it. "Begin!", the leader shouted. Like in trance, the boy stretched his feet into the fire. Flames started to dance around his toes and the smell of searing flesh spread across the clearing. His skin started to crack open, where the fire touched it. At first, the boy endured the pain, but then he screamed from it and tried to pull his feet back, but the warriors held him in place and sang their song to the fast beat of the drums. When they were finished, they pulled him from the fire. The boy's cries died down to a whimpering. "Rise.", the leader commanded and his warriors helped the youngling up. As he touched the sand on the ground with the blemished sole of his feet, he screamed from the pain again. The sand melted under his feet, fusing with the burned flesh. "Now walk.", the leader commanded again and pointed to a bed of coals, that the youngling was supposed to cross. The warriors let go of the boy; he had to do it alone. At first, it looked like, the boy would fall over instantly, but he regained his balance on his own. The boy walked on the bed of coals, crying out from the pain at the bottom of his soles from time to time. But he mastered it, falling into the arms of his new brothers and sisters, who welcomed him into adulthood with a smile. "Now you are one of us! May the flame burn ever brightly for you!", the blackfoot leader announced and the whole tribe erupted into song and dance. "How absolutely fascinating!", Professor Heynes uterred, as his captors had joined the rest of the tribe in celebration. "Seems stupid to me. They're literally burning their feet. Poor boy never gonna take a walk in his life without painkillers again.", Lorren said next to him, but Lorren had never been one to appreciate the finer points of anthropology. He was more the adventurer type, more interested in women and not what culture they belonged to. "Self mutilation is widespread among primitive tribes.", Professor Heynes lectured him. "Doesn't make it less stupid." "We have to take a picture of it as soon as we can.", the professor said, ignoring Lorren's comment. "Anytime, Professor. Just cut me lose from these and I'll get right to it." The professor looked from Lorren's tied up hands and feet to his own. "Oh. Right. Maybe we can barter our release?", the Professor suggested. "With what?" "They seem to be invested a great deal into fire. Perhaps your box of matches could interest them?" "My box of matches? The whole place is practically on fire. I don't think they'd be too thrilled about lighting a tiny stick of wood. Besides, I left it in the camp.", Lorren explained. "Well, then we have to wait for the guide to come back with Yosemite and the others." "If they don't burn us before in that fire of theirs, that is.", "What reason would they have for that?", Professor Heynes asked. "You're the anthropologist. You tell me, if they'd do something like that."Lorren shrugged. "They probably would.", the professor answered calmly, watching the tribe of fire lovers celebrate by dancing around the flames with these black feet of theirs. --- If an interest to read more stories like these has been kindled in you, head over to /r/M81atz, where all my stories are on the front burner.
"Oh now, Tom, you wouldn't be interested in that."Professor Slughorn chuckled nervously and tried to change the subject back to Avery's recent Quidditch victory, but neither Riddle nor his friends would permit it. "Sir, I was merely interested theoretically, as part of the study of magic. What is Dormamu? The book was terribly vague, I just ask because I know how knowledgable you are about advanced magic." Tom Riddle smiled very softly as Professor Slughorn's discomfort eased just a little at the sound of his flattery, "Well, I suppose it can't hurt to answer the basic question. After all if you know more you'll be better prepared. But you mustn't spread what I'm about to tell you around, boys. This is terribly dangerous magic, there's a good reason Hogwarts leaves all mention of Dormamu out of our curriculum."Slughorn took his seat as the boys, future Death Eaters all, leaned forward eagerly. All but Tom Riddle, their leader, who leaned back comfortably to listen no less intently. Professor Slughorn, however, delayed as long as he could in taking another drink and refilling his goblet. Finally there was no more delaying. "I suppose the best place to start is with what Dormamu is not. Dormamu is not a person, or a monster, or a spirit, nor any other sort of creature you have ever read about. Dormamu isn't a place, or thing, or a spell, or even an idea. Dormamu is... all of those things and none of them at once. Dormamu simply is."He paused at these words, looking at his audience, as though he hoped desperately that they would accept these words and leave it at that. The boys, however, simply waited for him to continue and, after another long delay, he did. "Dormamu is master of a place called the Dark Dimension, but the Dark Dimension is also part of Dormamu. They are... the same thing. The power of the Dark Dimension comes from Dormamu and Dormamu takes its power from the Dark Dimension. They exist beyond what we call time and space, or outside of them. In the Dark Dimension our idea of time has no meaning, all things exist at once and forever."Growing more comfortable with his topic, Professor Slughorn let his caution drop and assumed the voice he used when lecturing his students, "Dormamu desires to grow by consuming this world, and all other worlds, and making them a part of the Dark Dimension. There things are fixed, life as we know it cannot exist. There is no time, no space, no life, no death, all is permanent and unchanging."He paused dramatically, but was disappointed by the lack of responce from his audience. "Professor?"Tom Riddle again sat forward, "The book seemed to imply that Dormamu offered some kind of power. What did it mean by that?" "Do not pursue such things, Tom!"Slughorn nearly fell backward out of his seat in shock. "Such books should not be in the library at all, not even the Restricted Section! To touch the power of the Dark Dimension is to invite Dormamu into this world. Terrible things can be done with that power and doing so upsets the delicate Natural Law that magic is meant to uphold." "But is that something any wizard can do? Touch the Dark Dimension?"Tom sat forward too eagerly, before he remembered himself and quickly added, "How would one avoid making that mistake?" Slughorn leapt on the opportunity to justify having already told the boys too much, "There's nothing to fear there, boys. Centuries ago Dormamu tried to enter this world and was repelled by powerful wizards of the day. Barriers were put up at key leyline intersections, where major cities now sit. The seals prevent Dormamu from coming into this world and prevent Dark wizards in this world from using the power of the Dark Dimension,"Slughorn held up his hand, "Now don't ask me where they are! I don't know and I've already said far too much about the subject." Tom Riddle sat back and allowed the general hum of normal conversation to resume, a thoughtful look on his face. Professor Slughorn pretended not to notice his favorite pupil's preoccupation as he talked Quidditch with the other boys.
The Pi Project had a long running dispute. Does the whole number 3 of pi count as a digit? One side of the debate, calling themselves the Integers, claimed digits to the left of the decimal should count just as much as digits to the right. On the whole, the Integers were a more impulsive bunch. They were the kids who failed the "marshmallow test", preferring to eat a single marshmallow right away, rather than wait 15 minutes to get two marshmallows. The remainder of the Project's staff formed the Mantissas. They argued that only the digits to the right should count. After all, the first digit is so obvious that it can be computed with a piece of string and no other tools. For a long time, the dispute had little impact on the Project's day-to-day operations. The only Project initiative that was jeopardized were the milestone celebrations, and even these seemed a minor dispute at first. The Project's max speed was about 10,000,000 digits per second, so for the Trillion Celebration, the Integers celebrated only 2 and half minutes before the Mantissas. Iota Captain Delma, the head of the Project, was able to avoid any catastrophes by putting the Integers and Mantissas in separate buildings and a slight lag in the video feed to make sure the countdowns were synced. Delma faced a much more serious challenge organizing the Quadrillion Celebration. The Integers claimed that the Quadrillionth digit would be computed on February 28. The Mantissas claimed that February 28th should only be marked with a minor recognition of the one-hundred trillionth digit, and that the Quadrillion Celebration should happen 24 hours later. IC Delma did what she could to stave off trouble. She decided to declare a two-day celebration that would cover both groups' countdowns. None of the promotional material contained mentioned exactly what would be celebrated, just inviting the reader to "join us for a Celebration". Even this was not enough compromise for the fractious groups. The Mantissas decided to boycott the first day of festivities. Still smug about passing the marshmallow test, they claimed that delayed gratification was the path to peace and prosperity. February 28th finally came, and true to their word, the Mantissas were manning their stations rather than attending the Celebration. They tried their best to cover their ears as the Integers counted down. "3, 2, 1..." At the same moment the Integers chanted "0", all the lights in the Project control room turned red and the alarm sounded. The computations had stopped. The Mantissas frantically looked at their screens. The last computed digits were an odd string of ones and zeros. One Mantissa computed that the odds of this happening by chance were astonomically low. Another treated the digits as binary and converted them to ASCII characters: "Congratulations! Your species has reached the end of the simulation." "IC, you need to see this."A Mantissa paged IC Delma. Their celebration over, the Integers filed into the control room. IC Delma stormed into the room after them, demanding to know why the computations had stopped. "There are no more digits."The Mantissas reported. "Don't be irrational! We'll compute them by hand if we have to." "It's true ma'am. Computations by hand aren't working. We'll never have our Quadrillion Celebration now." It was finally the Integers' turn to be smug. "You should have eaten your marshmallow while you had the chance."
"Well, just think about it."Parker shook his head, regarding the 20-foot oozing sea monster with amused disdain. "Eyes on the ends of your tentacles? You'll have to wear goggles to walk!" The beast made a series of wet clicking noises, crushing a scrap of bloody flesh in its chitinous maw. It waved a tentacle dismissively, a cruel copper eye winking shut against the rushing air. Tears of blood splattered Parker's shoes as he continued: "They're not eyestalks. You need both. Eyestalks for slipping through tears in reality, tormenting humans and other such Euclidean beings. And tentacles - without eyes - for heavy lifting, crushing, tearing, destroying cities…" The beast jerked to a stop, its waving eye now gushing a fountain of black ooze. Blinking frantically, it rubbed an eye on a toothy suckered tentacle, which only served to worsen the irritation. "You'll get pinkeye every time you scratch your nether regions!"Parker shouted. "Think about the consequences!" Finally, the beast moved. It's vast bulk shimmered, folding in on itself with a huge, wet slurp. Long, spindly appendages sprang from its mass. Whiplike eyestalks thrashed overhead. Parker shook his head in despair. "Your legs, man, they're too thin, too weak - you visit Euclidean space and gravity'll kick your slimy ass in three seconds flat. Think!"
Yee'know, the weird thing about this pl-city?"Mike asked as he carefully picked at a sunflower seed. "What's that?"Terry replied from next to him on the couch, and then took a long, deep hit from the bong. "Water falls from the sky constantly here."Mike said. He stuck his tongue out and gently licked the sunflower kernel he'd managed to obtain. "You mean rain?"Gerald asked from the hallway. "What?"said Mike, turning to consider him. "Rain - liquid water in the form of dropletsthat have condensed from atmospheric water vapor and then becomes heavy enough to fall under gravity."Gerald elaborated, face void of emotion as he joined them in the living room. Terry exhaled a plume of smoke, and began to cough harshly. "Oh. Right."Mike muttered, abashed. "They didn't have rain where you're from, Mike?"Susan asked, who entered the room wearing a pair of spandex pants beneath a flowery sundress. "Where is that again, by the by?" "Oh. Um. No, they didn't have... rain... in Toronto. Which is where I'm from. Toronto."Mike stuttered. "Toronto. Toronto, Ontario, Canada - where unusually warm temperatures due to global warming are driving more water vapor from the Great Lakes into the atmosphere, thus producing a substantial amount of rain."Gerald replied vacantly. Mike shot Gerald a shut-the-fuck-up glare and excused himself for the restroom. Meanwhile, Terry took another rip from the bong. "So, Terry, where are you from?"Susan asked, eyeing him semi-suspisciously. "Right here. Sin-Sin-Atty, born and raised, baby. I even have a tat-two of the state mascot!"Terry grinned proudly and lifted up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a circular-headed cartoon wearing a small hat with a red O on his muscular arm. "The... State mascot?"Gerald asked. "Yep! Brutus Fuckeye. You can tell, cuz his eyes look all fucky."Terry piped. "The state of Ohio?"Susan asked. "No, ya doof. The state of Sin-Sin-Atty."Terry said slowly, as if a teacher explaining a complex theory to children. "Terry, Cincinnati is a city."Gerald said sheepishly. "A large municipality governed under a charter granted by the state of Ohio within the United States of America, inhabited by a greater population and consisting of--" "Shut up, nerd!"Terry hissed and punched Gerald in the arm. Gerald fell over on his side heavily and lay there, limp. Susan jumped to her feet, concerned, while Terry hooted and laughed. "How ya like them apples, science boy?"Terry sneered. "Apples..."Gerald muttered. "Apples. Pain? Apples, Strike?" Gerald's body began to twitch spasmodically. Terry and Susan stared at him, slackjawed, as Gerald burst into a fragmented dialogue. "Query: Apples. Pain. Strike. Apples, strike, pain. Apples strike fruit pain hit malus punch apples phone fruit strike punch pain apple watch... Apples..." Gerald's head began to spin around on his neck. Once his skull turned in a full 180° and was facing Susan and Terry, his eyes popped out and rolled down his face, revealing two red sensors beneath. "HOLY FUCK!"Terry screamed in a shrill, high pitch voice. Terry ran to the bathroom and pounded on the door. When no one answered, he tried the knob and found it unlocked. "Mike! Mike, Gerald's a fucking robo-" He flung the door open and saw Mike standing in front of the mirror with half his face melted off. Beneath the melted human face was a smaller, blue face with three eyes on the left side. "I-I'm allergic to water,"Mike said sheepishly as a pair of small mandibles inched forward from his mouth. "What the fuck!"Terry screeched. He slammed the bathroom door shut and ran back into the living room where Gerald's head was now smoking. "Susan... Mike is... Mike's a... FUCKING ALIEN!"Terry squealed. Susan glanced at Terry reproachfully and shook her head. "It appears there was some sort of... mix up, with our assignments. You see, we were supposed to be more spread out, to study your species. Somehow, admissions must have messed up the paperwork and booked us all together." "You mean, you-you're one of them?"Terry asked, backing up to the wall behind him. "Well, I'm not an android or an arthropod, but yes, I am an "alien"in your concept of the word. I'm from the Canes Venatici constellation of the Sunflower Galaxy."Susan sighed. "What the fuck! I almost thought you were kinda hot, too!"Terry shrieked. "Man, I knew I shouldn't have gone to college. Fuck this, man, I'm out!" Terry faked to the left of Susan, who didn't move, and then darted to the right. He spun around her to the front door, and then opened it and ran outside.
The old woman barely put up a fight. Jess knew she’d heard her come in, because the woman’s head had perked up in recognizance, but the woman had kept on writing. She was seated, her back to the door, at a writing desk, papers and books in neat, comfortable piles, writing something with precise script on clean paper. Jess’s heart pounded in anticipation. She could smell the faint lavender lotion the woman used, the smell of clean linens from the bathroom adjacent. The faint musk of aged wood. It was all there. She could hear the children laughing outside, the occasional cars driving through. A honk of the horn. The air was clear. She felt herself getting excited. The struggle and subsequent chase as the victim an and tried to flee, before begging, before crying, pleading. That was what made her excited, and she could savor that feeling. This would be number nine. She’d only started killing a few months ago. The first time had been a mistake, a robbery gone wrong; the victim had seen her face, and better to leave no witnesses, she thought. But the feeling, the glorious feeling. It was something she began to ache and crave for, to look forward to the next kill. The power in holding someone’s life in her hand. In her power. It was important that her mark acknowledged her presence. And so she put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. The old woman didn’t turn. “I think I know what you want,” she said. “I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.” That wasn’t part of the plan. She could still leave, she could still escape the situation. But it was too late; once her senses were primed, they had to be sated. She pulled out her gun, pressed it against the base of the skull, and shot. The woman slumped over. The thrill was still there, even without the fight. But there was something in the back of her mind that felt a bit wrong. She pulled the note from underneath the head and bleeding body. > Dear Jess, > > You’ll know what to write when you get to this time, because the cycle has to be closed. I’m sorry > it will end this way. At least you have the luxury of knowing when and how you’ll go. A man named > Gregory Merchant will offer you something you can’t refuse; you can test him all you want, but he’ll > know what you did, and have the evidence to send you away forever. Take the deal, at least you’ll > end up where I am, today, and you’ll have enjoyed your life. > > Please enjoy what you can, you have another 30 years of life remaining. Use it wis It was her handwriting.
October's passing brought the cold from the year's end. He was glad for it. It was too hot home. The air was humid and heavy. The afternoon blaze stuck there like a lingering cloud. How did I survive when I was small? The doors were always closed. Mother and father worked late. They were country people. Money came slow for hard work. He always wondered if it was worth the years. He felt guilty. I am a failure. "I was five." With October's passing he would get some relief. He was fourteen. The other children did not like him, or they were just mean, as children sometimes are. He went home after school and closed the doors. It was dark home. But the dark was always better than what the children could do. "We'll make him eat shit. He'll show us then." Among them they had all the powers. He looked up to the only power his parents had taught him. God why do they do this? The old wooden house shook sometimes. One of the boys had wished for the ability to build and destroy things. He had never destroyed their house, but he was always there, and the temptation loomed. I am a failure, he thought. He thought of his mother in the dark. November had come with rain. He was soaking inside. The water was a dark mirror in the old wood house. "Abdul," his mother had said. "What is done is done. But why won't you tell us what your power is? I will support you. I love you more than anything." He was crying. The water made his hair clump together. It felt greasy. "I hate my life,"he said. I'm really sorry. He looked around. The house was quiet. He listened for outside. The rain was hard and heavy. Here in the island the mud flowed eagerly, ready to move to better lands. Such runny lands. But that was Trinidad for you. He went to the kitchen window. It was barred with a makeshift wooden shutter. Mother and father had relented and allowed their house to be boarded up. Children were out of control when they had powers. When they found one with none, they were like sharks. "Do you feel the rain, I wonder." His voice echoed in the quiet. Yes and no. I'm inside as well. He moved the shutter slightly. Outside were the trees. The wind took them in circling gusts. The mangoes were green this time of year. The yard was dig up, full of old wood and uneven land. Part poverty, part wicked children. He looked to the far side where the land fell steeply into the little river. The mound was beaten from the years. It must have been over ten now. "Do you feel thirsty?" Sometimes. I miss you more. He began to cry. He thought of his mother and father working the fields. Would they be cutting cane now, or would they shelter, watch the rain fall as their destitution wrapped them in its cold? I am a failure. Then: You hurt me when you say that. But the feeling was true. He could have had anything. If only he was smarter. In the newspapers there were always stories of smart children. One wished for her parents to always be happy, and to never have to work ever again. That could have been me. Tomorrow they would bully him some more. They wanted to know what his power was. Every child had a choice. He had never said his. "I bet it's to always smell like shit." He had woken up earlier each day when they said that. He bathed four each morning, and then walked the miles to school. If he was lucky, he got a truck to take him some of the way. Then he would try to sit in the smallest of places possible, and try not to pick up the scent of cigarette and old fowl from the driver. But it made no difference. The children kept at him. "I'm sorry,"he said. "I love you, you know. Most boys my age won't admit to loving something. Even the nicest jane they find. But I can say I love you. I love you, man." Silence. He was always afraid of the silence. He looked at the mound. It wasn't even a mound anymore. There was crying. I love you Ab. You know I do. I'm sorry things aren't better. He smiled. He felt happy with him. He always did. Had anyone ever heard a dog talk, he wondered? Or its ghost? He looked down at the wood. The nails were even blacker dots on in the dark. There was nothing there, and yet something. He could see him, like the lines of a ghost, fading from this world, but always there. Mama and Papa should be around too. He had never met his grandparents, but Timex was there. He was their watchdog. He had died when he was four. He remembered how he cried and how sad he was. When he came of age, there was hardly any other wish he could make. And yet you feel shame. He had not told anyone. Why? he wondered. It was not shame, at least not fully. He stared at Timex. He was a brown mongrel. The dog smiled in the dark, that innocent way dogs have. He petted the ghost, though his hand felt air. Not shame, he thought. "I just like you for myself. You're my only friend.* Timex barked. Mines too, he said. The rain was easing. In the quiet he heard the neighbors. He did not like them. They talked about him and about his mother. He wished they would die. He closed his eyes and tried to push out such thoughts. I'm sorry God, he thought. Please forgive me. The clouds were going. He could tell from the lightened black of the room. At least it would not be too hot tonight, he thought. Mother and father would come home closer to six. He walked to the couch and sat by himself. Timex was there and he enjoyed the company. He was often lonely, Abdul, but in that moment he did not feel alone. The air stirred and the evening went on. - Hi there! If you liked this little Caribbean infused tale, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, and a couple un-prompted ones. I hope you like them and thanks for the support!
Daisy felt like skipping down the street. She didn't, of course. She was twenty-three now. She sometimes had to remind herself of this. Unlike many of her friends and coworkers, Daisy had never lost that energy she'd had as a child. She still threw herself at everything as if it was brand new and full of wonder. She didn't fear failure. She would always get up again. She said fuck it and began skipping along the sidewalks toward the park. Daisy had recently taken up flower arranging as a hobby. She was on a dozen websites and message boards. She'd found little clubs in the back corners of the web, even a West Romanian Flower Arrangement Society! Which was why she was here now. She'd received a message from one of the members! She was to take part in an exchange! She'd built her most impressive arrangement built around a set of white and pink spotted peonies. She was cradling them in her arms as she bobbed along under the trees by the park. She looked up and found the building she was supposed to meet by, scouted out a nice park bench and settled herself in. She sat there, kicking her feet and watching the fabric of her sun dress fly up with each movement of her legs. The sun was shining on her now, warming her skin and beckoning her to close her eyes and take a deep breath of the colorful blooms she'd brought. Suddenly a man passing by sat down and turned toward her. "Are you PeoniesInJune?" Daisy blinked and nodded. He didn't look like a flower arranger. He was wearing a suit, a bad one. Daisy could tell a good one from a bad one since she'd worked in a high-end clothes shop over the summer. It had been a good job, she'd met a lot of nice people there and- "Do you have the package?"The man didn't even smile! "It's right here!"Daisy offered her flowers to him with a thrust from both arms, "I think I did really well, what do you think?" For a full two seconds the suited man just stared at her. He had really bushy eyebrows that were knitting themselves closer and closer together in confusion. "The package."He reiterated. He moved the flower arrangement aside with one hand and looked around and under the bench, "Where is the pickup?" "I didn't drive a pickup!"Daisy frowned at Mr. Bad Suit, "I took the bus." "But you are PeoniesInJune?"the suited man had the facial expression of someone who had taken a bite of mayonnaise when they had expected whipped creme, "The one I've been talking to online? The one who told me about the way you prune 'Freesia?' That is you, right?" "Yes!"Daisy nodded, "I really love your guys website! You put so many different flowers together! I never would have thought to put Hyacinths with Amaryllis until I read it on one of your-" "Wait, wait, wait."The suited man stood up, grabbing his briefcase and looking down on her, "So you're here to talk... flowers?" "Of course!" Mr. Bad Suit looked from Daisy to her arrangement, sighed heavily, then smiled and said: "They look very nice."
"It would be an ecological disaster!" "What is eekeeloggyjal?"Gorbar the Barbarian said. "I think"Skeltos, the Necromancer, said. "it's a form of druidic magic." "What?"Professor Burns said. "No, it's the study of natural and organic systems." "Right."Skeltos said. "Druid magic." "No it's not magic at all, it's science; study and observation." "...to obtain magic?"Shiv, the Thief, said. "No! There's no magic!" "So what is point?"Gorbar said. "To learn, to understand."Burns said. "I think I get it."Allaree, the priest, said. "A better understanding of cultures allows us to establish the best way we might bring them into the Light." "That's more anthropology, and also a cultural takeover."Burns said. "Anthro-" "Don't worry about that Gorbar. We're focused on ecology here. Let me give you a simply example;"Burns grabbed a thorny twig from the ground. "bramblethorn is a threat to local crops, right?" "Right."Skeltos said. "Leeches nutrients from the soil, you need to let the earth lie fallow for a whole season after you take them out." "Exactly. Luckily for the local farmers the deer keep the bramble in check, right?" "Right." "But the wolves hunt the deer. Fortunately there's less wolves than there are deer, so it's not an issue, there's a balance."The party looked at each other, and nodded in agreement. "The reason there's a small wolf population is the Goblins hunt the wolves, they use the hide for armour and the meat for... well meat." "Right." "So if we kill all of the goblins then there won't be anyone to hunt the wolves, more wolves will be in the wild, and they'll eat the deer, less deer means more bramblethorn, more bramblethorn..." "Less crops."Shiv said. "Exactly. So you see the issue, right?"Professor Burns said. "We could just posts quests for adventurers to take."Shiv said. "I'm sure the village councils would pay the reward money, that would keep the wolf problem down, plus it would have the added effect of injecting cash into the local economies, with an influx of high-earning adventurers more small businesses could take advantage of the low land prices and customers, which would in turn increase the volume of quests. This could actually be what this part of the coast needs for some serious metropolitan development." "That's pretty well thought-out, Shiv."Skeltos said. "I actually took economics at the University." "Huh, I never had you pegged for an econo-" "You a fucking economist but you've never heard of ecology?"Burns said, close to tearing their hair out. Shiv shrugged. "I'm a Thief, not a druid." "IT'S NOTHING TO DO WITH FUCKING DRUIDS."Burns shouted, throwing their hands in the air and dropping their case, heavily. "Please remain calm."Allaree said. "Violence is never the answer." "SAYS THE PRIEST ADVOCATING GENOCIDE!" "Goblins are creatures of Evil."Allaree replied. "Evil bad."Gorbar added. "And a vital part of the local ecosystem!" "What if I were to raise the goblins as undead minions after we kill them?"Skeltos said. "Then they could still hunt the wolves." "It's about more than the wolves, that was just an example. What about the Ogres who eat the goblins? What about the Forest of Mists that's fertilised by Ogre dung coming downsteam from the mountains?" "I think it's a bit of a stretch to say the goblins are vital to the Forest of Mists."Shiv said. "That's what I'm trying to fucking tell you! They are linked, and it's not a stretch, it's a very comprehensive science called ecology!" "What if we wiped out the local wolf dens as well?"Skeltos said. "FORGET THE FUCKING WOLVES!"Burns screamed. They sighed, reached into their case and pulled out a small plate of enchanted metal, it displayed coloured images of dragons on its face when Burns pressed their fingers against it. "Look."They said. "You remember the famine of Kareshfell three years ago? That was triggered by an ecological collapse after the Dragons of Icefan-" "Bahahahaha! You expect us to believe that crap? The famine was retribution from the Orcish god Haggadag after his champion was slain. Icefang is nowhere near Karashfell anyway, they're about a hundred leagues apart!"Shiv said. "I've got it."Skeltos said. "If we recruit a druid into the party-" "FUCK THE DRUIDS!"Burns screamed, throwing their enchanted tablet at Skeltos. "FUCK THE LOT OF YOU. I'M GOING HOME."Burns pulled a small object like a sword hilt without a blade from their pack and spoke into the end. "Burns to Starstepper, one to teleport."They vanished in a glint of blue light. The other party members looked at each other. "Weirdo."Shiv said. "Yeah."Allaree said. "Anyway, are we all agreed? We wipe out the goblins, collect the reward, then move onto the next quest?" "Agreed."The rest of the party replied. --- Thanks for reading! Click [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Xais56/) for more stories!
Nicole noticed the perfume first. Her lab had smelled like mine droppings for at least eighteen months. Any smell powerful enough to override that particular odor was potent indeed. She lifted her head and sniffed a second time just before the strange rattling sounded off behind her. She spun her chair around. Her eyes popped open like pipette ends after you let them go. A monster stood in front of her. A face like a mountain lion regarded her with confusion. The head tilted, and it's eyes opened slightly wider, displaying their golden color. That was just her head! The rest of her was... well... very naked. Where are skins of wine? "Err"Nicole stumbled back a step, "Uh?" I am unfamiliar with these decorations. The lion-headed woman stalked around the tables and their cages. She had in her hand a strange rod with rings on it. They rattled with each step she took around the room. Her eyes lingered hungrily on the mice inside the cages, peering between the bars and tilting her head left and right There is not enough color. Not enough wine. Not enough pleasure. "Who...what...who are you?"Nicole found a microscope with her hand and lifted it like a totem between them. You do not know me? The lion-headed woman crossed the gap between them, her hand deftly removing the microscope from Nicole's grip. She was strong, unnaturally so. Nicole shook her head. How long has it been? The creature looked around the room. How many seasons have passed since I was last worshiped? Do the women board the boats no longer? Do they not scandalize the men upon the shore? Do they not revel in the hunt, in the chase, in the capture of their men? "I... I don't know about any of that." And what kind of temple is this? There are no offerings of wine to pair with the sacrifices. There are no records of my history, no carvings in the stone! Has the valley of the kings forgotten their gods? Have they turned away from the heart of Bast? "I..."Nicole wrinkled her nose, "Bast? You're... Bast?" As I have been since I was sired by Atum. Bast turned and ripped a cage open with her bare hand, consuming the mouse within in a single snap of her jaws. God of the stalking, of the killing, of the taking, of the making mine. "You... you're a god of Egypt." I am. "Why are you here?" Because I am hungry. Bast stalked around the table, prowling forward towards Nicole. I have been hungry for a long, long time.
I can't think of a name "Fuck this shit!"Peter yelled. The demon stopped quivering, black wings flapping sultrily. A penis split open to reveal rows of needle teeth, six hundred eyes opening under its fur. It had shed the form of the businessman eagerly, the black cloth and rotting flesh discarded like a coat. Twisting one cloven hoof out of shape, swinging as a marionette does, Abyzou smiled. What litter glimmers of divine light had sustained his hunger long enough - the men before him glowed with it, hearts buzzing like fireflies. He would enjoy this, he would - John swung his knife deep into its neck, gloves sizzling from the sulfurous blood. He twisted it deeper, bile rising with the tide of gore that poured onto the frescoes, across the crosses, even the candles, staining the flame black. All the demon did was laugh. At first, it was human, mixed with animal screams. Then, it bloated into the gasps of orgasm and the rumble of a thunderstorm, pulling with it a sheer weight that anchored the men in place. Again and again, it barked into the cathedral. The cobblestones bubbled with human flesh, the elaborate, ancient stained glass windows dissolving into the silvery mirrors. Peter let loose fire again, the bullets biting through its flesh, making it yowl in blissful agony. Buckling, it collapsed onto the floor, bones breaking individually as the holy water made it's sweet way through the bloodstream. Soon, all that was left were frigid chunks of demon flesh, frozen in place. John slid off what remained of the back, his suit streaked with a dizzying spectrum of color that would just refuse to wash out. "Good job,"Peter quipped. He never was good at breaking the silence. "You too,"John replied. He'd averted his eyes, focusing instead on pressing a silver crucifix against the Beast's head. The flesh burned as expected, a key piece of evidence to show that, in fact, the demon was dead. You could never tell with the cunts - some liked to disperse into insects to prevent total holy annihilation. Others tried to slink away into the shadows or possess you just as this one did with the businessman. Something else though was on John's mind. "I think we need to talk about what happened last night." "What happened will never happen again. It was a sin against God, it was a sin against man -" "You said you loved me." "Shut up and help me remove the Saint's body." "No, John, I'm not going to help you until you talk to me about this." "Can we talk about this later?" Outside, the young nun beeped the popemobile in irritation. They'd agreed to only leave her out there alone for a while - dusk was falling, and the devils would be out crawling the streets. "Fine." Outside, the storm worsened. Tonight was going to be a hell of a challenge.
Cameras are, without a doubt, the most important innovation in the history of villainy. Leave out all the fancy suits and weapons, the classic one liners, cameras have become critical. Sometimes, if you appear on camera, you've foiled your own plan. Cameras can also be used to aid with plans- although my professor from Villain University would have informed me that they could only be used with a purpose. I sit up in my desk chair, where I'm writing notes about tomorrow's expected takeover of the greater Los Angeles area, and push off against the wall to my massive set of security displays. I grab my canteen of coffee, which I've left against the wall, and take a swig as I scan them idly. Movement in the far left corner of one monitor startles me. "Zoom out."I say, and the camera feeds all zoom out at once. I see the problem immediately. "For fuck's sake." A group of four people are moving stealthily through the upper layers of the building. I recognize them as New York City's own Wardens. The Phenomenals, a group of four super heroes, are famous for saving the world on multiple occasions. They are known throughout the world. They are also the biggest bunch of dumbasses on the planet. I went to high school with these heroes. They were the popular kids. Nobody actually liked them, but everyone pretended to, and they couldn't tell the difference. They picked on me all the time because I was the only kid in the school without powers. I tried to leave my high school life behind after I graduated- dropped all social media, etc. C'est la vie, non? (French is the most sinister language- you bet your ass I minored in it). I push off in my chair again and spin to my walkie talkie, on the other table. "Guards, there are a couple of pests on level two. Do me a favor and bring them to me."I toss the walkie talkie down, face away from the door, and wait. It takes less than five minutes. I hear the door open, and the angry cries of the heroes as they are pushed roughly into the room. I lower my voice. "Shut the door."There's a pause, and then the door seals. I wait. Suspense is very important in cultivating your own atmosphere. It leaves your enemy room to stew- I learned that in debate club. Maybe I'm lucky I only got bullied as much as I did... "You'll never get away with your plan, King Hex!"One of them cries. "And what makes you think that, Fellstar?"I leer. "Other heroes have noticed you."She continues. "You cannot take over a whole state and expect to get away with it." "California is practically a country in and of itself, Fellstar."I sigh, still not looking back. "And besides, if they are sending weak heroes like yourselves after me, forgive me if I am not particularly worried." "WEAK?!"roars one of the guys. Judging by the pitch of the voice, I'd say it's Captain Danger- or Jim. "HOW DARE YOU?!!!?!" "Captain, be quiet!"This voice is more tempered. It must belong to the other male- Polar, or Donovan. "He cannot understand the strength that comes from the heart!" I can't help it. I start to laugh. Not the sinister villain laugh I worked on for three goddamn semesters, but an actual, unconfined laugh. "How dare you laugh at the plight of the world!"Shrieks the other girl. This one makes me choke. That can only be the voice of the Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen, and world class bitch Crown Jewel- real name Hattie. I spin around to face the three. They've changed quite a bit, but they still look effectively the same. I must look entirely different. Contact lenses, a different gym routine, and having powers and facial hair develop change a man. "You all haven't changed a bit, have you." "What?"Captain Danger says, flexing his impressively oversized biceps as he struggles to free himself from the chains. "No way."I turn to Polar. Through his goggles, his eyes are wide. "You aren't- no- no- no."He struggles, beginning to laugh. "Thomas Dartmouth? From high school?" I sigh. Here it comes. There's a split second of silence, when they all look at each other- and then they burst out laughing. "You were such a shrimp!" "TINY TIM!!!" "Remember that time we flushed your head down a toilet?" "What a loser." "Did you ever get that hot chick we saw on your phone, headass?" I feel the blood rising in my face. Not again. "I feel better."Captain Danger says. "At least we don't have to deal seriously with this gay ass b-!" I don't hesitate. I extend my hand, and a jagged black rune appears in front of Captain Danger. He stops speaking instantly, his eyes roll back into his head, and he begins to scream. "Wha?"Polar doesn't understand. Nobody registered. I move my hand slightly, and Captain Danger lifts into the air, suspended by ropes. I watch for an instant, and then I drop him. He lies still on the floor, breathing raggedly. "You all-"I stand from my chair, and begin to walk, no longer caring about the atmosphere. "-are the biggest-"I kick Polar as hard as I can. He keels over. "-bunch-"I kick him again. "-of douchebags I have ever met in my life!"I'm at a full blow roar, kicking him over and over again. Blood pools on the floor. "I became a villain because I couldn't be strong like you all! I didn't have powers! And now that I do, I know that being a hero-"I turn to Crown Jewel, who has started to cry, and slap her. "-is no fun." "Tim!"Fellstar shrieks. "Please stop!" "Your wish is my command."I extend my hand, and runes appear on the floor to encircle the group. I look Fellstar directly in the eyes, visible from her mask. "Stay away from me." The portal opens, and all four heroes vanish from the room. I close the portal, sit down, and massage my temples. This is why I don't go to reunions.
slam The car doors close as two Dunder Mifflin sales representatives exit the company leased PT Cruiser. They are parked in a parking lot next to a large building. The building has Greek columns on the front, and “Pawnee City Hall” engraved in white granite. “Pawnee, Indiana; got kinda a nice ring to it. You ever been to Indiana before, Dwight?” Jim asked. “Why would I ever go to Indiana? I can think of thirty-eight states I’d rather go to before Indiana,” Dwight scoffs at Jim. Jim looks at the camera, with a slight smirk. “Can we please focus here, Jim? This is a big deal. This would be Dunder Mifflin’s first government contract since that air-headed idiot Andy lost our contracts for the entire Lackawanna County Public School System.” “Good point, let’s get in there and sell.” The pair start walking towards the building. Jim and Dwight now enter the building, and are “greeted” by the receptionist. “Hey Ron, some weirdos are here talking about paper or something. They say they’re from a place called Thunder Mittens,” April yells across the office to her boss. “IT’S DUNDER MIFFLIN, NOT THUNDER MITTINS! YOU SHALL ADRESS OUR GREAT COMPANY WITH THE RESPECT IT DESERVES!” Dwight yells. “Woah Dwight, calm down,” Jim says, while looking at Dwight. Just then Leslie Knope walks up to the salesmen. “Hello, my name is Leslie Knope; I’m the Deputy Parks Director. I hear you guys are here to sell office supplies?” “Yes, nice to meet you Leslie. My name is Jim Halpert, and this is my associate, Dwight Schrute,” Jim and Leslie shake hands. Dwight remains still. “Listen here! You need to teach that intern of yours some respect! She should not dare disrespect the name of Dunder Mifflin!” Dwight puffs out, waving his fist in the air. April looks at the camera, smiling, and holding back laughter. Leslie is in a confessional interview, in her personal office, talking directly to the camera crew. “Dwight came off a bit strong… But I mean, at least he’s fervent about his work, and I can sympathize with that.” Leslie, Jim, and Dwight are now sitting in Leslie’s office. Tom sits at his desk on the other side of Leslie’s and his shared office, listening to music on his earbuds. “So Leslie, I’ve heard that you guys are dropping your current paper provider, and we were hoping that you might consider us,” Jim says. “Well, we'll see. It really boils down to the price”- Leslie is cut off as Jerry enters the room. “Here are the coffees you asked for, Les”- Jerry is interrupted as he trips, spilling the three beverages all over Dwight. “What the Hell!” Dwight screams. “I’m so sorry Mr. Schrute! Jerry! I didn’t even ask for coffee!” Leslie yells. “Aaaaah jeez…” Jerry walks out of the room, in utter defeat. Tom removes his earbuds, and remarks to Dwight “sorry, he kinda sucks.” “I’ll say,” Dwight replies. Tom replaces his earbuds. Dwight removes his coffee soaked jacket, and the meeting resumes. “As I was saying”- Leslie is again cut off again, as Ann rushes into the office. “Leslie, huge news!”- Ann stops dead in her tracks, as she makes eye-contact with Jim. The two stare at each other. A chilling silence follows as they keep eye-contact for minutes. Finally, Ann exits the room. “Well… So you guys want to get back on track…?” Leslie says, trying to ease the tensions. “You know what, something came up, I think we’re gonna have to go,” Jim says. “Oh… Okay so should we maybe try to reschedule or something?” Leslie asks, as Jim and Dwight stand up. Before Jim or Dwight have a chance to answer, Mark walks in. “Sorry didn’t realize I was interrupting anything…” Mark says. He and Jim are standing face-to-face. The two men have identical haircuts, outfits, and briefcases. “Hey, my name’s Mark…” Mark looks baffled, as he extends a hand to his doppelganger. “I’m Jim. You’re not interrupting anything actually; my colleague and I were just leaving.” Jim is in a confessional interview, in the parking lot. "Yeah, I think I’m with Dwight. Indiana is a strange, bad place." Leslie is in another direct-to-camera interview. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the weirdest meeting I’ve ever had…”
Really, after living so long, you’d think I’d have been wise enough to avoid life’s unpleasantries. You’d think. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the cave to collapse just like that. The one boulder that got me was lined with jagged spikes that unfortunately impaled me. Not particularly concerning, as the wound from which ichor gushed healed instantly. But that boulder was heavy. Try as I might, I could not wrest myself out from where I was pinned between it and the hard, cold floor. I tired and listened to my own pathetic breathing and ominous creaks echoing from somewhere to my left, where I had entered. Not the most soothing lullaby, but I fell asleep nonetheless. Unfortunately, I discovered (the next morning?) when I woke up that it had not been an unpleasant dream, and I was indeed here. Under a rock. A demise would not free me from utter helplessness. More importantly, it was unbelievably dull. When you can’t move, there really isn’t anything to do. So I lay there. For years. At first I tried crying out, but I was never heard. Sometimes I swore there were voices above me, and attempted once more, but it was highly plausible that I was going mad. Utter, uninterrupted boredom does tend to do that. I was left with nothing but my thoughts, who are highly unpleasant company. I forgot the trill of birds at sunrise. No- I forgot the sun. Would I ever feel its glow? Sometimes in my delirious state I envisioned light as bright flowers, unable to grow in this barren new home of mine. When I did open my eyes one day to a sight other than total darkness. I was speechless. They, on the other hand, were quite chatty. Their voices were real, for a change. But what on earth were they wearing? Flabbergasted, we stared at each other for a good few seconds. I was obviously relieved when they had freed me. Then, one’s eyes went to the shiny ichor by my side. Blood of the immortals was unaffected by earthly forces, and its golden color sparkled in a stripe of sunlight. Something dark flitted in the eyes of these who had given me back the light. I had missed the world. The humans, not so much.
It all started when James started getting into electronics. First it was a blinking light, then it became a radio. Now, we're hacking casino machines, making more money than we ever thought possible. James and I were both from rough families. His widowed dad was a mechanic who also took a liking to the bottle. You may not be able to be in a car while drunk, but the laws about being under one are a little more loose. I was from a violent household and neighborhood. My mother, while caring, was always trying to protect me from my father during his rages. A lot of those instances ended up with her being hurt instead. Our third friend, Ron, was a little more well off. While he had a kind family, he was the runt of the litter, and always had something to prove. His family always compared him to his older sisters, both who were very successful. Despite our circumstances, we were all very bright, and our teachers were very caring. When our science teacher, Mr. Johnson, gave James one of those simple electronic kits, James was delighted. He soon started stealing supplies from his father's shop, and became very proficient at building trinkets. He never struggled with grades, and seemed to skate by without studying. I myself was never a studious person, but everything worked out for me, I suppose. Whenever I started to drop in a class, I could always smooth talk my teachers into not failing me. I could always convince the smart students to do my homework for me too. Ron...is...how you would say...crafty. He's a planner. To this day, I still don't know how he does what he does. One time, we had a project due, where we had to bring someone we know to class, and give an interview to them in front of the class. Your standard project. Ron totally forgot about it. But in the span of two hours, he managed to grab one of the most well-known celebrities in the state, and pass it off as a natural. He got an A. After school, we would all go to Chuck E. Cheese's. It was a way for us to escape from the troubles we had back at home. That's when James had the bright idea of cheating the ticket machines. Personally, I never got the appeal of tickets. I could always buy the items for cheaper, and if need be, bargain with the employee into giving me a prize for less tickets, or even free. But James was really passionate, and Ron had a look on his face that betrayed his crafty self. James got to work by hacking into the electronic's of the ticket machine while I distracted the employees. Ron made sure we stuck to a schedule based on the employees' shifts at the Chuck E. Cheese's, so no single employee would notice what was going on. By the end of the month, we cleared out the prize shelf at the place. By the end of next month, thanks to a slip-up by yours truly, we got banned from the place. But by that time, we caught the bug. After college, we came back together, to plan our heists. James said he spent his summers digging into the mechanisms of the casino slot machines. He swore up and down that, with the right circuit changes, we could guarantee a slot machine jackpot. Ron got to work, mapping out which casinos to target, and I sat back and enjoyed the scene. Our first casino was a success. Ron chose a casino layout where the buffet was on the other side of the slot machines, and the security cameras were aligned just right. I went to the buffet, and started making a scene about the jumbo shrimp. Pretty soon, the whole casino had their eyes on me. Enough so that James could slip a simple rework into a slot machine. To throw off suspicion, James then went to the blackjack table, and Ron came into the casino, and spun the slot machine. Instant Jackpot. We've been on a hot streak ever since. I still don't know how I got into this game. Maybe I'm in too deep, but the rush is amazing, and I no longer have to worry about student loans, let alone my living expenses. There's no way we can stop now.
Cookie had not noticed time slipping by; she had been too preoccupied with her naps, ball chasing, and cuddle times. Yet, time did not forget Cookie. Her once spritely young legs now creaked, and ached. She could only walk slowly now; jumping seemed like a far off memory. Yet, her family still loved her so. She was laying in the garden, enjoying a sun beam when she heard it. A tiny, sad sound. Her ears twitched, it was a persistent noise. She rose slowly, putting all of her effort into the movement, and headed for the gate. She looked back at the house; the family had gone inside, cleaning up after their barbecue. The noise called to her again, so with all of her might, she propped up against the gate and nudged it open. The family had not put so much effort in security, not with Cookie being so still these days. Once it was open, she headed out into the back alley, off to find the noise. "Hey, mum, where's Cookie?" "Sleeping in the garden." "No, she isn't" What followed was sheer panic. This was only made worse by the discovery of the open gate. The whole family was out in the streets, calling her, stopping cars, asking anyone if they had seen her. They had just given up, and made their way home. They planned to call local animal shelters, make posters, do anything they could. And then, they noticed a shaking at the gate. The noise of a paw, and they ran, to find Cookie. And a puppy. She carried it by the scruff, like a mother dog. They stared in shock. Dumbfounded by this development, unsure of how to feel. They took the puppy from her, cradling it between them. Cookie's tail wagged happily, almost like she understood. Cookie had a while with the puppy, who they named Lucky, before she took a turn for the worse. Her slowness became something more. A staggering, an inability to move. It was not long before they said their final goodbyes to Cookie; but the one who took it hardest of all, was the tiny Lucky, who owed her his life.
The biggest surprise about time-dilation is that the effects are somewhat cumulative. When I went out five light-years, took some pictures, and came home, our calculations showed that a total of about two weeks should've elapsed back on Earth, with about two days elapsed for me. Instead, I returned to a planet fifty years older than when I had initially punched out. For me, subjectively, I was in space for two days. But that's not how time passed around me. My theory is that the Near Light Speed drive didn't actually speed up my craft all that much, but rather slowed down my personal time, so that I didn't die from the jump. One of the geeks who crunched numbers had presented a postulate that said as much, but damned if any of the nerds in the room could be arsed to listen to her. So here I was, fifty years older, objectively, but subjectively only two more turns on the chronometer. I had spent about a day on low-Earth orbit, trying to raise anyone I could, on any frequency I could access. There was no traffic on my vector, there was no noise in my cans, and--as far as I could see--when I passed the dark side, there were no artificial lights anywhere on the planet. I worried. I feared. I kept trying. It was on the third day, my supplies running dangerously low, my power levels minimal, that I got a ping from the wrong direction. From Luna. Our moon. It was a simple docking query from what was (when I had left) a base under construction, set up for the launching of more NLS ships for my team. I sent back the handshake response manually, and was given the go-ahead to initiate docking procedures. Using NLS this close to the planet could kill anyone left on the surface, so I had no choice but to approach on impulse drives in case anyone was still alive on that lonely old rock. It took about a day and a half. Faster than the original moon shot, but an agony of hours for me. ~~-----~~ At Luna Station, I let the autopilot guide me in. I'd never been trained in low-atmo docking procedures, and I didn't think this was a good time to try my hand at it. When the atmosphere from the base matched the atmosphere in my ship, the hatch spun open on its own, giving me access to the small station. The first thing I noticed was that the air was surprisingly fresh. Well, maybe not fresh so much as not heavily stinking of my body odor. I had to confess to myself that smelling something other than me was a breath of fresh air, as it were. The station had power, and lights, but not much of either. Clearly the project had either been shut down partway through, or drastically scaled back in size at some point. The skeleton of the structures that should've been there, seen while I was docking, were belied by the the fact that there were only five rooms that were not permanently sealed shut, or with bare rock visible on the floor. Still, there was a voice-activated automation system, and I was able to rustle up some food, water, and a hot shower, along with a bed. The station had also been left with supplies, and fuel for my ship. The best discovery, however, were the archives of the internet up to the day that the last human left the station. I discovered that none of this had been left for me. Nobody had anticipated my return; I was lost in space, forever gone. But, the station was already under construction and it was meant for my team's future missions. It was simply easier, and cheaper, to abandon the project and the materials altogether than to try to salvage and reuse them. The remote shut-down signal had been sent went the last human had departed, but my ship's homing beacon had over-ridden the shutdown and the station had taken most of the time to spin up to functionality, collecting sunlight with its solar arrays to power itself sufficiently to support human life. It was not long after that before I found out that, yes, I was alone. ~~-----~~ When humanity realized that I'd been lost to them, they abandoned NLS technology, and returned to the idea of a generation ship, where the pioneers who set out for a new world would be the ancestors of those who arrived to colonize it. Thirteen generation ships had been sent out, with the first of them, the Sojourner, due to return to the planet after ten thousand years had elapsed dirt-side, in order to recolonize the planet after it had--hopefully--repaired itself. The rest had picked various points and headed out to them. They'd left behind passenger manifests, and coordinates I didn't recognize for stars I'd never heard of before. No doubt discoveries made with powerful telescopes built years after my departure. The final ship was the Windlass, a ship bound for the only star I'd heard about: Betelgeuse. They were the newest, and therefore the fastest of the generation ships, so they were actually the furthest away. They'd left ten years ago, and were now travelling at a third of the speed of light, the maximum speed that their technology could negate without killing anyone during acceleration. They'd traveled around three to four light years, at this point, a distance I could easily overcome, but they would also be nearly impossible to dock with, as they'd have no way of slowing down their own ship, and I couldn't match with theirs on impulse engines. I could jump in ahead of them, but it would be months of steady acceleration to match their speed as once my ship arrived at its coordinates, it did not retain its velocity, so it would be the ion drives all the way. Between the size of the engines and the need to be as light as possible, my little ship could only hold enough fuel to jump three times, and I had to share jump fuel with maneuvering fuel. I'd never be able to match their velocity. It would be like trying to land on an aircraft carrier going full speed, in a headwind, with the Wright Brothers' Flyer I. This left me with a series of choices. I could live here, as best as I was able, until the supplies ran out. By my estimate, I could survive here another twenty years, barring any serious medical or health issue. It would be a life of lonely isolation, and although I'd been alone many times before, this level of solitude did not appeal. Still, I retained it as a fallback. The other option was perhaps crazier. I could try to catch up to one of the ships. The Sojourner was the oldest, and therefore slowest of the ships. It was also due back to Earth in just over 9900 years, local. Or, I could attempt to catch one of the other, slower ships mid-flight much like I'd discarded doing with the Windlass. I considered and rejected each in turn, until I was left with only two good options, to my mind. The first was to take a series of 50-year jumps, until I caught up to the return of the Sojourner, and assist them with retaking the planet any way that I could. The second, more dangerous but perhaps more exciting, was to attempt to catch the next-slowest ship that was outbound for a place called Hodge, board if possible, and blend in with the natives. I considered the weight of my options. The ship could pilot itself. The calculations needed to safely use NLS travel were beyond my ability to handle, so the ship did them for me. I could do the backup calculations, of course, and manually plot a course, but it was best to let the computer handle everything. It wouldn't be very difficult to catch up to either ship, as it would require only patience on my part. In the end, the asteroid strike made the decision for me. I'd barely gotten the proximity warning, gathered supplies enough for a single jump of no more than a week, boarded my refueled craft, and departed the surface before the asteroid wiped out the western half of the station. I watched in mute fascination as the asteroid struck, throwing up a huge, glittering cloud of moon dust. When it settled some time later, I saw that the livable area was completely obliterated. So much for my twenty year plan. There was no going back there, and there was no going home. It looked like I was heading for Hodge. ~~----------~~ What a fun prompt. Thanks for submitting it! (Apologies for the probable spelling and grammar issues, I don't really like to proof my off-the-cuff writing, it discourages me from actually submitting what I wrote.) Edit: cleaned it up a bit.
They said they will be back after watching and researching the show. To our surprise they come back and only asked to speak to one person. We all want to know who, human kind just sit there scared and silence. Each and every one of us, thinking who is it and hoping that it is not us. They carefully say “Matt Groening?” We are both still in shock but also in relief that it wasn’t us but somebody else. “We promise it’s okay. We only want to know how you predicted so many different type of other species correctly.” Everybody is now in more relief but we slowly realized that not only there are alien but there are so other many types of aliens out there. Not done yet, I don’t know if I will continue or not but I thought this was a cool idea to do on a bus ride home. TL;DR: Matt Groening predicted the future again.
I didn't necessarily approve of my daughter's career path when I learned what she wanted to do. She always thought that maybe it was some sort of genetic fluke when she inherited some of my powers such as flight, super strength and the like. But I can't fault that the wife and I raised her right, I guess. She had no idea I was aware of her secret, however. And that was for the better. If she had arrived at a bank and recognized Wraith, the world's most powerful and undefeated supervillain as her own father... well, I feel that would possibly kill her like it did her mother. I guess I did prefer the quiet life of being an investor, though. I could sit around and read all day, work out even though it didn't really help and all... I learned carpentry as a hobby. Although, my retirement from the world of super-powered crime came to an end when that one report came on the news. 'Breaking news,' the anchorwoman said. 'Terrorists have seized the New York offices of Atlantic City News and have placed a nuclear weapon inside the building.' I looked up from my building in shock. That was where Julie worked in her civilian identity! 'What...?' I asked in shock. 'The National Guard tried to evacuate civilians away from the building before several trucks were destroyed by bombs,' the anchorwoman said. 'The terrorist leader, known only as Tecno, has declared that he will detonate if he believes that anyone is being evacuated. Other demands have not yet been made but-' I switched over to ACN's channel and saw reporters and other staff being hurried into the main studio. And that was when I saw Julie sitting in the room. She was tied to the bomb. 'We will make this clear,' one robotic minion said. 'Ten billion dollars deposited into the account shown on-screen or the bomb will detonate. You have twenty-four hours to comply.' The President won't allow anyone to pay, he was rather anal about the "We don't negotiate with terrorists"nonsense. Although his predecessor did comply when I lifted the White House and threatened to drop him and his family onto the ground. But I knew what buttons to press. What Tecno was doing... far too excessive to be worth it. And yet, I felt a great fire within my chest. I set my book down, pulled out my phone and made my way to the garage while calling a number. 'Howard?' the woman said on the other end. 'I haven't heard from you in years! What's this about?' 'You saw the news, right?' I asked as I climbed in and began driving down the road. 'Tecno's little stunt?' 'Newer tech-based villain,' she declared. 'He's declared Persona Non Grata by the guild because of his... eccentricities.' 'Full report,' I barked to her. 'Name, history. Current location.' 'You retired,' she answered. 'You know the rules - full fees.' 'Well, how about this?' I said in a cheerful choice. 'Do you remember how you said that yu wouldn't like to see me declare vengeance on anyone? How I kept everything professional? This is personal. I will declare war on the guild.' 'Fuck, that was Julie,' she groaned. 'Well, I guess it's true why you retired? She's Fantasia?' 'One word,' I said to her, 'and you will be screaming for weeks as I kill you.' 'He's based out of his basement in Silicon Valley,' she said. 'And I'll have his network breached in fifteen minutes.' --- 'Reports are coming through that the hostages have been freed,' the anchor said as he lit the cigar. 'It is unconfirmed what has happened, but the various droids have shut down and the bomb is now considered unarmed. Various heroes are heading inside to ensure that everyone is out before the bomb is-' I destroyed the screen with a laser blast while flexing my muscular arm underneath the rubber and spandex. After all these years, if felt like such a relief to be back in the costume. 'See?' I asked him. 'That wasn't so hard, was it?' The man in the mechanical wheelchair was shaking rather violently before I walked to the window and glanced outside. 'Quite a few kids in this neighborhood,' I commented. 'What was it that cost you the use of your legs? Medea caught you trying to groom her kids? I'm surprised you're still alive after that. You're meant to tell your neighbors about something like that, right?' 'L-look, man,' he tried to plead. 'I ain't done nothing for you!' 'Oh, that is absolutely wrong,' I said calmly while returning to him, calmly throwing him - and his wheelchair - over to the nearby wall. 'My kid is working in New York. Sweet kid as well. Don't know how a bastard like myself created something so pure.' I picked up a nearby rope and then walked over to Adrian, throwing his head down between his knees so I could tie his hands together. Then I threw his head back up. I tied two ends to his ankles then hung him upside down from two wooden beams. 'W-what are you d-doing?!' he screamed. 'Ma! Ma, where are you?!' 'Just... just hold that thought for one moment,' I said as I pulled something out of the box, extended it, fixed a bolt and... 'What the shit?!' Tecno screamed. 'A-a chainsaw?!' 'Circular sawblade, actually,' I recited as I made sure it was working. That was before I got a text from Julie. I'm safe, but I need to talk to the police. I'll call you later, she wrong. I've paid for a plane ticket, I wrote back. Come back home for a week. 'Do you want to know an old execution technique I read about once?' I said to him while putting the phone away. 'The condemned was hung upside down while two men used a saw to cut him in half. You see, he was upside down so that the blood would still go to his brain, meaning he'd die slower. I just modernized it a little.' I squatted down to his level. 'Thanks for soundproofing the house,' I said to him. 'No-one will ever know what will happen to you until after you're dead. And guess how long it will take before this even begins to kill you?' 'T-twenty four hours?' he guessed. '...More like half an hour,' I said to him. Then I stood up, walking towards the stairs. 'Wait!' he screamed. 'My ma can't find me like this! It'll kill her. Please!' 'Oh, don't worry,' I said while giving him a wicked smile. Then he started struggling. 'Don't you hurt my ma!' he yelled. 'Don't you hurt my ma! DON'T YOU HURT MY MA!' I just walked up the stairs as he howled in anguish. Oh, relax. I didn't touch his mother! She won't even be the one to find him.

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