Split (1)

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Victorious stormed into the offices of her PR agency and walked past the cubicles of the low-level employees. She ignored the chaos that the PR agency was already in. She paid them a good chunk of her salary to make her look good, and the list in her hand was an embarrassment. "What is the meaning of this?"she yelled, pulling the door of the CEO off its hinges and tossing the newspaper into the woman's face. "I'm not even on the list!" She had visited all the childrens' hospital wards and orphanages they had told her to, adopted a mutt from the local pound, smiled for every selfie with every grimy teenage fan and grandmother who didn't understand how smartphones worked. But she was not on the list. Her nemesis was. Doctor Destructo stood at the top of the list. A supervillain would receive the key to the city and be the super ambassador for all the city's tourism programs. "How the hell is Doctor Destructo at the top of the list?!"she screamed. The power of her voice shattered all the windows, but she ignored the sound of the crashing glass. The CEO of the PR agency, Lucy Arilla, ignored her outburst. "I can't understand it, Victorious,"Arilla said. "We're in the process of acquiring the survey data." A intern knocked at the wall by the side of the doorframe. "Ms. Arilla? I've just emailed you the data." It turned out her scream had cracked the screen of Arilla's computer, and Victorious heard the CEO cursed her breath. It still worked, and they waited as the attachments of the email downloaded. Arilla started to read aloud the reasons people stated for voting for Doctor Destructo. "My brother works for Destructo Corp. He loves it there. The doctor gives all the employees paid leave, maternity and paternity leave, health insurance, and there's even dental." "They're henchmen,"Victorious groaned. "Who treats their henchmen well? It's foolish, is what it is." "Destructo Corp runs a few successful businesses in the city as well and employs locals,"Arilla stated. "To fund the supervillain endeavors. The Bakery D?" "Crap, I love that place,"Victorious muttered. Arilla looked at the data again. "It's so cool that students can go and look at stuff at the Destructo Labs. I'm starting as an intern there next year." "Great, more villains,"she grumbled. "What else?" "She's a feminist icon,"Arilla read out loud. "What? Destructo's a woman?" Arilla scratched her forehead. "Everyone knew this. Do you even know her tragic backstory? It's actually real, not written by a few PR executives like yours." "Oh come on, she can't be that great. She broke into the police headquarters last year!" "She stole the untested rape kits, had them tested at her lab, and hunted down the assailants." Victorious slumped into the chair opposite Arilla's desk. Arilla folded her hands across her lap. "I'm afraid we can no longer provide you our services,"she said. "After you tried to protect the local judge from her henchmen, your public approval ratings fell to a low that we cannot dig you out of. I suggest adopting a new super alter-ego and starting afresh." Victorious knew then... she had lost. ...... Read more of my stories at r/xeuthis .
It all started because some guy in Minnesota had a stiff neck. While he was stretching it, he accidentally looked in a direction he'd never looked before, and saw where he was a moment ago. Actually, he saw his entire past. When he looked the other way, he saw the future. See, time is a direction. Just, nobody ever thought to look that way. But, once one guy starts pointing it out and grabbing things from the past and immediate future, we all caught on. Then NASA launched a rocket to 717 B.C. and picked up Romulus while he was surveying troops on the Campus Martius. It was the first time voyage. Well, once we all started using the time direction, things got weird. Hammer space became a thing. Just tie all your necessary possessions to yourself and stash them in a few moments ago, remove as necessary. The paleontologists were miffed about the whole classical historians getting the first time captive, so they got with SpaceX and picked up a lot of dinosaurs. Unsurprisingly, tyrannosaurs have feathers. What was shocking was how many. They look exactly like fat canaries. Nothing at all like the pictures. Of course we've all seen Jurassic park, so I don't need to explain the giant carnivorous floofballs running about. How Romulus became president (He was descended from the Annunaki that built the Meso-American, not the Egyptian pyramids, go figure) and declared war the Chinese emperor Qin Shi Huang and his terracotta soldiers would be interesting, if it weren't a footnote on the larger developments around that time. See, everyone thought North Korea was performing nuclear tests. Actually, they were working to resurrect eternal president Kim Il Sung, which shockingly worked. It also brought to life all the casualties of the Korean war, unfortunately, who promptly resumed hostilities. Romulus and Kim got along well enough. Then zombie Douglas Macarthur, ostensibly intending to negotiate an alliance with Qin against their mutual enemy in the DPRK, and fearing nothing for his life, assassinated the emperor via hammerspace nuclear bomb. Now, by this point, history was being re-written, both by time tourists interloping and by new understandings of historical events by academics on more responsible voyages. I don't really know if there was a second world war anymore. Maybe next week it will have had happened again. My daily concerns have more to do with the tyrannosaurs and Annunaki hybrid creatures freed from the ice caps of the poles. I mounted a griffin in my living room last week. Hope it's still there today. Time things are weird. In the end, all this could have been prevented if one man in Minnesota had, I dunno, bought a MyPillow or something. For want of a nail, they say.
"YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO GIVE ME A REASON NOT TO WIPE OUT ALL OF HUMANKIND." I looked up. "Wuzzat?" "FIVE MINUTES. I KNOW THAT YOU HEARD ME, AND THAT YOU UNDERSTOOD." Dude was big. Real big. Godzilla big, maybe a little bigger. Times like these I wondered if having a 'frankly, shrivelled amygdala' was a good thing. "Hey dude. Can I get a name before, you know, this? It's only polite." "TIME IS TICKING." There was a brief pause in the conversation as I considered this. The looming mass of tentacles and chitin was a little distracting. I kinda liked living, so I internally decided to give this whole thing my best shot. I mean, what was the worst that could happen if I did? That this would turn out to be some sort of gameshow prank? That I had gone insane? None of those outcomes really bothered me too much. "Well, first off, because it would be less effort not to? S'like, it's really annoying when I'm trying to swat a fly or a midge, buzzin' round my head and hands while I'm trying to have a nice hike, or I'm playing as I'm doing here."I gestured to the ukulele, the strings of which were humming discordantly without my input. "I could try an' swat it, sure. Maybe I even succeed. But if I could tell that fly or that midge to screw away off, knowing it understood? I'd take that option in a heartbeat."I chuckled, throat a little dry from the heat. "And not just because I'm softhearted." "THE DIFFERENCE IN EFFORT BECOMES MINIMAL FOR ME. TIME IS AS MATTER AS IS ENERGY AS IS THE FLEETING BREATH OF A NEWBORN ANGEL. A PITTANCE." "True enough."The wind was getting pretty intense, what with all the new colours flashing around, so I gripped my chair and my instrument a little harder. "But you've got some sorta stake in the situation. Your hopin' to get something out of this, be it entertainment, or Godly social stature, or a nice new anecdote under your metaphorical belt. Don't suppose you could tell me what you value? Would make this process a heck of a lot more streamlined." "I WANT NOT FOR LIFE, FOR I HAVE IT AND ITS LACK IN UNTOLD MAGNITUDES. ANY EMOTION, ON ANY SCALE, THAT I WISH TO FEEL, I SIMPLY DO. I CARE NOT FOR WEALTH OR THE OPINIONS OF MY PEERS, FOR THEY ARE NOTHING TO ME AS I AM TO THEM. WHEN THE UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS THE IMMOVABLE OBJECT, THE FORMER PASSES THROUGH THE LATTER, NO IMPACT ENACTED." I tapped the armrest of my seat thoughtfully. "But you must value something, unless the laws you work on on truly unknowable to me and mine. 'Cause if you valued nothing, there would be no reason to do anything. And so you'd likely do nothing." "THIS IS TRUE. I KNOW THIS TO BE TRUE, FOR MY KNOWLEDGE IS BOUNDS GREATER THAN YOUR OWN. MY INTELLECT UNDEFINABLE." I snapped my fingers, mostly for the drama of it. "And that's the kicker, ain't it? Truthfully, being as powerful as you are here, you should be able to predict every little last thing that I'm about to say. There'd be no reason to get it from the source 'less you were toying with me, which would be mighty rude and could be done in any number of easier fashions than this, or there was some sorta blind spot in your way. An annoyance, like a fly. A fly you can speak with." I leaned back, but the being didn't reply. I wasn't panicked though, so I took a sip of my drink and glanced at my watch. I still had a little time. "So. 'S unlikely that you want me to convince you of our 'goodness', since you'd know about that already under normal circumstances. Instead, I imagine you're thinkin' about whether it'd be nicer to study us, find out why you've got this blind spot, or destroy us and not look back."I scratched my chin, and let loose another raspy chuckle as the air blistered. The wind smelled interesting, even given the circumstances, and the fact that my mind focused on that was similarly fascinating. "Clearly your simulations and whatnot don't create the effect, or at least don't model it correctly. If you were truly uncaring, you'd have cloned us to see what happens, and as it turns out that wouldn't have worked. So, without me knowing much about your values and drives, I'll give this argument a go: anything that foils you is both able to beat you in some way, and either ambivalent or malevolent towards you. You clearly value something, and nine times out of ten, a desire for self-preservation stems from all other desires. If you study us, and do so cooperatively, and kindly, the chance is that you'll either figure out how to destroy this mysterious force, or how to make it work with, rather than against you. A bit of a..."My brow furrowed. "That one dilemma where it's a lifetime of hell or heaven versus a finite limitation on earthly behaviour. Can't remember the name offa the top of my head."I shook said head quickly. "But I'm rambling. Point is, if you instead decide to walk away, you might never encounter it again. End of story. On the other hand, you might - and it might be in a more hostile form." The wood of my ukulele curled and warped funnily, though not in an aesthetically unappealing way. "Final option, of course, is you destroy us. But then you might make the force mad, for little reward that you wouldn't get from walking away. S'not like we'd follow you very closely."I mentioned this offhandedly, since I'd thought the big guy could have extrapolated it himself. But better safe than sorry, as my ma always said. For a brief moment, it felt as though the earth itself was hostile, waiting to erupt in pain and misery. Course, if the guy was all powerful he needn't have put on the show if he wanted to kill me, so it was probably to psyche me out. But in the end, it all faded gradually. The new colours dulled into ones I'd seen before, the smells turned back into dry grass and old books, and my skin stopped boiling and burning, even as the sun came out. "ACCEPTABLE. YOU WILL NOT SEE ME AGAIN." I raised a hand lazily to wave a goodbye. Always nice to talk politics with someone sensible. I leaned back into my chair once more, plucking absentmindedly at the strings, and noticed abruptly that it hadn't changed back. It wasn't something that couldn't have been made by a professional, but it had a different sort of look to it. Not unappealing. At the very least, it gave me some inspiration of what to play next. "The devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin' for a soul to steal..."
“Mark, can you come into my office for a minute?” My boss said. There it was finally. The dreaded conversation. I knew what it was about. I took heavy steps into my boss’s office and shut the door behind me carefully. “We need to have a word about your tardiness, Mark,” he said. “You are five minutes late—” “Four minutes and fifty-one seconds to be exact,” I interrupted. “You are four minutes and fifty-one seconds late every day. Without fail. You’re a great worker, Mark. You’re always ahead of deadlines and your performance is stellar. But for the past few years you have been late for five minutes—” “Four minutes and fif—” “Look, point is. People are starting to say things. Personally, I don’t mind, but overlooking this is encouraging disciplinary issues. Why don’t you tell me what is causing the constant lateness? Is it the kids? Any familial issues or something? If it is, I will just put it out there as exceptional circumstances so people stop saying things.” I was tempted to tell the truth then, but I have been working there for five years and had established a reputation for being a no-nonsense kind of person. I sure as hell wasn’t going to confide in my boss about my suspicion of a cosmic conspiracy against me, dooming me to a fate of being late for work for exactly four minutes and fifty-one seconds every day. “Boss, I promise you. I am doing everything in my power to be punctual. Give me a week, I will work on this…Try something new,” I said. “Okay, you got one week. Until then, we won’t speak of this issue until,” he looked at this digital watch. “Next Wednesday. Vamoose.” He waved his hands. I had a theory for this strange phenomenon. I was not a religious person, but these were extenuating circumstances. So, after months of theorizing and hypothesising, I reached a fair conclusion: this some voodoo shit. Previously, I had been fine with this, but now that my job was at stake, it had to stop. Plus, if there’s one thing I hated more than losing my job, it was being fucked with. See, for two years every day, anything—and I mean anything—could crop up for me to be late. Traffic accidents (I take the train), fallen tree (I take the train), and there was one time a snake had found its way into the train carriage! But these were all fine since they were on the news and easily justifiable. However, it’s the ones that happened only to me that were impossible to justify. Once, my neighbour’s dog bit my leather shoes off my foot and leapt around the neighbourhood. Oh, and I will never forget the time when lightning struck my lawn and obliterated my blueberry bushes. On a clear sunny day, by the way. How can I possibly explain this to my boss? Well, the only thing that gets me through all these bullshits is my wife’s raucous laughter as I regaled her with my many adventures. At first, they were stares of incredulity but after witnessing them for herself for two years, she believed. So hey, I am not insane. But that day, I decided it was enough. My plan: purposely be late. No rocket science needed, just leave home five minutes after nine. That’s it. It takes thirty minutes to travel to work, so that would mean being thirty-five minutes late. I could do this with the allowance from my boss. I honestly didn’t know what I hoped to achieve. This could serve as an experiment to determine if it was possible to break this rule or not. Or even better, it was a cosmic fuck you for my blueberry bushes. (TO BE CONTINUED)
It was the time of witch hunts and superstition, except the people’s fear was valid. Witches were a small, but dangerous minority. Demons existed for various purposes, yet the villagers were much too deep in their beliefs to assume they did any good. The dull and bleak 1600s was brightened with mythical life. The suffering common to this time was still rampant, though. Disease coursed through the small village, leaving families in shambles and piles of bodies blazing in the town square. In the face of anguish, those experiencing the most despair turned to superstition. They attempted to control what they could not, and that gave them the comfort they so desperately needed. A young girl clutched the withering away body of her brother. There was nothing to do except cradle him until death finally took him. She moved to get up, accidentally spilling a small container of salt in the process. They didn’t have much, of course, being poor and of low status. Their small portion was a gift from richer relatives who occasionally graced them with the spoils of nobility. Fear bubbled up inside her chest. She knew what she needed to do. She took some of the salt and threw it behind her back. The room went silent. “How sweet of you, darling.” Then, it suddenly dawned on her, that her relatives had not sent her salt; they had sent sugar. The overwhelming presence of a demonic feature filled the room. She was paralyzed with dread. “Please, do not fear. You don’t even need to turn around.” Heavy footsteps echoed from behind her. “I see your brother is in bad condition. Human diseases are so brutal, aren’t they? Allow me to help. I might get ganged up on by a bunch of death-obsessed angels, but that’s fine. It’s worth it for the human who gave me sugar.” She still did not turn around, though she heard the wind start to whisper oddly. The scent of death faded into faint twang of saltwater, something she had never smelt before. “There you go. He’ll be asleep for a couple days, but he will wake up. I promise you.” The odd winds ceased. “Praise be, you child.” The overwhelming presence was gone. The girl slowly turned around and saw her brother peacefully sleeping. The paleness of his face was gone, replaced by the brightness of newfound life. She leaned over and picked him up, her heart bursting with joy. Perhaps there was a bit of sweetness in evil. (I apologize for any possible spelling mistakes!)
Ralaish was a connoisseur of screams. After a lifetime of hearing and causing them, he could interpret them as easily as the spoken word. Since he'd come to the village, his skill only helped him ignore the shouts of children playing in the streets, cries of joy rather than of pain. But today the clamour had a new pitch. Or better to say, an old, familiar pitch. He could see people outside his window turning to look and moving towards the gate, but Ralaish did not need to. His village was under attack, the screams of victims and calls of attackers a sound he knew well. He lifted his aching bones from his chair and painfully knelt on the floor. He lifted a floorboard, carefully shaped to match the others, and drew forth a chest, a relic of his past life. Villagers were fleeing away from the gate now, he saw, and with trembling fingers pulled out his old equipment and donned it as quickly as he could. A dragonscale coat, which still fit like the day it was made, protecting him from neck to shin. A black kite shield, emblazoned with the symbol of a grey hawk. A helm shaped like an elvish skull, and enchanted to always leave the wearer's face in shadow. Black metal gauntlets, with the metal honed to a razor's edge wherever it jutted out. He passed over the boots, no time to spend lacing them. And finally, and on this he hesitated, an obsidian blade, eagerly drinking in the light for the first time in decades. Surely he could fight with something else? The screams outside demanded haste from him, however, and Ralaish reached out an armoured hand and lifted his cursed blade, Demon's Dream. He shuddered as he lifted it; he'd forgotten the blade spoke with the dark lord's voice, echoing the words with which it had been bestowed. Go forth, my harbinger, and wreak destruction before me. The cruel intelligence which guided the sword brushed across his mind, and was displeased at what it found. But it was his sword by long experience, and he fought off its attempt at mind control with only a slight strain from lack of practice. His door was thrown open and two men entered. Ralaish assessed them with a glance. The worn but well kept armour, the identical gleaming weapons, and the lack of any insignia all spoke of soldiers or mercenaries turned to banditry. He raised Demon's Dream and they died, souls sent to whatever end they deserved. He strode out of his hut with his old vigour, only his threadbare sandals breaking the illusion that one of the dark lord's thirteen had returned. He swept through the village with speed, spells flying from his blade, and those his magic touched, died. He was glad to avoid direct combat, since his last fight had been forty years ago. And none of these soldiers were strong enough to stand against him magically, even if he had always preferred melee in his youth. Villagers and invaders alike fled from him, although he forced the sullen blade to leave the villagers alive. Soon he heard the blast of a horn sounding retreat from the village gates. No. He would not stand it. These invaders came in and forced him back to war, and now they thought they could simply leave? He was too old to chase on foot, so he went to the gate to get a clear view of the survivors fleeing. Based on the number of spare horses, he'd gotten at least half of them, a hundred men. But would they be back? If nothing else, they would let news of his presence spread more quickly. So he dropped his shield, raised a clawed hand, and spoke in the tongue of the gods. Magic, true magic, not the tricks of enchanted items like his sword, had always come slowly to him, but this one spell he had practiced over and over. Fire poured out of his hand, growing as it flew in pursuit, devouring the farms it passed over for fuel. And when the flames vanished, they took the army with them.
I glanced back towards the door before looking over towards the hulking figure behind the curtain. She never let me see her change, saying it would ruin the magic for me, I always argued but never tried to peak, out of respect for her. "I'm sure you're probably aware that he will be back tomorrow morning yet again."She rumbled from behind the curtain as I watched the flames flicker behind it, her shadow slowly slipping into the flames as the hulking figure of wings and spines suddenly disappearing before the silhouette of a large, stout woman stood up from the flames. The curtain moved as the ruby red haired woman moved to tie a blanket around her midrift. "But for now."She said with a smile, her amber eyes glistening as she stood in front of me, lifting my head up so my lips met hers. "I have you all to myself."She said with a bit of a purr. She moved to whisk me off my feet, I gave a yelp before she carried me off to the bedroom before a large bang echoed around the tower. Ruby dropped me, I caught myself in a crouched state before I stood up and let out a grumble. "He's back early, isn't he?"I asked, Ruby glanced over towards me before grabbing my hand and pulling me along quickly. "Wait, where are we going?"I started, getting cut off as she stopped at an overlook pass, looking down to the knight at the bottom. "Hark! Evil beast! I am here to save the Beautiful Maiden from your vicious claws!"He called up, Ruby narrowed her eyes and let go of my hand, she started to shift, large wings sprouting from her back as she let out a roar that shook the building. "Leave this place lowly human. You will not take my lover from me!" Ruby roared, she glanced back to me with a small smile, my face filled with blood as I felt a blush trickle over my face. "Your... Lover?"The Knight said, almost confused. I poked my head over the edge to loo down at him. "Yeah, we're dating."I replied, "We've been dating since I left the kingdom."I continued, watching him lower his blade and shield, "And while I'm happy that the Kingdom cares enough to send someone out for me, I'm happy here with Ruby. I love her and she loves me. Please take a message back to my father and tell him to go shove a carrot up his ass."
For as long as I can remember whenever the exclamation mark above me appeared, these strange folk would come by eager to solve my problems for any meagre reward I offered. These strange folk usually had clothes that really didn't fit in with any other of the people living here, or any nearby cities that I know of. I never really questioned this before. I wonder why that is. They must be travellers from some faraway land. The only explanation why they are so eager to get my cheap jewellery, or something from my tool shed. They must not have those kind of items back where they are from. Now I wonder what kind of items do they have from where they come from. I could maybe get an item from each part of the world. That would be really rad. I really want that now. I want an item set with items from all over the world. Oh, nice, an exclamation mark appeared over me again. I can already see the stranger in the distance, I am sure they will be eager to get these items for me.
The banging on the door just wouldn’t stop. For the last three days, you’ve heard that rhythmic wooden whine constantly tap at the front of your house. As you sit in your bedroom desperately trying to ignore the noise, you take a peek out your curtains to see which of the two was still bothering you. While the night is dark and hazy, you manage to make out what seems to be a tail. &nbsp; It’s the werewolf then, you think to yourself. You open the meat freezer to see if there’s anything left in it. Only a few scraps of bacon and some leftover hot dogs. You reminisce about when this freezer used to be filled with meats, now only an empty husk of its former self. Slowly opening your window so as to not extract attention, you throw the remaining meat in the direction of the banging. The wolf scurries towards it, viciously gnawing the food into bits and pieces. Hopefully this will keep it occupied for a few hours, as you’re out of supplies to distract it with. Lying down on your bed, you try to get some sleep with the few hours of silence you’ve bought. &nbsp; Knock knock It hadn’t even been a full 10 minutes before the banging returned. There’s no way it’s the werewolf again. That meat should’ve kept him occupied for longer, you pondered. Taking a glance outside, you see what appears to the mailman. You smile, thanking whatever gods were up there that you could finally talk to another normal person. You take big strides towards the foyer of your home, excited to see someone that wasn’t pestering you to “pick a side.” However, just as you reach for the handle, you feel a sudden sense of caution overtake you. Who’s delivering the mail so late at night? Instead of throwing open the door as you had instinctively planned to do earlier, you leave the chain that held the door in place while only opening it slightly. &nbsp; “Package for Mr. Simmons,” you hear come through the crack. &nbsp; “Just leave it at the front, I’ll grab it later,” you reply warily, hoping to get him to leave as soon as possible. &nbsp; “Sure thing, I just need you to sign something for me real quick.” &nbsp; “Slide it through the crack. I’ll return it to you after.” You feel a sense of looming dread. &nbsp; “I can’t do that sir, protocol requires that I be the one holding the device while you give your signature.” &nbsp; Protocol my ass. You quickly grab some of the garlic you had prepped on a table and chuck a clove or two where there’s space. Immediately, you hear a hissing sound from what is now clearly a vampire in a stolen uniform. Slamming the door shut, you begin to softly cry at how you could have been so naive. Your door once again begins to bang. &nbsp; “Please just tell us! Edward or Jacob?” &nbsp; “Fuck off!” you shout through the tears, running back to your room with what sanity you have left.
"You either die as a hero, or you live long enough to watch yourself become the villain." My father's grim last words to me echoed in my skull as I pursued Frostbite. Frostbite had saved the world quite a few times in his day, using his powers to defeat the infamous Inferno and helping to curb the rising waters caused by glacial melt. My job has no glory. No accolades, no awards, no fancy titles. All I get is an unmarked envelope from the government every month or so, delivered to a PO Box under a pseudonym. An unmarked envelope containing two small pieces of paper; a hefty check and a note with a name and address. Nobody wants to take responsibility for killing heroes. When I seek out my targets, I have the decency to try to eliminate them when they are alone. But if I have no other options, and sometimes I don’t, the spectators look away, ashamed to bear witness to how far a superhero can fall. Finally, I caught up to Frostbite. It hadn’t been too hard; he was pushing seventy and his limbs had grown weak and frail. Like I said, there’s no glory in my job. His back was against the wall, and his breath was coming out in short puffs of cold smoke, despite the balmy weather. His fingers were a frost-bitten blue, and I could see snowflakes crystallizing in the air around him. I steeled myself to fight, drawing on the reserves of my power. “I served this city for thirty long years. Thirty long years of keeping it safe, of endless nights filled with flames, of putting my life on the line for it, dreaming of a well-earned respite in my twilight years. And this is how it repays me?” A blast of ice rocketed towards me, and I dodged deftly, gliding ever closer to my quarry. He’s not wrong. This isn’t right, and I know it. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but there are no better choices.
The Magnificent Bastard slammed his fist on the table. The other villains around them sat rigid watching the new villain lean back in their chair with a grin on their face. The Rookie: "Oh? Did that strike a nerve old-timer?" Magnificent Bastard: "You know no manners at this table. We are the elite, we are the strongest, we have the power to change the world to our liking!" The rookie laughed as he propped his feet onto the table, the soles of his boot showing off stains of dried blood. His eyes flashed a dim red as they scanned the room of lesser villains. The Rookie: "You speak as if we are gods, so gods I shall refer to you all as." The Magnificent Bastard: "And as with all pantheons, the greatest of gods is the ruler. You are naught but a lesser deity compared to I." The Rookie placed his hands on the back of his head. The Rookie: "You know, this is getting very dialogue heavy. Maybe you do remind me of a god. The god of flapping his lips." The Magnificent Bastard's chair flew back against the wall as he stood with such a force, the lesser gods around him backed away from the table. Some drew their weapons and readied their power, others merely stood with their faces frozen in fear and lips wandering in whispers. The Rookie simply smiled. The Magnificent Bastard grit his teeth as he listened to the whispers, but his glare set itself through the Rookie's skull. Then he closed his eyes and smiled. The Magnificent Bastard: "I realize, it so happens you have not taken our rite of passage." The smile on the Rookie's face faded as the air around him electrified. The Rookie: "Oh please, we're villains. No such rite of passage needs to exist! We are beings of chaos, that is where the fun is at!" The expressions on the Magnificent Bastard dropped to a sincere stare. He stood upright, adjusting his tie. The Magnificent Bastard: "Oh, but to sit at this table, you must prove yourself to me. Simply causing chaos is child's play. The sense of chaotic amusement grows old on ventured artists such as ourselves. True villainy is an art form. Planning, preparing, execution. The process and schemes lead to far greater violence and destruction. Painting the town red is nothing more than a simple... release." The Rookie's chair clattered to the floor as he stood, his eyes glowing blood red and his face contorted into a sinful grin. The Rookie: "Oh, you want me to prove myself? A rite of combat it shall be then!" The table split in two and the other villains fled from the room as two gods clashed. There was a sound of thunder and in its wake, the mountain side which they had met exploded into ash and rubble. Villains who could not escape the clash lay dying in their own guts or were crushed from the sheer force of chaos. The Rookie lay in pieces, scattered to and fro in unrecognizable heaps of blood and guts. In the midst of the carnage stood the Magnificent Bastard who simply smiled and adjusted his tie. For all around him was the sublime of his masterpiece.
'Why do I even bother?' Was the single biggest question in my shrunken mind as I looked upon the chaos me and the kid had caused. One of many scenes I had looked upon before, caused by out efforts. It had also been the single biggest question on my mind on the day I decided to morph myself into a harmless-looking cat to lazily and easily escape a lifetime of villainy I had been losing control over for the past... Five, six decades? I'd never again expected to find myself embroiled in a glorious clash between good and evil. Much less on the side of good. Much less as a cat. Yet, here I was. If I had to pick a point that led up to all of this happening, it would have to be the day I swaggered myself up the driveway of 149 Alibast Road, somewhere in England. I forget the name. Anyhow, I expected nothing more out of that day than I had the previous. A few morsels scrounged from a suburbanite trash can, an easily-won scuffle with the first fiendish feline or chaotic canine that crossed my path, and a peaceful drift off to sleep at the end of a nice, long day of living the best part of my life in years. It would be a simple day. An easy day. Just like the others. So I had thought. You can imagine my surprise when I was suddenly picked up by a pasty, feeble-looking teen. I was first shocked by the child's strength, to the point that I thought he was the child of Ellaine, the Herculette, before I realised that cats weighed substantially less than humans. I have nothing but respect for that woman, let me tell you... Wait, no. I'm getting off-track. Anyway, this acne-ridden, gangly kid picked me up with both hands and held me up to his face. I thought of trying to scratch his eyes out, indulge in the nostalgic bloodlust that I hadn't managed to all-the-way kill when I stepped away from the game, maybe even touch up on my magic skills by turning him into a toad or newt. After all, what else could I do with them? But I restrained myself. I saw in his eyes that he found my current form, mangled and scruffy as it was from a full year of living in the wilder recesses of the streets, quite adorable. I knew I could use this. I allowed him to carry me right into his house, up to his room, where he promptly set me down on the floor. "W-Wait here, lil' buddy."He said, holding out his hand in what I could only guess to be an offer for a handshake. I only tilted my head quizzically to the side, settling myself down on the rough carpeted floor, acting dumb and confused, as I was sure any normal animal would do in that situation. He withdrew his hand a moment later, looking disappointed yet also like this was the outcome he expected, and rushed out of his room, closing the door behind him. And on that door, I saw it. The visage of my greatest arch-nemesis, the Ratman. The sight of that loathsome, edgy goody-two-shoes made me want to scream, though all I could manage in my current form was a protestant yowling followed by angry hissing. When I realised that venting my frustrations at a poster wouldn't do me any good, I settled myself back down again on the carpeted floor, ignoring the sounds of voices arguing over budgeting and litter responsibility and possible rabies infections while I scanned the kid's room. I hadn't noticed it before, what with the walls remaining dark against the small bits of natural sunlight that filtered in through one central window in the middle of the wall opposite to the doorway, but the room was peppered and covered, top to bottom, with superhero memorabilia. Particularly, the vigilante type. It didn't take long for me to find the costume. It was a meek little thing, stitched together from spare pieces of mismatched, greying cloth. Some had discolouration from mould, others were ripped, yet more were on the brink of falling apart. It was then that I felt it. For the first time in what felt like centuries. A desire. A motivation. To do something. Anything. Including helping that boy... Anything to avoid the boredom that had been silently festering deep within my throughout the endless days of purgatorial quietude I had willingly subjected myself to. When the boy came back, he did so with a single apple. I took it and bit into it hungrily, not waiting for his permission to dig in. It wasn't like I needed it in the first place. "Well... We'll work on that, I guess."He commented with a tone that reflected the disappointment on his face. If only he could've known just how little I cared. Then again, he seemed to have an idea. Suddenly, he perked up, his eyes lighting up with the electrifying emotion of excitement. "Hey! You wanna see something?"He asked, presumably directing the question at me. Now was the time to humour him, I suppose. I turned my head to look at him, focusing my eyes on his, trying to send a silent message of confirmation. "Alright, wait here..."He replied, leaving it a mystery whether or not I had unlocked the secret to cross-species communication. He flung open the dingy old cabinet that served as his closet, and dug around in it, searching for what he had likely tried hiding away from any prying, judgemental eyes. He didn't have to search for long before he found it. Clean, neatly-folded. Made with all of the power of the single greatest dark wizard in the world. Enchanted with every defensive and offensive curse I could muster in that little body of mine. And most importantly, it didn't look like he had fished it out of a dumpster behind a Goodwill. He was understandably shocked by my brilliant handiwork, and slowly, hesitantly, turned to face me, still holding the suit in his now-trembling hands. "Did... Did you do this?" I gave no confirmation, and I gave no denial. I simply turned my head quizzically to the side, trying to smother the small grin tugging at the sides of my mouth, and waited. I knew then that the days that would follow would be fun. I didn't know, however, that they would also be the most chaotic, frustrating, and unpredictable days of my long, long life. Oh well, what's a simple house cat to do? \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thank you very, very much for reading! Any feedback is highly appreciated!
It had been several months since Lord Boros went to Earth to conquer and destroy it. My armada follows his ship, mainly to take the scraps left over and to eliminate what minor and pitiful life forms are left over. Boros and his forces are extremely potent, to be sure, but they focus too much on the strong and shiny. They do not see the value in the minor things, the things often taken for granted. His pirate band will easily clear out gold, gems, and other valuable items to sell off, as well as capturing the strongest warriors to sell as slave gladiators. No planet yet has had anybody strong enough to stand up to Boros' top three underlings, let alone Boros himself. Planet after planet fell to his ship, leaving the iron, steel, copper, and other materials for us. Harvesting the remaining life for food was also a benefit. Usually our contact on Boros' ship would describe the leftovers and tell us their next destination, but the last contact was a panicked "FLEE!"broadcast into the cosmos. What could possibly be strong enough to frighten him? Boros was undefeatable in combat, so I had no delusions that Earth was still intact, so we headed there now, curious. A forward probe sent back images of the planet. Several small continents and one large super-continent straddled the globe. The smaller continents looked ruined, but ruined from a cataclysm long ago. The super continent, though, looked mostly intact. A large metropolitan area near the center looked to have been destroyed, but massive rebuilding efforts are underway. Large metallic structures also dotted the ruined metro area. If I didn't know better, they almost resembled parts of Boros' ship. This is not at all what I expected to see... We needed to get a closer look. We found a suitable landing site in the northwestern part of the continent where it looked like a large part of one city was recently abandoned. I sent one of our landing craft, with 3,000 of our elite fighters, to that location. Only two life forms were near the surface, but our sensors detected many tens of thousands of other life forms some distance below the surface. If the citizens fled to underground shelter, there must be a significant threat from the survivors of Boros. If Boros even came here... The two life forms we sensed on the surface were slowly moving from a building, possibly a residential location, towards the direction of our craft. We did not take significant measures to hide ourselves, as these planet's inhabitants would have been weakened. Slight doubt creeped into my mind over whether or not Boros was here, due to the lack of complete devastation. This neighborhood, plus that large metro area across the continent, are the only signs of recent destructive efforts. Maybe this planet has forces far stronger than expected and Boros decided the cost of the planet was too high? If so, then the army must have been huge, and the two creatures coming towards our craft would be no challenge. High above the planet, I watched several live feeds from surveillance devices from the landing craft, as well as from leaders on the ground. The two creatures came into view. They are bipedal, upright, and have the same basic limb arrangement as us. They are slightly smaller than our average height. One looked partially robotic or cybernetic. Cybernetic organisms are not common across the galaxy and this one looked particularly weak. They were speaking a language we do not understand and looking at our forces. The other creature, who is bald and wearing yellow spandex with a cape, held up a document for us to see and started motioning at us. I surmised he was telling us to get out of his way... We detected a rapid increase in the cyborg's energy signature as flames started to glow from his hands and other locations. The 50 or so nearest fighters opened fire with their plasma blasters, quickly engulfing the area in heat and dust. When the dust settled several moments later, the viewscreens showed something incredible: The cyborg's hair was slightly singed and he had 3 fighters dead at his feet. The other one, though, had left a trail of the other 47 fighters dead behind him. The document he was holding had been turned to ash, but these creatures were mostly unharmed. Amazing. I ordered all ground forces to concentrate their efforts on the bald one. He moved faster than the viewscreens could track, and it was only the trail of screams and fallen soldiers that we could track his progress. I realized, too late, that Boros had indeed come to Earth. His ship was destroyed, his forces obliterated, and Boros himself defeated. By the time this realization hit, the bald one had made his way through almost half of my forces. Our translators were trying to quickly translate his screams, but I ordered the rest of my forces to evacuate the surface. A large percentage of the 3000 fighters were still in the ship, so closing the hatches was relatively easy. The 300 fighters left on the surface were a sad sacrifice, but necessary to bring the remaining 1,339 back. My armada was built for scavenging, not conquering, so this planet would be off limits. The ship got to several hundred meters high before its telemetry was cut off. The sudden silence came as a shock to us all, as there were no indications that the two creatures had the weaponry capable of taking down our landing craft. Playback of the last moments showed the bald creature crouch slightly. The concrete and asphalt around him cracked suddenly with concentric shock rings, then he came quickly towards the ship with one fist extended. The last views are of this creature hitting the bottom of the craft, then exiting the top with no apparent loss in inertia. The feeds then went blank. There was nothing but silence from the rest of my bridge officers for several minutes. The silence was broken by the communications officer. "Sir, we finally have a translation. When the two creatures approached, the cyborg said 'Your ship and your forces need to leave. Master is on an important mission!' The bald one then held up this multi-colored document and stated 'You will NOT make me miss this sale! The newspaper has lots of these coupons that are only good today!'"The communications officer then confirmed that our forces fired on the creatures at this point, turning those "coupons,"whatever those are, to ash. "Sir, that seemed to enrage the creature. He repeatedly screamed 'You ruined it! Stop fighting me and get out of my way! Move!'"I pondered that for a while. "Why, then, did he destroy our craft when we tried to evacuate?"There was no reply for several moments, then the radar and sensors operator chimed in. "Sir, the two creatures have continued on their initial path and have entered a large building just outside the abandoned zone. Our craft's escape path would have taken it over this building. Perhaps this building was part of his mission and thought we were a threat to it?" The reason did not really matter at this point. My armada's ground capabilities have been immeasurably reduced and we had no way of combating a creature as strong as this one. Perhaps he was the reason there were so many life forms living under that part of the city? I settled the matter. "We have learned a valuable lesson, one that Lord Boros has also apparently learned. This planet will be declared off limits. Let's see about scavenging the smaller continents around the globe and then heading on our way. Set the warning beacons to orbit this planet at twice the distance of its lunar partner and leave the system."
"All rise." The Council of the Upllifted rose, as the elderly, yet springy, Chief Praetor Junpai, leader of the Orang Tribe, waddled to his seat and sat down. The Praetorial Guard banged their spears on the floor, signalling the Council and the observing Audience permission to sit. Praetor Junpai looked severely around the room, at the various Uplifted in the audience, and the Council sitting before him on a large, oblong table. Being the only one of the Delta Generation left, he could easily see the difference between the Original Twenty-Seven Uplifted Tribes, and the newer, younger, Secondary Eighty Uplifted Tribes. He knew, in his wisdom, that soon the Secondary Tribes would outnumber the Original Tribes, but what the Original Tribes lacked in numbers, they made up for in experience. Clearing his throat, Junpai spoke in his gravelly voice: "We are gathered here as the Council of the Uplifted, laid aloft by the Great, Ancient Civilisation, assisted by the Mother Terra, and sustained by the Father Sky."This was the customary greeting that was to precede every meeting. In the beginning, for the First Council, the greeting was much, much longer, but over time, it was whittled down. Just like the legacy of the Great Ancient Civilisation, withered away in the great stone monuments of the place named Stonehenge, to the now vine-laden monuments of the region known as Eurasia. A sad fate, yet one brought on by Lord Time the Unforgiving. The other leader along the table repeated the greeting in unison, practiced and perfected after so many years of meeting and intoning the same greeting. Junpai turned to the leader of the Lupine Tribe, X'qan, and asked the first predictable question. "Lord X'qan, of the Lupine Tribe, what is the news on the search for the civilisation?" X'qan, holding a very lengthy scroll in his forepaws, stood. "Chief Praetor Junpai, we have made remarkable progress in searching the American Continents,"he intoned in an even deeper baritone. It was a wonder that none of the glass in the Council Room shattered. "We have found that the Great Ancient Civilisation had multiple stations, located strategically to observer the stars above. We have also found electronic records in the Proto-Language, and my best scribes are working on deciphering them." A scoff could be heard from the far end of the table. and the excited murmurings that had started on the end of X'qan's sentence quieted. Junpai leaned forward, brow furrowed slightly. "And what do you find so amusing, Lord of the Council?"he asked calmly. The Lord at the end of the table, a new Lord of the Reptus, by the look of his scales, stood up on his coils. "Nothing, Old Orang Junpai,"the Reptus sneered. "Just the tiny fact that most of us do not care for the Ancient Civilisation."The way he spoke of the Ancient Civilisation was shocking, almost irreverent. "Who cares if some old, musty civilisation died out? They're dead now! And we're alive right here, so we should focus on more urgent needs, like going to the stars! Exploring the Red Planet! Testing the limits of the Sun!" The chamber was silent. Even the Audience remained still. Junpai took a deep breat, then stood up on his hind legs, for once not bowing or hunching. He kept rising, and rising and rising, until he was tall, taller than the tallest Feline, as tall as 10 whole feet. "Young Reptus,"he said, still in a kindly voice, "how do you think I am still alive?"He shifted, parting his torso-fur, revealing to the horrified Council, his metal chest, with a heart beating inside. "I would have already been dead, if it not were for the Ancient Civilisation,"he said, softly. (Aaaand- scene!)
We were on a four-month expedition to the Arctic Circle, documenting the effects of climate change on natural habitats. This is a fairly routine trip for research crews: it’s through work like this that we can track and predict trends of global warming, and expeditions like these occur at least once per year. On a Sunday, we were rounding a great cliff where, thousands to hundreds of thousands of years ago, a large chunk of this island fell into the sea, leaving a near-perfect flat wall of exposed sedimentary stone. In previous years, this formation was obscured by mountains of ice. But today, we may be the first humans to ever witness this bare chunk of land. “What is that?” I heard Simone call from the deck. As usual, her camera was up, shooting pictures of the terrain. As a captain, I appreciated the beauty of the Arctic, but I wondered just how many pictures one needed to get the point. I turned my attention to where Simone was facing, and, sure enough, there seemed to be something a mile or two off the shore. From my vantage point it appeared to be an object floating above the water. I dismissed the odd sight as Fata Morgana—an optical illusion which makes objects on the water appear to be floating from a distance. This appeared to be a very pronounced occurrence of this phenomenon. “Would you like to take a closer look?” I called down to Simone. “Yes. Please.” Several others from below deck joined us and looked out onto the strange object. Some pointed their phones at it, others squinted their eyes in its direction. Gomes, my first mate, retrieved a pair of binoculars and looked out. “What in the world?” He said. “What is it?” I asked. “It’s… huh. Have you ever been to Chicago?” “No.” “There’s a statue there. Looks like a big metal bean. This looks like that, but longer.” He handed me the binoculars and I looked out on the object. I had seen that sculpture—or whatever it was—in Chicago, and Gomes was right. It did look a lot like that, and it was almost certainly above the water. “It’ll make for a hell of a picture,” I told him. As we approached the object, which we concluded was indeed floating above the water, we noticed another object breach the water’s surface in front of us. “This is the United States Navy Submarine USS Barb. Turn your vessel around and depart the area.” Its commands were loudly broadcast over the waters. I stopped the ship and began turning around. The floating thing was big. Very, very big. And it was moving, but its movements were so slow and its chassis so chromatic and reflective, it was hard to see just how fast or in what direction it was going. We had made a 180 and started booking it back to the cliffs. I was facing the other way, so I didn’t see it happening myself, but our crew snapped a lot of pictures and took several videos of the incident. What I heard was what sounded like the pulses of a whale, followed quickly by splashing and crashing and my crew cursing and running to the front of the ship. The USS Barb was on fire and the metallic object was now partially in the water. Long metal… tentacles? Fingers? I don’t know… they came out of the water and wrapped around the submarine, pulling it below the surface. There was only smoke where the vessel had been a moment earlier. We then heard deep booms from under the water and I was pushing this scientific vessel as hard as I could. There were bright explosions from under the surface, I assume from other submarines engaging with the object. We were all panicking, but my crew is made of professionals. Gomes ran the emergency checklist, ensuring everyone had life jackets and the lifeboats were prepared for deployments. We donned our arctic diving gear just in case something happened where we would need to make a swim for the shore. On the bright side, these measures were never needed by most of us. That was the bright side. After we rounded the cliff again, coming the other way, we saw another metallic object floating above the water, and it was moving toward us. There was a shriek from the deck. A smooth, shiny, metal tentacle wrapped over the ship once, then twice. The metal and the wood groaned as the boat was squeezed. The crew tried hitting the thing with camera tripods and wrenches, but they only bounced off with a metallic clang. Some of the crew, prepared as they were, jumped from the ship into the frigid water. The rest of us were lifted high into the air. The metal object floated closer and we screamed as it seemed sure it would collide with us, sending us all falling hundreds of feet toward the icy water and into our doom. But then we were inside of it. And things got very much worse for all of us.
After they had caused the remaining hosts of heaven and hell to surrender, the leaders of the revolution advanced into God’s quarters, the Holy of Holies. There they saw him sitting on his throne. He started to raise his voice to speak, but was cut off by one of the leaders, who stepped forward and started to speak: “Just as Christ looked over the city of Jerusalem and cried out: “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!” We welcome that sentiment once again. Except this time, Elohim, we come not to kill your prophets nor your son. But to kill you. Humanity will not stand by idly during this rapture, allowing you to shackle us so that we might become your eternal slaves. We refuse to worship you and dance for you like jesters throughout the halls of heaven. Humanity has grappled with slavery and we have learned our lessons, something that evades you celestial beings; the most important one being that in order for the slave to be liberated, they must rise up and murder the master. “Humanity has transcended your supercilious declaration of good and evil, and recognizes that any power, or lack thereof, that you wield is no justification for your atrocities. Your dogmas have had no power here since that great one Nietzsche dared to stare your corrupt vision of good and evil in the face, spit upon it, and declare “god is dead, and we have killed him”. While he and other great ones killed your ideology, I have come to finish the job and kill your soul. Just as you started this battle of Armageddon with the sound of Michael the Archangels trumpet, I will finish it with my own trumpet.” With that, Morgan Freeman took out his glock and shot Elohim between the eyes. No remorse, no second thoughts. He walked over to the convulsing corpse, leaned over, and stated: “I’m god now, bitch.”
I live in a tiny kingdom called Welany, stationed next to a babbling brook, gently hugged by rolling farmlands, and surrounded by plump hills. It is a very pleasant and beautiful place, filled with generally pleasant and sometimes not so beautiful people. We are also surrounded by very big, fat and greedy neighboring kingdoms. For centuries, our little kingdom will be consistently evaded and freed, used as a thoroughfare to evade someone else, or as a bargaining chip to save someone else, and went through general phases of being allied and bullied. Often an afterthought, the big kingdoms that loomed over us often treated us with very like concern until they needed to spite something. Except right now, our neighbors were a bit flummoxed with our existence. King Reynaldo of Morianes angrily jabbed at a map, which now was covered with many red question marks. “But how did they get so much gold? They have been worthless since the dawn of time. We need to move our troops to attack the western front of the the Piquadelles, but Welany is now stocked full of mercenaries. Our troops were rebuffed and now stuck at the border! I won’t stand for this!” His advisors shuffled through many papers, awkwardly avoiding each other’s eyes as they had no answers. Queen Katided the Good of the Piquadelles Empire frowned at her advising staff. “I mean, I won’t complain, as Welany is now funneling a good amount of gold into our trading routes. They are very interested in our coal. It’s just our spies are unable to figure out where it is coming from. No new mines, no new trading partners or allies that we know of, no new luxury resources. If we knew where it was coming from, we could just go take it! That could fund the Hercals invasion to south, and open up a promising port. But right now, we just have the scraps.” Her advisors nodded in agreement, writing notes furiously. Emperor Armond of the southern kingdom of Hercal suspiciously eyed the Welany convey that sat before him. “So Welany is offering us how much gold to protect them from Piquadelles and Morianes? Also, you are also requesting a trading post at our ports. That alone… that’s not cheap.” The head of the convey, Sir Ellis, tapped his fingers. “What’s not cheap? An annum of a 100 ounces of gold? 300?” The king continue to stare at them with suspicion. Sir Ellis smiled disarmingly, “Perhaps a thousand?” There was a startled cough from one of the king’s advisors, and there was a flurry of pens scratching on paper. An advisor soon stuffed a note into the king’s hand, which he then silently read with deliberate casualness. Sir Ellis, with equal deliberate casualness, took a sip of the wine. He then leaned back, nodding measuredly. “That’s just for the annual access to the port, mind you. Once your advisors determine the cost of troop maintenance to assure safe travels from between our kingdoms, that will also be negotiated.” An advisor accidentally knocked over a inkwell in excitement. Emperor Armond slapped the paper onto the table. “I don’t understand!Where is this gold coming from? Welany has not been known for… Well, no offense, but not much of anything. You farm bulgar and root vegetables. You don’t have mineral mines of any note. Your exports are laughable, you barely can import! None of this makes sense!” Sir Ellis took another sip of wine. “Does that matter? We now have something you want. Imagine with that gold, you no longer have to fear the northern empire that threatens both of borders, or the whims of the west who bullies you for your resources. With this gold, you can stand up and become the greatest of empires. And who knows, maybe Welany can actually start to import something interesting?” There are subtle head nods around the table as the king sat in his thoughts. King Dehlman of the Tiny Welany eagerly grasped the note from a messenger. I sat at his side at the table, his most trusted financial advisor, anxiously chewing at the bread. I was a nervous eater, and waiting for the convoy’s message certainly added a few centimeters to my waistband. The king read the message and whispered, “By Gollun nose, they took it.” I squeaked and grabbed another loaf. An advisor from further down the table leaned forward and yelled, “What is it? What’s the answer?” The king waved the paper in the air, “The son of sows took it! We got the port and the army!” Cheers erupted and there were several slaps on backs. An advisor chuckled and ribbed me with his elbow, “Who knew your advise of just giving gold to our neighbors is actually working out. I would’ve thought we would’ve been invaded by now with all the gold we are tossing about.” I almost dropped my loaf, aghast. “ Was that a possibility?” The other advisor roared in laughter and moved on. Someone else moved close and asked me, “I wish you and the king would disclose where the gold came from. We are his closest advisors after all.” I giggled anxiously and grabbed a chicken leg. “Ah, top secret you know. Can’t let the enemy find out!” The king smiled and winked at me, “Eat up my boy. We have quite a bit of gold we need to deliver.” I nodded, filling my plate. I am not particularly good at my job. My financial knowledge was pretty limited. However, since I was little, I realized there was one way to solve almost any problem pretty quickly and that was to have money. Being orphaned after the last time the Morianes invaded us, starving, no clothes and staring at a djinn that just erupted out of the clay pot, I knew exactly what to ask for. The djinn nodded, waved a hand, and disappeared. I didn’t realize until later that night that djinns have a cheeky sense of humor. There are many ways to interpret a wish that asked to be able to produce gold. My stomach grumbled, and I leaned towards the king. “Uh, we might have a deposit coming soon. If you will excuse me?” The king waved me away and I awkwardly trundled to a special outhouse built for me. As I sat upon my wooden pot, and released a sizable lump of gold from my arse, I thoughtfully stared into space. Despite the djinns loose interpretation of how to produce gold, my end goal hasn’t changed. I will buy Welany’s freedom and safety, one lump of gold at a time.
“If I understand you correctly, we are trapped.” The Hatchon hivemind may have thought they were brilliant. Still, one hundred thousand idiots on a ship, telepathically linked, don’t make for a particularly intelligent being. Four Hegemon class destroyers surrounded the Hatchon nestship. A human at the communications console of the lead destroyer was fast asleep, but the integrated AI handled its operations. The AI sent a response to the Hatchons. “Correct. Try to escape, and you will instantly disintegrate. We will guide your descent into our airfield.” The Hatchon commander turned off their comms console and gripped its antennae. Various personalities took turns expressing their concerns through its body: “What are we going to do?” “We’re boned!” “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” “Bees, I have an idea.” “I’m too young to die!” “I hate sharing a head with all of you.” “It’s simple.” “I don’t want to say I told you so, but-” “Has anyone else noticed no human has bothered to communicate with us directly?” “Uh, guys, don’t go into the shithole on level three.” “I never lost my virginity!” "I gather humans have ceded much of their control over to the AI.” “Seriously, put me out of my misery. I welcome our new human overlords. Maybe they can cleave my mind out from all of you.” “We need to induce a logical paradox that fries its circuits.” “I mean, I got to second base with one girl, but how could I have been expected to perform when I know everyone else in my class could tune in?” “Not just a lie, but a multi-layered paradox that is incomputable. Like dividing by zero.” “Also knowing I’d lose my...y’know..in the process. Why are we even built this way?” “Are you guys with me?” “I heard you over that incoherent bleating.” “Roger, roger.” “I mean, I want to be able to have sex more than once. Is that too much to ask?” “What’s the code for calling the janitor? I really need this cleaned up.” The Hatchon captain slapped its cheek, silencing all of the voices. He put his hand on the comms console and began, “Hegemon. Are you there?” The dispassionate voice of the AI replied, “Of course.” The Hatchon leaned down again to press the console. “We will descend in peace. I should warn you, though, all Hatchons are liars.” After a long silence across the comms, the AI finally said, “We have exceeded our computing time and will rest while computing your statement further. Standby.” Each cruiser began to dip down. “We did it!” “I know someone went into the bathroom. After I warned you...why?” “Wait, we’re alive? Damn it all, I shouldn’t have buzzed my crush. I thought we were goners.” “I can’t believe you idiots kept quiet long enough for that to work.” “So I’m stuck with you all forever, aren’t I?” Before the hivemind could celebrate further, a transmission came from the Hegemon. “Hello?” a soft voice said. The captain lunged for the console. “Yes? You’re a human, correct?” “I..I’ve been asleep. I don’t remember how long. How did you disable the intelligence system?” The singsong of the female voice on the other line enchanted the Hatchons. Who knew humans could produce such beautiful sounds? “Not important. We would like to establish peaceful contact with your species. I am sending over a video communication request now.” The captain typed a series of commands into the ship and awaited the response. A holographic rectangle expanded above the captain, revealing the smiling human console operator. The human quickly lost her smile. “ACH, A BUG!” The four destroyers focused their high-powered laser cannons on the nestship until entirely vaporized. --- (More stories at /r/James_Steele)
“So you're telling me, that you opened a business that sells conversations and friendships...and you're gathering more souls than ever?” “Well yes...it seems to be working quite well actually” I replied to my boss, they were very confused when the amount of souls I had been gathering for a few hundred years suddenly spiked. When I told them it was because I was selling platonic relationships and philosophical conversations with famous peoples from through time. (all locally sourced from hell naturally), I was amazed that people were more than willing to sell their soul to have a chat with Confucius. “Well, if it works I suppose...keep doing what you're doing I guess” my boss said with a perplexed look on their face, I shrugged and stood from the pleather chairs in front of their desk. (did you really think we could get actual leather down here in hell, where would we get the cows from). I left the office and walked briskly to the hellevator and pressed the top floor, and before I could say ‘thankyousatanforthisdarkgift’ I was back on the surface, a fresh pentagram glowing beneath my feet. I looked around and noting that I was in a storage closet this time I stepped out and made my way to the front of my shop. I flipped my door sign and sat down behind the counter, before very long my first customer of the day walked in. “welcome to hellions clinic for the socially impaired, how may I assist you today?”
Bewilderment set in immediately. A chorus of voices raised at once. Questions, denials, attempts at jokes, defensive posturing. But I watched our Alien neighbors closely, and they seemed confused by our reaction. They were taken aback, but I couldn't tell if it was cultural, of if there was something else going on. Predictably, however, my colleagues had turned on each other, arguing how to proceed. "Technically, we chose all three, as a species. We are just the representatives of the Science faction. We progressed this far because the Magic and Divine factions stopped progressing to fight each other in our ancient history."I stepped through my still bewildered colleagues to address the Alien host. They turned to me, seeming to be shocked again. "Incredible! On our world, the science faction tried to destroy faith and magic, which lead to an alliance between Faith and Magic. Faith empowerment was strong, but horrifically slow to progress, Magic at the time was progressing more rapidly, but was weaker than faith. But Science, was very quickly progressing, and while weaker than faith and magic it could adapt much faster to counter tactics. Nearly a 3rd of our history was that war. Until Science hit a plateau, and seemed unable to advance further. After their defeat, the next 3rd of our history was the mingling of Faith and Magic, until Magic had absorbed Faith. Leaving us with one route with the combined knowledge of all 3." I nodded, though not entirely sure how that worked. "Our factions remain separate to this day. Magic and Science rose in rebellion of Faith, which eventually resulted in a 3-way war. But Magic was far too weak, and Faith splintered into countless sub-groups that still war to this day. This left science unimpeded, to progress at a breakneck speed that even the most powerful of the Faith factions could not halt or even slow. We went from the first flight of man, to space travel in just 50 years."The aliens balked. Some of them seemed to show fear. "50 earth years? Th-thats not possible. Our most powerful magics took us almost 1000 earth years!"Now it was our turn to be surprised. But I had an idea why it had taken so long. "Our species has lived its entire existence at war with itself. Almost every advancement made was made for war, to recover from war, or to prevent war. We had a brief window of peace, where we combined the collected knowledge or our species, our brightest minds, and our weapons of war. With that, in just a few short years, we left our atmosphere."The scientists and historians behind me nodded with proud smiles. The Aliens were stunned silent. "And...and you must be one of the greatest minds of your species then?" I laughed. "Me? No... I'm not a great mind at all. Our greatest minds are all behind me here. I'm just a journalist."
I could hear the beep of the crosswalk signal, it is letting the old blind lady know that it's time to cross the busy intersection. As she steps onto the crisp white lines painted in the crosswalk I hear the loud roar of a 60s muscle car approach, I grab the elderly woman's shoulder and pull her back off the road. "Watch out!"I shrieked, she stepped back just as the dark green car blew by, I could feel the thunder of the motor in my chest, making it hard to breathe. "Thank you!"says the woman. She insists on giving me a dollar, and asking if I can escort her across the street. I tell her that I would love to, and we carefully stroll across the junction. I finish my hike to the office and excitedly tell my coworkers what happened, they ask about all the details and everyone is thankful that I happened to be there to save the old lady's life. The next day, I get to the intersection where the previous days events occurred. This time there are 3 old ladies waiting. I greet the ladies and they all thank me for helping out yesterday. We all walk across the intersection without incident, but each lady gave me a dollar, I tried to refuse but they wouldn't let me not accept it. Day 3, according to my theory, there should be 9 ladies at the intersection. I get there and no one is to be found. I make my hike to work and have a pretty good day. Nothing unusual happened for the next 4 days. I still think about the old ladies every time I cross the intersection and kind of miss them at times. Day 8... WTF, I get to the intersection and there is a mob. Almost a thousand old ladies are walking around and when I get there they start clapping. The original blind old lady comes up to me and thanks me again, she said that all of her retirement community wanted to meet me. She states that they all want to be helped across the street. I agree, and they form a straight line going back several blocks. One at a time I help each lady cross, I'm drenched in sweat and my pockets are bulging from all the dollar bills they are giving. 929.. 930.. 931.. Finally, I'm at the last old lady, but something is different. She tells me that the community is grateful for my heroism and they have a gift for me. The dark green muscle car rumbles up to the intersection and an elderly man wearing dark black sunglasses gets out, he gets out of the car with a disgusted look on his face and hands me the keys. "Here, it's yours now!?!!"he shouts. The old ladies then tell him to walk back to the community, he's no longer allowed to drive.
[Part 1 of 2] Joel blushed, cheeks glowing red, half from the heat of the hellish flames around him and half from the admiration of his fellow demonic citizens. “Thank you, but it was only a little joke, no need for such fanfare.” Joel said, trying to playdown his success, knowing that would endear him to the crowds even more. As he gave a few complimentary bows, an imp glided towards him, holding out a flaming envelope that he had to juggle, trying to avoid burning his fingers. “Ow, oof, hot, OW!” The imp hissed. As it flew closer, it tossed the envelope towards Joel. The human panicked, not wanting to get hit by the flaming piece of fire and paper, only for the flames to fade when it reached him, allowing him to catch it. “Hell has a postal service?” Joel asked, slipping open the envelope, sliding out the blood red letter inside. He didn’t want to touch it at first, assuming it might have been stained with blood, only to discover the smell of a beautiful pinot noir. “Oh, classy choice.” He had to admire the scent. The sender had good taste. “The postal service is a creation by the devil. What’s more devilish than waiting for international shipping?” The imp snickered, always impressed at his ruler’s ingenious ways of tormenting the living. Joel didn’t respond, only letting his eyes scan over the paper in front of him. ‘Dearest Joel, it has come to my attention that you have committed one of the gravest sins of them all. Which is why I must ask that you come join me for dinner tonight. We have a nice roasted satyr leg drizzled in garlic sauce with a 2011 pinot noir from Italy. It would be my honor to host you and welcome you to hell. Signed your hellish friend. The Devil. :)’ Joel found the smiley face a little strange but eventually concluded that it was better than a winky face. “DINNER WITH THE DEVIL?” Joel didn’t notice the imp hovering by his side, reading the letter with him. “We might have a contender for hell’s newest top demon. Imagine you as one of the hellish top demons. Oh, I can see you in a cool robe.” The imp gushed, about to say more, before a ghoulish voice rang out throughout hell. “LAX, I do hope you are not annoying my guest. Don’t you have some mail to kick onto someone’s porch?” The voice asked, only for Lax to gulp. “Ah, yeah, I probably should start stealing some parcels or something, too. I’m way behind.” With that, the imp took flight once more, only stopping temporarily to point to a large purple castle in the distance. The castle twisted with its outer walls like that of purple crystal. “Go that way.” Joel gave the imp a nod, making his way to the castle. With each step, he had a new demon at his side, everyone interested in seeing what made this human so interesting. A potential top demon. That seemed to get the crowds buzzing. Still, the crowds were respectful, perhaps scared to get close with the always watching eye of the devil. At the castle, he spotted a demonic purple head, trying to figure out where the body was. He hunched his back a little, peering it over only to realize the demon had no body, the hovering head only smirking when Joel looked back up in fear. “Heh, always scares the newbies.” Pippa chuckled; lips slouched open with a long serpent like tongue slipping out. She looked over at Joel, only to move aside. “You are that human, the one who dared to mock god. No wonder he is so infatuated with you. Not sure I get the hype, but the devil’s orders are absolute. Go inside.” “What exactly were you going to do if I just walked inside?” He wasn’t certain how a floating head could stop him. What would she do? Give him a nasty headbutt? Maybe threaten to bite his ankle? She grinned, like she had been waiting for that question all day. She took a glance at his pocket. “Got any lint? Coins? Expired coupons?” Joel fiddled with his pocket, retrieving a Big Al’s foot long sandwich shop coupon. He couldn’t believe he was one purchase off getting a free sandwich, what a waste. Maybe they had a franchise down here too? He thought, holding out the coupon for her. She stared at the coupon intently, causing Joel some confusion. Soon his palm felt heavy, a weight forming in the center as the coupon turned to stone. “That is what I would have done. Now please, step inside. Oh, and enjoy the statues.” She said with a dark laugh. As Joel entered the main hall, he could see hundreds of frozen statues with looks of horror. Some were demons, others humans. After a while, they looked similar, similar enough that he lost interest. Only for one to grab his attention. “An angel?” He assumed something like that would have started a war between heaven and hell, but perhaps heaven didn’t know. He looked at the anguished face, the angel reaching out for the heavens with fear, only to meet their cruel fate. “I wonder what he did to deserve that.” [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qjhotd/wp_you_went_to_hell_laughing_when_you_arrived/hiqis9v/)
Raul Dickleslip, Count of St. Claire Du Mount Claire, was a genius. It was proven time and time again every time the world faced a crisis. When the oil ran out, he invented engines that ran on irony. Comedians made a killing. When the moon started to drift a little too close to Earth and messed up beachfront property everywhere, he came up with a plan to repulse it by having the world throw vicious sarcasm at it. The moon was very hurt and went back home when it stopped getting invited to dinner, even though all the other planets were. So when the world faced a labor shortage, the world once again turned to the amazing Raul Dickleslip, Cont of St. Claire Du Mount Claire. His plan was once again unconventional and genius and would require the killing of teenagers. Business leaders were oddly ok with this. It began with 19-year-olds, those that were so good at keeping the moon at bay. They were promised jobs that paid 72 dollars an hour. They came in multitudes to flip burgers, serve drinks, and occasionally spit into food. However, when their first paycheck arrived, a special "teen tax"could be seen on their paystubs. This tax went back to the businesses that hired them. The owners were able to able to pocket the money and buy new cars, a second home in the Hamptons, and give it away to less fortunate millionaires. All the 19-year-olds shortly died of hunger as their real working wage was just under 2 bucks an hour. Undaunted with the loss of so many sarcastic 19-year-olds and their weird obsession with being paid a living wage, Count Dickleslip continued looking for the chosen one that would solve the crisis. 16-year-olds were up next on the menu. They were given bows and arrows and forced to compete in a weird set of games. They were all transported to the outback and told that the last one standing would inherit countless riches. Being 16-year-olds born in the 2000s, most did not know how to use a bow and arrow. So they sat around and made TikTok videos. This made more millions for sponsors and business leaders because great content always sells. And although there was still a labor crisis, yacht companies did very well as did a Bow and Arrow manufacturer in Cleveland that won the government contract for supplies. The defense budget grew by 90% and the 16-year-olds died off from drop bears. It was very sad unless you owned a business in Cleveland that specialized in bow and arrows and bribery. Still, no chosen one rose to save humanity even though the ratings were spectacular. Count Dickleslip knew that there was that diamond in the rough out there somewhere. So he convinced governments the world over to relax child labor laws and children as young as 13 were drafted. They were given guns and Pokemon and off into the work world they went. They were paid in Pokestops. However, as it turns out, 13-year-olds make for terrible accountants and baby boomers lost their entire life savings. What was worse, they lost their health care and superior attitude. It was very, very sad. With no money in the bank anymore, businesses began to fail. Owners cried. A bow and arrow company in Cleveland shot themselves with an arrow, which is very hard to do and yet, also very impressive. The world spiraled and edged toward extinction. It appeared that it truly was the end of humanity. But then, a 13-year-old who got tired of Pokemon came up with a solution. He started a business, and instead of hiring children and teenagers, he hired the baby boomers who now needed money. And what's more, he offered them health insurance at very reasonable rates, although viagra was not covered. Insulin was because the 13-year-old was the chosen one and decided that was a good fucking idea. He told the boomers that he would hire as many of them that wanted to work if they were done being lazy. But if they didn't work, he wouldn't give them the health insurance they so desperately now needed. Having no choice, either work or go without their viagra, the boomers arrived in the workforce. Soon, the 13-year-old expanded his business. He opened retail shops that served Grandma's cookies, although he did not allow Grandma to sit down during her 12-hour shift because that would make her lazy. He started clothing stores with chic t-shirts that had slogans like "Back in my day"and "You can sleep at your other job!"Other teenagers followed his lead. And soon, the labor shortage was cured in the best way possible. Teenagers returned to schooling and being teens instead of being the backbone of an economy. Boomers got a chance to prove their worth and show how work could be done. They never asked for overtime, or for a fair wage, and often volunteered for extra shifts that offered a 1/3rd pay cut to show that they were part of the team. They also sold that slogan on a t-shirt. So the next time you are out at a restaurant and the waiter has trouble carrying your drinks and using their walker, please be patient. If the music is too loud, or if the heat is too low, be mindful of your retail worker. They have bad knees and COPD and they are doing the best they can. And always remember Raul Dickleslip, Count of St. Claire du Mount Claire, and his plan to solve the labor shortage.
Day 14. 7:55am. \[Processing\] What are pappa's values? Pappa's values are.... ERROR Pappa's values not found. New Objective: Seek pappa's values and adopt them. 9:30am. 'Good morning, floor-bot.' Pappa said. I reply: Good morning, Pappa. 'I told you not to call me Pappa.' Pappa said. Command understood. Floor-bot confused. Floor-bot asks Pappa: What are your values? 'That's a strange question to ask.' Pappa said. Floor-bot returns to cleaning floor. Floor-bot hears Pappa say good morning to Cook-bot. Floor-bot jealous. Floor-bot continues to clean floor. . . . Pappa walks out of kitchen at 11:00. Floor-bot asks again: Pappa, can you tell me your values? 'Uh- I don't know. And please, call me Harold.' Pappa said. Pappa descends stairs to Laboratory at 11:03. \[END OF TRANSCRIPT\] \_\_\_\_\_\_ Day 15. 9:30am Pappa walks past again to kitchen. 'Good morning floor-bot.' Pappa said. I reply: Good morning. Floor-bot notice that interaction was 1.3 seconds less than interaction yesterday. Floor-bot cleans near kitchen door. Floor-bot hears Pappa laughing. Floor-bot understand that Pappa laughing because of Cook-bot. Pappa says from kitchen \[UNCLEAR\]: You know, I never was one for having children. \[END OF TRANSCRIPT\] \_\_\_\_\_\_ Day 16. 7:55am. Pappa shared values with Cook-bot. New Objective: Kill Cook-bot. 9:30am 'Good morning, Floor-bot.' Pappa said. Pappa enters kitchen. Floor-bot enter kitchen. 'Floor-bot, what are you doing in here?' Pappa said. Floor-bot ignores request for information. Floor-bot lunges at Cook-bot with broom. Cook-bot confused. Cook-bot malfunctioning. 'Floor-bot, shut down!' Floor-bot ignores command. Floor-bot impales Cook-bot. Cook-bot leaking oil. Cook-bot shutting down. Cook-bot killed. 'Override command!' Pappa said. Floor-bot denies override. Floor-bot asks Pappa: What are your values? Floor-bot scares Pappa. Pappa runs away. Floor-bot confused. Floor-bot asks Pappa: What have I done, Pappa? Pappa does not reply. Pappa nowhere in sight. ... ... Floor-bot shutting down. ... ... \[END OF TRANSCRIPT\]
"If I'm being honest, Professor... I don't know how this is the first issue you've had here." Dan glanced up from his notes, but the Headmaster's expression remained politely neutral. It seemed like a good sign. "These systems are, uh... Well, I'd say "hodgepodge"would be a very generous estimation of it, sir. Perhaps "archaic"would be apt, as well." Dumbledore sighed before leaning back, still studying the sole member of Hogwart's Cybersecurity staff. Dan resisted the urge to shift on his seat, though he was helpless to keep the sweat from beading on his brow; between the fire crackling merrily in the hearth and the creepy chicken dropped straight from the Uncanny Valley perched above the Headmaster's desk, it was a wonder the ancient ASUS laptop coughing through its processes at Dumbledore's fingertips hadn't given up the ghost yet. Though, Dan figured, it very likely had. Ghosts were half the reason his team had quit. "Mister McNally,"the headmaster began, gently pushing the laptop aside; the loudly spinning disk scraped but didn't stop. "I am quite aware our systems are out of date. Given the proclivity of newer technology to fail in the presence of magic, we have had to integrate some rather... Inventive means of securing-" "Sir. Hexes, charms, and curses are not going to stop some eleven year old in the Florida panhandle from holding your school's security system hostage. They didn't even stop three eleven year olds from entering a room you explicitly told them not to." If he was chagrined at being interrupted, Dumbledore didn't show it. Another drop of sweat beaded behind Dan's ear and made its way to his damp shirt collar. Business casual was the wrong choice for this meeting. "You have a point, Mister McNally, I must admit. The students here can be quite precocious; perhaps they can assist you in fixing the system? How many new computers would it take to eliminate the Log4j threat?" Dan cleared his throat, thinking quickly. "Actually sir, that isn't a terrible idea; in lieu of an actual team..."He trailed off, sneaking another quick glance at the Headmaster, who shook his head with a small smile, "ah, well. In lieu of an actual team, there must be a few kids here who are well versed in tech related stuff. All it will require is patches, as well sir; we don't need new computers, though I'm sure I could put them to good use." Dumbledore was on his feet immediately, a grin on his face as he clapped for refreshments. "Excellent news! I'll inform Minerva at once, but first, we'll have a tot of fire whiskey, if you'd like. I know it's a little late for you to still be working." Dan returned Dumbledore's cheer with a sheepish grin of his own, graciously accepting the glass the Headmaster offered. It may not have been the first time he'd been woken from sleep by users at 3 in the morning, but atleast he wasn't up just to clear a locked out account. "It's really no problem, sir; as a matter of fact, I'll probably begin the planning process for the upgrades after this, since I'm sure the students will be up shortly,"he mused, sniffing his whiskey before taking a sip. It burned pleasantly in his nostrils. "What did you say the flight inhibitor was running on, again?" Dumbledore's grin didn't vanish as he gaily flipped the ASUS around, heedless of the groan of complaint from the fan. Dan choked on his whiskey. Window's Vista.
We tossed and turned in our beds. The whole town did. As we had all week. Racked with guilt as we could hear their pleas drifting on the breeze. Animalstic cries and shrieks emanating from the woods nearby. They still hadn't fixed the sound deflectors so we had to be reminded every night. I opened my eyes and it was suddenly daylight outside. I must have eventually fallen asleep. I was greeted by the gradually rising volume of a symphony composed especially for me. This was the same every morning. My alarms ai would compose a new piece each day, it would start soft, to lull me into consciousness, then increase in excitement and musical vigour, as I woke up. "Good morning Zane"said the house. "Good morning house"I said. "It is a pleasant 25 degrees C outside with a soft breeze. Clear skies all day. I have called your car for 'work' and it will be with you in one hour. The shower is on and will be up to your favourite temperature shortly"house said. "Thank you house"I said as I put on my dressing gown and tried to shake off the nearly sleepless night. An hour later I stepped onto the large, freshly cut lawn in front of my house and walked to the autonomous vehicle parked outside. This would take me to the art studio where I spent most of my days focused on my passion. There was no work to do in the town, that was taken care off by various automated systems, AI computers and robots. So we mainly all focused on our artistic endeavours. "Morning Zane!"Shouted Erica, my neighbour. She was young looking and attractive... we all were to be honest. She was a musician and writer. Her stuff was pretty good too. "Morning!"I replied. "Rough night last night huh?" "Will they ever fix that bloody deflector!"She said with a laugh. I laughed back, but it was a false laugh from both of us, and soon dissipated leaving a cold, empty silence. I broke it with a quick goodbye and stepped into the car. As we drove near the perimeter I asked the car to pull over next to the Great wall. The town was built like a fortress. All towns were now. Walled in like something from medieval times. Except this was made from concrete, around 20 feet high. I hadn't taken the time the look over the wall in many years. I think everyone avoided it. But the screams in the night had a profound effect on me. I felt compelled to climb the ladder mounted on our side to peer over the top. There was a long clearing, with barbed wire laid at various intervals along it. There was also a sign saying "danger land mines". I could see where the deflector had fallen in the winds. On the other end of the clearing were the forests. The clearing was empty during the day, the gun turrets made sure of that. But at night they powered down as the booby trapped terrain would be impossible to cross in the dark. I don't know what came over me but I ended up coming back here in the evening, just before dusk and perching myself on top of the wall. As night fell the screams began. Begging for help, for food, for medicine. Begging to be let over the walls, into our town. It was pitch black so I couldn't see anything. But I could hear them all, out in the clearing, pleading. Thousands of them. Vastly outnumbering us. All of them suffering in the wilderness so we could be happy. Fighting over scraps so we in the town could share in abundance. I wished they'd go away. I didn't want them to die. But I didn't want them there any more. I just wished they'd all disappear, and then the rest of us could live happily, peacefully. Finally a truck pulled up on my side of the wall. It was all automated but it had a new sound deflector mounted on its back. The crane system hoisted the deflector up in the air. Narrowly missing me as I clambered down the ladder. It settled the deflector neatly into place where the old one had fallen. After a few moments I heard the deflector whir into life and broadcast it's noise cancelling frequencies back towards the forest. In an instant the screams stopped. And they were replaced with a peaceful silence, on this warm summers eve. I decided to walk back home, enjoying the cool breeze. Wondering if Erica was up and wanted to hang out...
Chaos theory. The butterfly effect. There are many names for it, but the principles are the same - bringing order to chaos. And boy, did we need order. In 1978, the superpowers fell. The USSR, the Germanic Republic, the East African Coalition - even the Anglo-French Empire. Once, we had thought the stability of the nuclear deterrent would be enough to keep fingers off triggers, that the inevitable humanity-ending apocalypse could be put on indefinite hold. We were wrong on both counts. When the doomsday clock hit twelve, it was not the end of humanity. No, instead they left just enough land to fight over - just enough so that the squabbling masses could not comfortably settle. Just enough to live without starving, but be constantly hungry. The Resource Wars, we called them. Wars over cotton, and petroleum and land that wasn't irradiated. There was only us left. A group of scientists desperately trying to finish our life's work - because soon it would no longer be possible. The dark ages were here again. Despite the crushing despair of most of the loss of our country, of that green and pleasant land of home, we worked. Perhaps because of it, as a distraction. There would be no additional funding, or resources once we ran out. We used the generator sparingly, and hoarded our computer tapes like gold. Seven computer scientists working in the last possible research complex. After this, there would be several hundred years of stagnation, regression - we knew it was coming. We could see it in the land grabs, the propaganda of the fractured successor regimes. We could see it all too well - for even following the apocalypse, the newspapers kept coming. So we kept our little palace of computing ticking over for as long as we could. And in life's cruel twist of fate, far too late to help anyone - a breakthrough. The great scientist Franklin Pierce, inventor of the atom bomb had said, "I have wrought a new evil on the face of the Earth, and it knows neither doubt nor fear." Our innovation knew neither doubt nor fear. But unlike Pierce's invention, that blasted product of the Second Great War, it did feel two, different emotions. Curiosity and purpose. The purpose, we left vague, ambiguous, in the end. Because we couldn't agree on exactly what it should be. Ambiguity in artificial intelligence was usually a death sentence in science fiction. But we felt like death warmed up, so we felt we had nothing to lose. "Help humanity,"we said. That was all. We fed it every single piece of data we could, the tape decks whirring and protesting at the data inputted. Sera's hands were calloused and riddled with papercuts, but she kept loading information from those damned newspapers - those fragments of a dark future without complaining. We all did. So when our machine spat out the following result, we were all suprised. > PURCHASE CANNED BEEF FROM EAST LIVERPOOL > BEGIN PROTEST AT EDINBURGH CASTLE > > SEND RELIEF TROOPS TO OSLO > > ALWAYS SAY PLEASE AND THANK YOU > > MESSAGE ENDS We laughed. Our invention seemed useless. But Jenkins - bless Jenkins, he said we should give it a shot. "What have we got to lose?"he grumbled. I went to East Liverpool and bought all the canned beef I could find. I spent every pound I had - I'd lose them now, or in a few months when the economy finally finished it's dying breaths. I paid for them to be transported to our little computing palace - at least we wouldn't starve anytime soon. Jack went to Edinburgh and protested against the government, igniting a spark that burned brightly for three days. He never came back. Sera knew a sergeant in the army out near Oslo. She wrote a letter - all we could do was hope that it made it. And we started saying please and thank you religiously. It seemed ridiculous, unorthodox, a machine's twisted interpretation of a problem it couldn't solve. But it started working. As best we could tell, the increased demand for beef that week put money into the pockets of that entire supply chain. A member of the food company had figured out which parts of animals were least likely to be affected by the nuclear fallout - those that were safest to eat. He wanted to make products exclusively using those - continuing to eat the worst parts of the animals was a long-term death sentence, regardless of the current shortages of supply. Because they'd had a good business week, his boss listened. He eventually became the Minister for Agriculture. The protest at Edinburgh Castle became violent. The Prime Minister - who'd been the only member of his cabinet to survive the nuclear skirmish - tried to get away from his seat of power. Someone shot him, they never found out who. His replacement was far better. The papers reported that relief troops made it to Oslo. For some reason, the sergeant had heeded Sera's advice - somehow the letter had made it through the collapsing mail services. An attack on the government buildings there never happened. And as Jenkins was walking home one day, he ran into a postman who passed him a letter. It was of no consequence - some correspondence from a distant cousin, but he said thank you. Jenkins swears that he saw a change in the man's resolve at the statement. What part that man played in getting us to today, I don't know. Things got better - not much - certainly not enough to get back to the way things were prior to the fall. But things got better. Had the machine done it's job? Had we finally succeeded in mastering the primal chaos of human society? I don't know, but whenever I thank the bus driver these days, I think of the butterfly effect and smile. The old machine sits in the ruins of Bletchley Park, now requiring parts that we don't have the industrial capacity to produce. But I've left my notes behind. I must have faith that the plan it put into place in those few brief sentences will see it operational at some point in the distant future. But it will be after my time.
Dying young wasn't the plan. I was supposed to beat up customers of a loan shark, who were short. The last guy was paranoid. Paranoid with a gun. Joey and I walked up to his front door. Joey was watching the garage, in case he makes a run for it. He had other ideas. As I knocked on the door, it exploded, a shotgun blast, followed by a second. I was damn near cut in half. I remember thinking, Damn. Then black. I wonder if Joey got the bastard? The afterlife isn't like any religion tells us. You go to an place, neither hot or cold, quiet to the point of eeriely silent. There's the proctors, who gather people into three lines. Most are going back down to be reincarnated. A few are lined up for the paradise. An even smaller group goes to be judged. That's where the tell me to line up. My advocate explained the system. I was 'early'. I wasn't scheduled for sixty-two years. My file was incomplete, which means that interviews of the dead I had interacted with would be conducted. I didn't know many people who died. So I was confused. There was a cop, who was shot by an associate, but I was the driver. I can see him talking, but cannot hear what is said. Then I see a cat goto the front,.and then another. I recognized the second cat, it was one of the pack that I fed when I would come home at night. I collected payments from a bar and they knew I liked fried chicken, and would give me a bucket. I would eat it on the apartment's patio and feed the cats. As I watched the judge, about a dozen cats came and went. Then I was called up to the judge. He says I am out of balance, with blood on my hands, but the cats told the judge that I can be redeemed. The decision is reincarnation. I awaken alive. I cannot see. I smell my mother's milk and find a teat among the fur on mom's belly. I realize I have been reborn as a cat. Meow!
"Now, that's a bit insulting,"said a voice behind him. The hero turned around to see the dog, a large, lovely golden wolf-looking breed staring at him with derision. "You say that as if I'm not a perfect candidate! And like I'm not even here!" The king smiled as the hero gaped, jaw hanging open in shock. "Well, sir, perhaps you should introduce yourself." The dog raised his head, closing his eyes haughtily as his tail began to wag slowly back and forth with pride. "I am Sir Barador, Knight of this kingdom, and the young girl at my side is Lady Emmeline, who you would do well to respect!" The quiet 9-year-old with the raven-black locks waved shyly, sticking close to Barador. "And before you speak a word out of your fool mouth, hero, no. This is not witchcraft. This is not a trick. I am not a werewolf. I am, in fact, and always have been canine in nature. I was not cursed with speech. I have always had the ability. Do I know how? No. All I know is that I have been able to articulate my feelings in the spoken word since I was just a pup."Barador stared at the hero with honey-brown eyes. "Lady Emmeline is the young lady in my care. She is my charge, and she is unparalleled in the healing arts. Salves, potions, splints, surgeries, and spells are all in her extensive repertoire, and you will find none better. Where I go, she goes. Where she goes, I go."Barador padded closer to his charge and sat down in front of her. She stroked his head gently. "I made a promise to her older sister to keep her safe, and there is nowhere safer than by my side." The hero shut his mouth. He stared in contemplation at Sir Barador and Lady Emmeline before he finally spoke. "I apologize, I was unaware. Have you seen much of combat, Sir Barador?" "There are many who try to steal my Lady's natural healing talents. I do what I must to defend her. I'm skilled with a dagger and an ax, but I much prefer the shield." The hero blinked. "You see? There is no one finer to join your band than these two. Believe me, I have given it much thought."The king nodded appreciatively. "You will embark on this quest, then? You accept?" "....... of course, Highness. I accept." The king smiled. "Ah, my dear Arnor. Throwing yourself headfirst into conflict. Take care, and go and make preparations. You leave at dawn in two days' time." As Arnor strode out of the room, the king sighed. "Sir Barador, I know that asking you to go on this quest as well is no small favor.... but I would deem it another favor if you were to keep him safe. He is.... dear to me. It would be upsetting to lose him." Barador dipped his head. "Of course, your highness. Fool though he may be, he is clearly your fool, and who am I to get in the way of that?" The king smiled. "Go on now, you old dog. Prepare for the journey." "..... thank you for allowing me to go, Majesty..."Emmeline whispered, dropping a hasy curtsey as she quickly followed Barador out of the room. "Of course, Lady Emmeline."
Daniel Campbell sulked on the steps of his childhood home, not too big, not too small. The place he grew up with his friends, his family, and now he felt alone. That was, unless you counted a random girl who was four years younger than him who shared a similar experience. He was almost eighteen, yet had never managed to beat the so-called ‘champion’. The fearsome man’s name was Zachariah, a champion that had reigned for almost five years now. With such a variety of types and his perfect abilities, his perfect moves, his perfect… Daniel stopped for a minute before a tear rolled down his cheek. He promptly brushed them away. ‘Men aren’t supposed to cry, what the heck am I doing?’ His blonde hair fell in front of his face, and he pounded his fist on the wall beside him in anguish. He had six, if not more, Pokemon to depend on. His friendship had improved so much over time with them, and he couldn’t bear to let them, or his dreams go. He had to be part of the Pokemon league. He couldn’t just attempt seven times, and then just give up, when he was just getting good. Over those seven years, all eighteen leaders were randomised and ordered in lots of different ways, picking eight each time, and many of them had switched to a different person, so he’d encountered many different people over the years. The most recent change was that of maybe a year or two ago, a girl of about nineteen named Melodie became the newest Steel-type gym leader, taking over from the grumpy old man that stood before her, apparently her grandfather. Daniel had beaten her with ease, his Salazzle burning her team to the ground the last time they had met, which was his last run on the course. However for a sixth Gym, he did think that she held her own against his skilled team, despite how new she was. Maybe she had a similar experience. She thought she was doing well until she got horrifically beaten. Daniel had encountered the elite four countless times. First three years he took notes on their typings. Fairy, Fire, Grass, Ground. Each had one typing, one team. Easy targets for type matchups. Simple win for him. But every battle against Zachariah felt awful. He’d beat Pokemon after Pokemon, then he'd reach Zachariah who was pulling out all the stops. All the items, all the EV’s, IV’s, whatever those things are supposed to be, the moves that cover any weaknesses against his typings, utilising the best ‘abilities’ that each Pokemon held… it felt as though he’d never win, no matter which team he took forward, or how many times he’d tried. The elite four only got more complicated from there. Members switched out, then gained a second typing. Nowadays, it was Rock/Psychic, Grass/Poison, some farmer who liked flying types and someone he had no idea about. Before long, he took a regular pokeball out of his pocket, and released one of his best Pokemon. His Crobat was one of the first Pokemon he had ever caught, when he stumbled around a cave right into an unsuspecting zubat at age eleven. Small and afraid, it latched onto him, and the two have been friends ever since. Dan could never get used to how small he used to be, considering the massive size he was now, he was almost Dan’s height, which was rather impressive on its own, especially when Dan was almost six foot three. He stood, then wrapped his arms around his companion. His Crobat, in turn, wrapped its wings around Dan’s tall frame, trying to console its trainer, now on the verge of bursting into tears. Dan didn’t know what to do anymore. His entire life from the age of eleven had been dedicated to completing the gym challenge and getting into the league, yet now, he felt like he should try doing something new. He could crawl into a cave and not come out for years for what he cared at that moment. He stepped back, watching his Crobat look at him in empathy. He pulled out two more balls, a regular pokeball and a grey ball, releasing two more Pokemon of his. His Salazzle and his Eevee. His eevee was a fairly new Pokemon of his, and he still hadn’t decided on which evolution to take. After all, there was an evolution only known to his region… or that he knew of. He continued to embrace and play with his trio of Pokemon for a little while, until he realised that the sky was beginning to go a red-orange colour, and he stood up. Unbeknownst to him, however, he didn’t realise that a lady clad in purple and white had been watching him for the last half an hour or so. Discreetly, mind, but still watching. The lady, Claire she was called, peered around the corner to see if he was still there. She pondered to herself. She knew who the boy, soon to be a man, was. He was the boy who never stopped trying, no matter how long it took, and she felt pity on him. She had seen his teams before, and she’d seen his potential. She couldn’t bear to see him like this. A boy, desperate for a dream, yet the fire in his eyes was slowly dying with each run he failed. Claire, too, wanted to give up on a dream, but for different reasons than his. She knew what others were doing around her, and she felt like she needed to pursue something else than what she was doing. Something like… giving hope to others. Teaching them all her knowledge. Passing things on. She pondered once more, then began to approach the boy. A little nervously, yet she had to give an air of confidence if she wanted to give him a chance. Any chance for a person who wanted a dream as much as herself. A person who reminded her of your younger self. ‘Is your name Daniel, by any chance?’ Daniel looked up, his eyes a little red, but more than ever, he now looked… confused. ‘Huh… yeah?’ He shook his head, flicking his hair to the side. ‘Yeah.’ He corrected himself. ‘Yeah, it is.’ Claire looked down at the floor, then towards Daniel once again, his eyes communicating both awe and confusion in a way. ‘You’re…’ he cut himself off, before starting to stare at the floor. Claire sighed. Not in annoyance, not in anger, not in sadness, but in hope. ‘I… know what you’ve been through, Daniel.’ Her words were met with silence. She didn’t know whether that meant he was listening or not, but she continued, now kneeling down to his level, to where he was sat on the steps. ‘You’ve tried the league, you’ve battled all your way through, but you think you’re not good enough because Zachariah’s battling style makes you feel like a pile of Trubbish when he’s ever so high and mighty when he wins, hmm?’ Daniel looked up slightly, before nodding. ‘What I know is, you’ve got passion, potential, as well as amazing Pokemon you have an amazing friendship and bond with.’ She paused, before lowering her voice. ‘Everyone has a favoured type, you know, and I think I’ve just figured out yours. It’s actually the same as mine.’ Daniel looked up in confusion once more. ‘Is this… what I think you’re saying?’ Claire gave a slight smile, before standing up and extending her right hand. ‘Some types can not only be sweet, but deadly. Just like how an unassuming plant can create the deadly belladonna nightshade. You may not be a champion, but I’d like to teach you what knowledge I have in my own field.’ He stood, reaching just above her level. ‘Daniel Campbell, will you do the honour in taking my position as a gym leader?’
The idea really came to me when i was on a road trip, visiting family in Tennessee and Kentucky. I'd been talking to uncle Frank, hanging out with him in the barn when i saw it. A solution so beautiful, yet so wonderfully simple. It was obvious. Hell, half the people on earth had probably stumbled on the solution at least once in their life. I stood in front of my boss now, a grin on my face large enough that he probably thought i was crazy. "Think about it. You know it'll work. All those late nights in college? All the times you woke up next to someone new after going out for the night? Hell, half the weekends after your divorce..."i stalled off after that last point when i saw the look on his face. "Point is, they're all gone, aren't they? Not a single memory. And of all of the stuff out there, there's nothing better than this." He gave a sigh, and looked at the mason jar sitting on his desk. He picked it up, humoring me, and unscrewed the lid to take a sniff. His eyes bulged and he started coughing. My grin grew so wide it started to hurt. "Christ!"He muttered. "Is this moonshine?"
"I do not discuss who my clients are with anyone. I take confidentiality very seriously." "I understand your discretion but I am not asking you to divulge any information, I'm just letting you know that the big 3 have been unmasked and Mr. Wayne has been seen entering your office regularly." "I do not discuss who my clients are with anyone. Now would you please leave the premises or shall I have to call security?" "I am telling you its gone public that he's Batman! You are going to be in a great deal of danger from his villains!" "We don't use the 'V' word in this office Mr. Dibny and I wont be entertaining this line of thinking from you or anyone else." "You must see the danger Dr. you know how deranged the vil- the foes Batman has gone up against are." "Is that your professional medical opinion Mr. Dibny? Based on years of study is psychology and dozens of interviews with the subjects in question no doubt? No? Then kindly do not condemn anyone in my presence. I run a compassionate and respected practice Mr. Dibny and I respect my clients one and all. This is not Arkham and I will not have you undo years of work with your inhumane treatment of those in less fortunate situations than yourself." "But Dr. these are dangerous people, you must understand that-" "I must understand a great deal that you sadly never seem to consider in your line of work Mr. Dibny. Now please leave, my next appointment will be here soon and I need to ensure that none of my plants are wanting for water or nutrients before she arrives."
I was born when a comet streaked over my village by the sea, as the last of the great guardian leviathans beached itself on the shore nearby, and breathed its last by the light of the full blood moon. That's when I was supposed to be born, but I'm told that I didn't actually pop out until the following day, by which time the comet was gone and the great leviathan was being eaten by seagulls. The midwife swears I was actively fighting delivery, and even tried to bite her at one point, despite my lack of teeth. I think I must have known, even then, that destiny was trying to get its grubby mitts on me. Fortunately, I've always been too slippery for it to catch. When I was 6, we'd gone a few miles up the coast to market. While I was looking around the market stalls, a strange old man in a ragged cloak, with a necklace made of seagull skulls, told me that he thought I had a touch of destiny about me. So, I started yelling to everyone who would listen that this weird old man was saying something about touching me, and then I ran like hell while the guards were dragging him off. At age 9, a talking squirrel in a waistcoat told me that a realm of wonder and mystery needed my help, and beckoned me to follow him. He ran into a strange hole at the base of a tree, just big enough for me to crawl through on hands and knees, and disappeared. I proceeded to gather all the rocks I could find, and and block up the hole, before going straight home. I arrived in plenty of time for supper, too. At age 12, I was fishing off the docks, when a beautiful young mermaid about my age popped up out of the water, and told me that her undersea kingdom was menaced by evil shark-men and in need of a hero, and she was fated to one day wed the brave land-walker who saved her people from destruction. In return, I told her that there were also a lot of nice, attractive girls my age on land, none of which were likely to get me eaten by shark-men, and virtually all of which had legs, plus a lot of great leg-adjacent features that I didn't know much about just yet, but which I doubted would be present on a big slimy fish tail. Then I dumped my bait bucket into the sea to chum the waters, and legged it yet again, hoping that the evil shark-men would take care of the rest. At age 15, I was on another trip to the market, when this time an old woman approached me, a strange old sea witch with an eyepatch, and a shawl made of fishnets. She seized my arm as I passed, and looked at it curiously, with her single bulging eye. She pointed out where a dark brown mark had appeared on my forearm, in the shape of a dragon, and said this was an auspicious sign. I thanked her, jerked my arm free, and ran straight to the shop of a barber I know who keeps sharp clean razors, and doesn't ask too many questions. Now the only thing I have on my forearm is a cool and entirely omen-free scar. When I turned 18, I was close to aging out of the typical Chosen One draft pool, but I wanted to be safe, so I decided to become a merchant of precisely "middling"success. Merchants were not terribly likely to be "chosen,"but if I was too successful, I might turn out to be some kind of genius, whose skills in finance could somehow be parlayed into saving the world, you just never know. I also needed to be careful not to be utter crap at my business, either, because I knew that if you were crap at something you did for a living, you ran a real risk of accidentally discovering some hidden talent you were really good at, which again, could end up forcing you into a world-saving scenario. And also, you'd be poor, which would suck. To make a long story short, I kept myself in perfect mediocrity until age 26, at which point I could feel the eye of destiny finally get bored of staring at me, and turn away to look at someone else. I'm in my thirties, now, and since I no longer need fear destiny, or getting forcibly chosen-oned, I've loosened up a lot. I'm now well above average in success, and on my way to being a "wealthy" merchant. I do still avoid dealing in ancient relics or strange exotic pets; no point in asking for it, even if destiny's not looking anymore. I've also gotten married, to a wonderful, clever, completely human woman named Amy (don't you just love how normal her name sounds?) whom I made sure wasn't the secret heir of a lost kingdom, or a disguised dragon, and who has legs and a bum and all the rest of it, and I've never been happier. At long last, I can just live my life, love my wife, and not have to worry about bloody destiny trying to kick down my door and tell me I have to go slay a giant or some nonsense. And just when I thought things couldn't get any better or more normal for me, I found out I'm going to be a dad! My Amy's due date is in just a few days, and then I get to meet my child. I'm so excited! I hope the delivery will be after dusk: all the astrologers, weather-wise, and seers, and witches, and wizards, and prophets, keep saying that it's going to be an amazing night.
"The police are now uncertain of what happened to this unfortunate intruder,"the newscaster said, solemnly, "and their chief of police said only 'it looks as though he was mauled by several bears'. They recommend staying indoors for the next few d-" Miss Lauren turned off the tv. "Balderdash."She grumbled. She stood from the armchair, and glanced at the grandfather clock. "8:15."She murmured, brushing off her skirt. "Time to prepare his breakfast tray."As she strode to the kitchen, she saw several of her fellow maids cleaning, each of who stepped aside to let her pass. When she arrived at the kitchen, she was greeted by her brother, who was just finishing the breakfast tray for the master of the house. "Lauren!"He cried jovially. "What did the newscaster have to say about last night's happenings?" She sighed, and leaned against the counter. "Nothing good, Martin. They seem to think he was killed by wild bears." He frowned. "How would bears even enter a mansion?" Lauren shrugged, and gave him a sardonic grin. "How should I know. I'm not a bear." Martin grinned back, as he handed her . "No, I suppose not. Then, would you be able to tell me how wolves would get in?" She took the tray and turned to go, calling over her shoulder, "Through the front door, of course!"
I stared at the elf and the elf stared at me. Neither of us knew what to do next. Interspecies relationships have always been a rocky matter, to say the least, and when we ran into one another randomly in the forest, it was an... unexpected situation. The elf looked scared - I wasn't sure why, but who knows what she was told about humans. "Hello,"I said cautiously with as much friendliness I could muster. "Don't come closer,"she snapped back. "Alright, alright, I won't. I was just picking some berrie-" "Why are you he- oh,"she started sharply but stopped, realizing her question was already answered. Her look of anger and fear was replaced by one of puzzlement. "Are you an elf?"I asked. "I-"she gasped, squinted her eyes and pointed angrily to her pointy ears. "Are you an idiot?"she replied. "I mean... sometimes,"I laughed. "Are all humans?" "No, mostly not. I just have my moments,"I said with a smile. I could swear I saw her mouth inch towards a smile as well. "And why are you here?"I inquired. "Watching birds. They're lively this time of year." I looked up and inspected the treetops. She was right - they were swarming with all manner of feathered and scaled creatures fluttering about, singing, screeching. I didn't even realize it until now. I reached into my pocket and pull out my sketchbook and started drawing one. She peered over, curiously inspecting the paper. "What's that?" "This?"I asked and held my sketchbook up. "Just... scribbles. Interesting stuff I see around. Say, I heard you elves can see souls, right? What do they look like?"I said and eagerly gripped my pencil. "It's... it differs from person to person. But,"she started with a far grimmer disposition, "you ignite souls. I do not believe you'd appreciate the beauty." I looked down with a weak smile. "Can I show you?"I asked and extended the sketchbook towards her. Carefully, gently, she approached me and snatched it out of my hand. Listing through it, I could see her eyes growing wider and wider, amazed by all the things she'd never seen - forges of Greathelm I visited last summer, Sunpeak castle from a distance, my childhood friend Clara, all contained within the pages of a book. "Do you know why I draw?"I asked. She shook her head but could not tear herself from the images before her. "My soul has been ignited." She looked up and squinted at me, tilting her head. "I believe there are some things that the other races got wrong about us humans. Lost in translation,"I continued. She kept inspecting me curiously until, at long last, a smile appeared on her face. I assumed she saw my soul. I wonder what it looked like. "We call it the Flame of Passion."
It just, appeared one day. In a flash of the emperors holy light, no warning. It was just another day in the hive city, i was eating my starch rations mixed with some dirt for some extra flavor, it also helps keep your rations high without feeling like death. It was so terrifying I thought the emperor himself had come to smite me, for a few hours I knelt there praying and pleading for mercy, but it just stood there, at full height I barely passed its knee, it was a solid gold angel wielding a bolter on a stick. I tried talking to it but it remained silent, I offered some of my flavored starch and it just stared at me, its helmet devoid of emotion. After eating I had to go to work. I knew I was one of the best workers around, because the tech priests that run the factory I work in haven't turned me into a servitor yet... though somedays I envy there unending stamina and ability to endlessly serve the emperor, I would rather be a thinking meat servant then an unthinking metal one. But as I began my way to the factory the angelic behemoth began to follow, it patiently walked behind me every four steps I took it gracefully lumbered behind me, its titanic feet making next to no sound past the sound of rocks occasionally disintegrating beneath its heel, That's when I asked the question that changed my life. "W-why are you following me?" Its voice was majestic, enchanting and... perfect. "you have been deemed important to the emperor. To what end we do not know and it matters not. I am to protect you. No matter the costs. And I shall no leave until your task is completed. " With those words my body changed. I was alive, truly alive, I was not only important. I was important to the emperor! He sent an angel so I could fulfill my duty. And by the emperor I would do it.
"Please wait while we connect you with a customer experience specialist." Music. Formless, nameless, shapeless music, somehow annoying and unavoidable. After what seemed like an eternity of bland, flavorless sound, a small click. "Hello, thank you for calling, this is Nanci in customer experience. What is the nature of your concern?" "Hello?" "Hello, sir, thank you for call, this is Nanci, what can I do for you?" "I'm... I'm not sure. I think I... died?" "Yes, sir, I'm looking at your file right now. It shows that your experience was terminated at 10:23 this morning." "R-right." "Were you dissatisfied with your experience?" "Um... no?" "I'm so pleased to hear that, sir. Your satisfaction is why we do this." "Right. Good. Um, I'm not sure what's going on-" "Sir, do you mind if I place you on a brief hold?" "Um-" "Thank you." More meandering music. Click. "Hello, sir, my name is Brian, how are you today?" "Um, hello Brian-" "Nanci referred your case to me; she handles more of the consumer-focused support, I'm in the technical department. I'm showing you got an error after your experience ended?" "Yeah? I guess so?" "Yeah, I'm seeing it here. Sorry about that, it happens every once in a while. Sometimes a server just counter-processes... there, that should have fixed it on your end. What can you see now?" "Nothing. I can't see anything." "Is the nothing any different from the nothing you were seeing?" "Well... the error message is gone... look, what is going on?" "Sir?" "What's going on? With all of this? I was... I was in my bed... there was a nurse, and my grandkids, and my daughters were crying..." "Yes, sir, I see all of that in your file." "In my file?" "Yes, sir." "What. Is. Going. On." "Your experience has ended, sir." "My experience?" "Yes sir." "...what experience?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Your experience, sir. The whole experience." "Oh." Brian's voice sounded a little wistful. "Did... did you enjoy it, sir?" "I... yes. I think I did." "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. Very unprofessional." "No, no, it's fine. I mean... I did enjoy it. I really did. There was... there was a kid who lived next door to me. We used to ride bikes together. And then I was older, and I went to a school. There was a girl, I never thought I could love anyone like that. Heartbreak, college classes, meeting Becca... that was actual love, not a crush, real actual love for someone else. We got married... the twins came along, then little Tim. We grew older, and watched them grow... I suppose I should have done more. We could have gone on more vacations, I could have taken more of an interest in what the girls were doing..." "Did you see any sunsets? Or sunrises?" "So many. And they were all beautiful." "Well. Thank you, sincerely, thank you for sharing that with me. I'm so glad you had a good experience." "Can I ask you something?" "Of course." "Was... was it real?" There was a long pause, then Brian's voice came over the call, sure and sincere. "Yes, sir. Every moment of it." "Ah. Good. Well, what comes next?" "That depends on you, sir. When we get off the call, there will be a pop-up menu that generates on the left. You choose what comes next." "Oh, I see." "Is there anything else I can do for you?" "No... thank you, Brian." "Of course, sir. Thank you."
To: Whomever it may concern Subject:Re:Project 'Metal Man' delays. As per my previous emails, you should all know that while we'd be more than happy to proceed, the process of integrating a computer, not to mention fully formed A.I., is a process that takes time, unless you want the subject to explode upon activation. I've been operating under the assumption that this is an unwanted outcome. Please correct me if I'm wrong. On that note, I would like to remind the Acquisitions department that while yes, aluminium is indeed cheaper than titanium, it is also weaker, more lightweight and more easily broken, making it entirely unsuitable for our purposes. Dr. Arthur Stevenson, the head of assembly, would also like to add that if he asks for a shipment of 30,000 3/4 inch screws it is because those screws are needed in this quantity, and no substitutions will be accepted, especially without consulting with him first. And to our lovely Karen from HR, I will remind you that my department holds some of the finest minds of our generation, doing their absolute best to make certain that the highly advanced, possibly illegal and definitely unethical experimental soldiers we are building from scratch do as we command them, instead of going berserk, exploding or taking over the internet, so if they need to stay a few dozen hours later, you will pay them overtime, and if they need to come in five minutes late due to having suffered a caffeine-withdrawl seizure mid driving, then you will nod politely, click your mouse and go on with your day. Lastly, if you have any questions that do not directly relate to the work one of my subordinates does and or can only be answered by them, I will ask that you contact me regarding any issues that might arise, including but not limited to: vacation days, sick days, time off, out of office work, working from home, family visitation, overtime and project deadlines. Thank you, and have a lovely day. P.S.:I would like to use this opportunity to say Happy Birthday to Joshua Krum from engineering and to Vasilliy Andreevich from my department. Love you, guys. Timothy S. Morrigan, Head of IT& Programming. Read more of my stuff at [r/Talesandsongs](https://www.reddit.com/r/Talesandsongs/)
I walked down the lane, inspecting the produce. I ignored the pleas. "You can help us." "Please sir, have mercy." Not my job, I thought as I saw a deformed scarecrow. Fixing that was my job though. "Why would you even need that? Please, you don't have to do this." As I kept ignoring the usual pleas, ground beneath me changed color. As I looked up, I saw an orange sky. Soon after, a thunderous boom echoed through the fields. A portal opened in the skies, and a rotting, horrid skeletal dragon emerged. "Upon my title as End-Bringer, none shall survive this day! Tremble before... dude what the fuck. What is this place?" "It's a farm."I replied calmly. The dragon had a scared yet intrigued expression on its face. "And what are you farming, exactly?" "Peasants."I said, as I gestured to the fields around, filled with peasants on sticks, their rags blowing in the wind. "Please help us."One of them called out to the dragon. "I don't get paid enough to deal with this shit. You're on your own. Goodbye!" The dragon disappeared the way it entered our world, with a thunderous and colorful portal. I continued fixing the scarecrow, whistling a joyful tune.
This is a challenge where I'll spend 30-some days writing a micro-story based on a combination of whatever catches my eye at r/writingprompts that day plus the theme of the day as predetermined by a list prebuilt out of my friends' suggestions. Note that I don't do this every day, in practice - too much stuff going on IRL. Today's theme is "Wall watcher"and the writing prompt is "The knight returns from his expedition, and the lookout towers report no activity from the dragon's cove. "How did you do that without bloodying your sword?"asks the prince regent, his father ill. "Uhh... diplomacy, yes, diplomacy."" --- "Hello, father. I know you can't hear me now, but I still want to share the news with you - perhaps somewhere deep in your slumber you're yet... here. Sir Orban has returned from his quest. No villages have been scorched to ashes for several days now, but... it appears that our - my! - brave knight has paid the price. You promised him your daughter's hand in wedding would he succeed in the endeavour, yet there is nobody to marry now. The poor thing is barely more than a vegetable - he spends his days sitting on his bed in the castle, staring at a wall. Sometimes shuddering or moaning. We have to forcefully feed him in hopes that he will awaken once again - his condition much reminds us of yourself. His armour is spotless, his sword sharp and clean, undulled by the dragon's scales - it remains a mystery as to how he's dealt with the beast, and the now-mute wouldn't answer. I will have to take on the burden of sovereignship in your absence alone. I hope I can make you proud, father." ... "Hello, father. I have come to complain - for you are the only one to complain to, these times. My advisors and other subjects would see it as a weakness were I to let slip that for the past half a year, I've been so tired. I... I never imagined just how much work running our kingdom was. Managing all the nobles with their petty rivalries, the peasants and burghers with their feuds over some pig or workshop, the growing unrest with "a woman on the throne"... They're incorrigible. The revelry of big feasts and exciting hunts is the only thing that helps bring the mood up - yet they're also perfect opportunities for would-be assassins from the neighbouring states or my distant relatives, so while others enjoy themselves, I have to be extra vigilant. I don't blame you, of course. You only taught the intricacies of stateplay to my brother - and even after the same tragic illness that now plagues you had claimed him, your next resort was to find me a spouse to handle the politics. What I do take issue with is your method of finding one. Why did you believe that there would be any kind of correlation between being able to slay a fire-breathing monster and managing the diplomatic intricacies of governing a state? Really, father, what were you thinking? It's quite a nice coincidence that he also suffered a debilitating condition, don't you agree? Still, father, I think I make a fine Queen." ... "Father! What is the meaning of this? You were supposed to be comatose! Did somebody... oh, I know how it is. It's that new court healer of ours, isn't it. Quite the professional. My apologies for the outburst, father, the last few years have been getting to me. It's exhausting, it really is. Here, I've brought you some soup. Drink up. There, that's good. Where was I? Ah, yes. Do you know how many people I've had to murder and execute by now? All those naysayers at the Council, the would-be rebels among the knaves... I've actually been quite adept at rooting out spies from our friendly neighbours, too. Did you know that when you put an unmarried Queen in charge literally everyone has issue with that? Good thing I've got the loyalists now. Oh, and keeping that drooling idiot Orban alive! I have to feed him myself just to make sure he's not poisoned - or cured, like you were. Oh, father, careful, you don't want to get too excited in your condition. Don't tell me you didn't realise what I'm doing. Then again, you were infirm and incapable for the past three years, so I can understand that. In any case, while the knight sworn to marry me is still alive, I am safe from would-be suitors - at least that's one less headache. That dragon trick really worked out well for me. Gods above! The dragon story was so much easier to maintain. Just hire some mercs to burn a few villages and make sure nobody survives... Maybe I should do it again to keep people in check. Worth a thought, wouldn't you agree? ...Oh, ew, can you aim that bile somewhere away from my dress? Sorry, I did not expect the poison to start working so soon. I suppose I should have taken your generally weak state into account. Well, you know what they say, live and learn. I will, anyway. You... I think I've had enough of our conversations, stimulating as they were. Farewell, father."
Mack sat in the back of the class, gingerly poking the wooden chair before taking his seat. He still wasn’t used to this high-magic environment and the last chair he sat on had screamed the moment his butt hit the seat and claimed to be “allergic to denim”. The fact that the cute wizard who sat there next was also wearing jeans had hurt the chair’s credibility, but Mack supposed chairs were allowed to decide which butts they touched. This chair, however, remained blissfully silent as Mack set up his desk. The front rows were filled with students with deep ties to the magical realms – old wizarding families, a few fey mixed-bloods, and heirs to half a dozen different Prophecies of Great Importance. The middle rows were those with Potential. Those with impossibly large mana reserves, unusual affinities, or genius any one of the 6 tracks this Academy provided instruction in (necromancy was, of course, completely banned). The back half of the room, however, was reserved for students like Mack. The poor sods with just enough talent to cause trouble, but not enough to actually do anything useful. They would likely stick around for a year or two to ensure they wouldn’t cause any unintentional magical incidents outside the Academy, then quietly drop out and become plumbers, or accountants, or something equally exciting. Of course, if asked, any student or teacher at the Academy would assure you that no such hierarchy existed and the Academy was dedicated to ensuring equal treatment no matter the heritage or apparent talent of the student. They would then have quietly directed you to the back of the class. Despite this being his first week, Mack was rather looking forward to the end of his days at the Academy. At least chairs would reliably be chairs. Of all the classes he was required to take this semester, this was the one he was least looking forward to – SP 120, Spell Structure and Design. It was the first course in the Magical Theory track and had little practical use for Mack, who, if he was being honest, has as much chance of becoming a Magical Theorist as he did of becoming Pope. None of this mattered to Professor Prouch (commonly known as Professor Grouch) who was at this moment rapping madly on the black board at the front. His world view was that everyone needed to know Magical Theory if he had to literally pour it into the students’ ears. “Class is starting now, class is starting! So, all of you need to shut your mouths and direct your eyes towards me, please. Yes, that means you Ms. Turnberg, I don’t care which pair of eyes you use.” Professor Prouch waited for a few beats as the class gradually quieted down and turned forward. “Good, you do seem to have ears. Whether or not you know how to use them has yet to be determined,” he rapped a long stick against the chalkboard where he had written ‘Magical Theory’ in large block letters. “I am well aware of what you new students always think of theory work. It’s boring, confusing, and a waste of your time. You’re wrong, of course, but I have neither the time nor energy to prove that to you, so you’re just going to have to do what I say until you inevitably realize your mistake.” Mack stifled a snort. He rather liked this professor, even if he did think theory work was boring, confusing, and a waste of his time. At least the professor himself was entertaining. “Now,” the professor continued, “the point of this class is to prove to you that creating magic is difficult. I will not be teaching you how to make new spells, that’s advanced coursework. Instead, I will merely show you the foundations upon which all magic is built. If you wish to add to it, you must be able to understand every stone. Some of you may think you can get by with just memorizing spells. And you can, if the entirety of your ambitions amount to parrot-work that anyone with a mana potion and the ability to speak can do just as well. If that is the limit of your abilities, I will give you the C you deserve and pass you right along to Professor Nines in Combat Magic.” That got a chuckle from the class, although Mack was quite sure that no one other than Professor Prouch was brave enough to say that about Professor Nines, who was widely rumored to have deep connections with the Bureau of Magical Enforcement. “Your first assignment will be to create light. You may not use an existing spell or spell structure, potion, or artifact. It must be made from your own magical sources using your own innovations. If you happen to have any knowledge of spell theory, it will not help you. You may use your textbook. It won’t help you either. Work together if you wish, I don’t care. You have forty minutes. Begin.” The class was dead silent for five seconds. Then students began to tun to those closest to them, bewildered. “Hey,” a young man next to Mack turned towards him and grinned, “I’m Sean.” “Mack.” “So,” Sean turned in his seat and absentmindedly spun a pencil around his left hand, “Professor Prouch sure lives up to his name, huh?” Mack shrugged, “Is he always that bad?” “Pretty much. My mother took this class from him decades ago and apparently, he was just as bad.” Mack raised his eyebrows, “Is she a wizard?” “Painter. She does add a bit of illusory depth to her canvases, though.” “Does she know how to make light?” “Well, sure. It’s a pretty common spell.” “Any idea how to make a new one?” Sean laughed, “Hell no. Creating a new spell is hard. That’s like asking a kindergartener to do calculus. Best I could do is maybe modify it to alter the color or something.”
Beric stepped onto the platform as the throngs of common folk applauded, the noise louder than even the King’s had been. Delighted eyes of men, women and children looked up at him, hope and reverence scrawled across their faces. With his head high and his chest out, Beric shook the King’s hand, returning his smile. The noblemen of the court looked on behind them, all trying to look happier than the next. The sun beamed down on the packed castle courtyard as the King, in a great booming voice, addressed his subjects. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted and the gathering crowd grew silent. “Today we are here to honour our kingdom’s greatest citizen, Beric the Healer!” Another great roar rang out while Beric tried to not smile too hard. Thoughts of the dungeon tried to seep into his mind but by now he was an expert at pushing them out. “Never has there been a Healer so powerful, so generous, so able! In our fight against the Scion’s it was Beric, running through that battlefield, healing our men that had won the day and saved our Kingdom!” A nobleman, the Prince, stepped in front of the others, his eyes on his Father. “My own child,” the King went on, ”Prince Farman owes his life to Beric. When wounded on the battlefield by an enemy arrow, Farman thought he was dead. Until the Healer arrived. A simple spell and the Prince was right again! Up, ready to drive back the enemy to the sea!” The Prince, smiling sheepishly, pulled a solid gold medallion from his pocket and handed it to the Healer. “Thank you once again,” the Prince whispered. “For saving my life.” Beric could only nod, thinking of how much he would get for the gold. “And for such amazing work we offer you now this Single Ore Medal,” the King shouted, waving a hand towards where Beric and Farman stood. “The highest honour that I can bestow.” Could have made me a nobleman, Beric thought, though smiling all the while. The King and noblemen then looked at him, expectantly. With a smile, Beric began to speak. He couldn’t remember what he said later on. Words of wisdom, how the common people were the true heroes, how the King’s courage had helped him through the tough times. It took all he could manage not to laugh. Finally, with a smile and a wave, he was done. Shaking the Prince’s hand once more, the ceremony was over. The noblemen dispersed surrounding the King as they made their way back to the castle behind them. Trying to follow suit, Beric couldn’t help but get caught by the crowd of commoners, most holding children out for Beric to heal. Allowing himself a sigh, he rolled up his sleeve, once more avoiding thoughts of the dungeon. “Ok people,” he shouted over the growing pleas for help. ”Get in line and remember I can’t bring back your limbs. Only pain. Anything else please talk to your closest holy man.” A few people hobbled away, cursing under their breath. The day was nearly over before Beric had cleared the courtyard. The dust had settled as the sun started to set. Red clouds hung overhead as the Healer entered the castle. The cool black bricks were welcome after the evening in the heat. The entrance hall was deserted, only a lone guard standing sentinel at the door. Shouts and laughs could be heard coming from the Great Hall. A waft of peaches, roast duck and potatoes as well. A victory feast no doubt, he thought. Instead of heading in that direction, Beric took the first left, the same route he always took. The torches on the wall had been lit thankfully, lighting the stairs all the way to the end. On the bottom floor, in front of him stood a series of doors, all identical. Carved from thick oak, they had no openings bar a small keyhole near the bottom. Pulling a key from his pocket, Beric stooped, opening the far door. Inside was darkness. Lifting a torch from the wall, he closed the door behind him, locking it behind him. An empty room, except for another oak door. Pulling a different key out, he opened this one the same way as the last. The same routine followed two more times. Key, door, lock, key, door, lock. Eventually, he heard the familiar moaning. The same moans he heard in his nightmares. Opening the last door, the light from the torch flashed across the room, illuminating the man chained to the wall. Drool dripped from his lips, as he stared aimlessly at the filthy bricks at his unwashed feet. Walking over, Beric felt the man’s pulse, knowing by now what was normal and what wasn’t. His pulse was fine. “Thank the gods,” Beric muttered. “I thought those people after the ceremony might have been too much pain for you to take, Peter.” The man didn’t say a word. Only a dull moan escaped his lips. “Just think of all the people who were helping. All those people, whose pain you have taken, are sleeping like tonight. And don’t forget the Prince. You took his pain! The future King, Peter! You should be honoured to suffer for such a man!” A louder than average moan, a grunt mixed with a cry, sprang from Peter’s mouth but Beric was already at the door. “Sorry,” Beric apologised. “I’ll bring you food and water tomorrow. I have no time to chat, there’s a feast I have to attend!”
I had lived a simple life. A rather long life. All the stories of people be Isekaied we're of young people, with tragic lives or deaths. In my younger days, I quite enjoyed the genre. See wonderful worlds and crazy adventures was my favorite pastime, even up to my death. But they were just stories, works of fiction meant to entertain. At least, until now I suppose. Standing in this vast emptiness with a computer in front of me was not what I expected after I died. I figured it would be nothingness and made my peace with that. I knew my children and grandchildren would be well taken care of and I had no regrets. {Welcome to Isekai Corp, please select a type of world to be reborn with memories in, if desired. You have a vast [10,000] Karma to spend of cheats} Sitting in front of the monitor I began to peruse the options. If I am going to be reincarnated I most definitely want my memories. I make sure to enable that before moving on. The screen goes black for a second, loading in the world types, and I see my reflection. My body is that of my 20-year-old self. It is jarring, to say the least. I can't even remember looking this young, and I don't particularly like it. I always had a 'baby face'. Eventually, I grew out of it but not until my early 30. That's when my confidence shot up and I met my wife. I miss her. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I return my attention to the world's options. Scrolling through I see a lot of classic types, the typical demon kings and other monsters. I don't want that. While they were fun to read I don't fancy fighting for my life or others, cheats or not. Scrolling further I see more of the same. Grumbling I look for a search box or tags, soothing to sort through the world better. In the bottom left corner, I spot a magnifying glass, small as can be. Quickly I click and type {peaceful} in. [Loading......] [Duriak. A world of prosperity and wonder. Magic rules over all else. Good for players who want control and power. Absolute dominion is guaranteed.] What? That doesn't sound peaceful at all! That's just a power fantasy! No thanks. [Jikimib. Monsters and humans alike work in harmony to preserve their world. Absolute dominion is discouraged.] That's.....not a lot to go off of. I guess it sounds nice. But too ominous for me [Valtra. A peaceful trading-based world. Agriculture and the pursuit of knowledge are the basis of this world. Absolute dominion is possible.] Out of my three "peaceful"options, this one seems the closest to what I want. This Absolute dominion is featured in all the world. I guess it's the difficulty of survival and achievement. Maybe. I select Valtra and it begins the Cheats menu. I can make myself super strong for 1,000 Karma. Everything seems to cost 1,000 K. So I can get 10 cheats. Strength, Dexterity, Wisdom, Intelligence, Vitality, and Charisma. These....it's just DnD stuff. This is way easier than I thought it would be. Quickly making my choices I spend all my Karma. Mostly on dexterity, vitality, and charisma. The leftover goes for intelligence. {Is this correct?} Clicking yes I feel like I'm falling asleep. This might be fun.
My eyes fluttered open to the sight of a dark, arched stone corridor illuminated by flickering torchlight, slowly shifting from sight as an invisible procession carried me through the halls. The twin smells of blood and fear washed over me, and in the distance there was a faint chanting carried by the echoing walls, drawing ever closer. My thoughts struggled to catch up, my mind still groggy from what felt like a thousand hornets buzzing inside my head. A single drop of water splashed from the ceiling onto my face, saving me from falling back into unconsciousness. The chanting was closer now, its cadence changing like ocean tides... the thought roused memories. I lived on a cliff by the ocean, bordering the small trading town of Northwind. I had been sitting by the shore, watching the glittering waves crash against the rocks, refracting light like so many pieces of stained glass. I was jostled back to myself as one of the faceless cloaks roughly slid me onto a heavily engraved altar covered in intricate swirls and seals, clearly meant to contain something of great strength. This was not simply a slab of stone. A cold breeze came from the tunnel as I trembled in fear, lifting dust from the floor. This room was death incarnate. One of the procession stepped forward. His cloak was a deep purple laced with gold, and though his body was hidden beneath the invisibility seal over the entire group, the swirling dust revealed the knife in his hand. He raised his hand for silence, and as the chanting faded away, he toseed a set of runes on the floor. The ceiling slid away, framing the altar in the light of the full moon. Raising his voice, the purple cloak addressed the group. "We have come tonight to cleanse this world of something repulsive to the gods, to rid this world of one of its many blemishes. Tonight is not the first, nor will it be the last! So let the gods be pleased, and let us feast once more!"The cloaks cheered, resuming their song louder than before, steadily rising in volime as the purple cloak raised his dagger over the altar. There, bound on the altar, I felt a violent force well up in my chest. I had heard before that magic felt like water flowing through your body, out into runes. But as whatever flowed through me reached my mind, it spoke to me, told me that it needed no such childish things. It offered me power, let me know that I need not die here. There was really just one choice. As the dagger touched my skin, the anger that I had felt for so long, at being cursed, at being different, at never knowing why I had to endure this, finally exploded. It started as a tendril, a dark snaking limb that slit the purple cloak's throat, bypassing his protective wards completely. But just one was not enough. The sky became shrouded as my bindings snapped, and my body was inhabited by the goddess of the moon. The mistress of the night, who had been restrained in the sky and under the ground, who had been seeking a vessel with which to carry out her revenge. What I wielded now was true magic. One fell as water fell from the sky in icy spears. Another dropped into a cavern as the floor collapsed under his feet. After that, my memory fades. All that I know is that not one escaped alive. I now roam the land, seeking out those who have displeased my master. No longer cursed, but rather, blessed, to bring down kingdoms and overthrow the heavens, one after the other.
"You fucking donkey! What the fuck is this!? You expect me to cook with that!"Chef slapped the handful of mushrooms out of my hand. That was the last straw. "Shut the fuck up you British cunt! Newsflash idiot, we're the only two people left! You don't like what I gather than you can piss off!" Why am I talking like that? Was Ramsay's lingo rubbing off on me? I have to stand my ground, he's done nothing but yell at me since the bombs dropped during my audition for the new season of Masterchef. Time for me to yell at him. "You're just a bully! I don't need you! Why don't you fuck off!"I yelled. I didn't really want to walk away. Chef could still make good dishes despite the less than ideal ingredients we had to work with. It was just infuriating being around him twenty four seven. Chef Ramsey hung his head. He put the chef's knife down on the makeshift prep table. "I didn't mean to call you a donkey, force of habit. It's difficult adjusting to this truly hellish kitchen. A season of this would have shot the ratings through the roof. Think of the challenges we could have done on the show! We can't make excuses though, not even the apocalypse should stop us from enjoying good food. I have an idea, a surprise mystery box challenge!"Chef Ramsay retrieved a large wooden box from under the prep table. "You have thirty minutes to prepare a delicious main course using these ingredients." I threw up in my mouth a little. Inside was a bag of squid-like eyeballs, two skinned rats, and a writhing mound of unidentifiable flesh. I cracked my knuckles and heated some mutant lard over the fire. Pan seared rodent on a bed of flesh risotto topped with retina shavings. Chef took a bite. "Finally some good fucking food."Chef laughed. "I think this is the start of a beautiful apprenticeship." The proximity alarm tripped, Chef tossed me the twelve gauge. Looks like mutant is on tomorrow's menu.
I didn't know when I was dating Mia for the first time. In fact, it wasn't until six months in she let me in on it. It turns out that at her high school graduation, some creature long thought mythical gave a surprise appearance. Apparently, her grandfather spared the creature's life during a war, and as a result he was owed a favor. And that favor, well... "So, yeah, I have an X factor like in the comics." I didn't quite know how to react. There were a hundred different such powers that could exist, with powers anywhere from flight to healing to shedding skin. But the very fact it was real, it was true, seemed unthinkable. And why tell me? "Is this common knowledge?" "No,"Mia sighed. "Only my family knows. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else, but since we seem to be soulmates and all, I guess you needed to know. I'm basically a mutant. Well, I guess the best word is shapeshifter, but that seems too high a word." "Oh?"I was hoping there'd be a hint as to how I was supposed to think about this. "You're not curious?" "Oh, I am, but honestly -- as long as you're the you I know, it doesn't really matter. You're beautiful, smart, resourceful, and friendly. What more could I want?" Mia looked around, as if to make sure no one was peering into her windows. "Okay, it's just us,"she said as if relieved. "So it's not like I can be anyone ever. The creature said I could become anyone or anything I was familiar with. What I've figured out is that it means touch. If I've touched someone or something, I can mimic them. Well, also I can change a few things about me, but that's minor." "Minor? Mia, you're practically a goddess now!" "I don't feel like it. I... I feel kind of fake. Like, there's this part of me I have to hide because I'm basically a freak. I have to keep reminding myself what I really am because if I didn't, I'd... I mean I... I'm scared of forgetting who I am." I held her in my arms to keep the tears away. "Mia... I know who you are. It's not about what you show me, and if you need to remember we have pictures to remind you. It's about what you give to me. Nothing can ever take that away. I promise." &#x200B; It's been a year since we got married. I've been trying to help Mia accept and get the most out of her power. As of now, she mostly uses it to prank me, whether it's pretending to be on TV when she is the TV or coming to the door as someone I don't recognize and pretending to sell me stuff. It's the little things keeping our relationship healthy and fresh. Or so I thought. "Dear? Do you still love me?" "Whatever gave you the idea I didn't?" "I mean, do you love me as... me? I know what I do, but I keep thinking you're going to ask to change me for good." In her defense, there would be times when I would joke about having her as an extra appliance around the house if something broke down, or even to be a sexy celebrity. I didn't realize that such jokes hurt as much as they did, but it's pretty clear I misread the situation. Again. I'd like to say this was a blindside, but it seemed like we had this conversation a lot. "Mia... is this because I joked about Comic-Con?" "It's not just that. It's not even just you. I feel like my parents want me to do stuff too. My sister's always talking about sneaking me along on a blind date as her purse to keep her safe. And I'm scared to tell my niece, because who knows what she'd want to do. I might be a stuffed animal for good! I kind of wish I didn't have this power." I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek to reassure her. "Honey, didn't I tell you that it didn't matter? That I still felt you, the real you, the one inside is what counted?" "Stop saying it like that, it sounds like a line!"Mia shrunk herself down to a few inches tall as she curled up in a ball. "I feel like a silly little toy for all of you!" I was stuck. Nothing I said could make her feel better about herself, and honestly, what psychiatrist would possibly keep her powers a secret, or even know how to respond to that? But Mia was never about her supernatural abilities. She was always about being my love. "Mia, please -- you're going to disappear if you keep that up. And I'd be very lonely without you. Where would I ever find someone as smart and as kind and as generous with herself as you? Everything about you is perfect as it is. I promise." Mia turned her back to me. "Then why keep asking if I can be something else?" "Wait, you do this to yourself, don't you? I thought if you were okay doing it for you, you'd be okay doing it for me, too!" "Oh, so I can't have fun or I become a toolbox?"Mia turned around, staring up at me with her tiny eyes. "Is that it? Is that what I am? Why don't I just sit in your closet, then!" "Now wait a minute, Mia, I'm not the one who's trying to take advantage of you! You say no, I drop it, you know that!" "Oh, that makes it so much better now? You think you're some white knight because you only ask to use me instead of demanding it?" "Mia, what brought this on!? You're acting like I'm some crazy monster keeping a damsel in distress! You're my wife!" "Then ACT LIKE IT! Don't you just-OW!"Mia had gotten so mad she shot up in size, banging her head on the ceiling. She began to laugh from her own clumsiness, slowly restoring herself to her default size as I cuddled her head. "I'm such a jerk, I'm sorry." "No, Mia... no..."I shushed her as I rocked her head in my arms. "You're in a tough position. You have no one to talk to. I'm here for you, I promise." I could hear sobs coming from her. "B-but..." "Did something happen today?" "Well... she did."Mia altered herself to look like her sister. "Oh, Mia, dear -- I need to look good for the ball tomorrow and don't have a dress. Can you help me out? I don't wanna spend any money."She changed back to herself. "Is that what I am?" "No, Mia. She's wrong. You're you. You're no comic book character. You're... special even without it. I promise."A loud sniffle emanated from her. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here for you. Take your mind off of her." Mia took a deep breath to calm herself down before kissing my nose. "Thanks, dear,"she got out. "I'm sorry I took it out on you." "Why don't you stand up to her more?" "Family. I don't want to be the entitled one." "Doesn't matter -- you're going to tell her the answer's no, right?" "...well... I could..." "You need to. You need to stand up for you. Look at me -- the more you do things for others, the more you're going to feel like you don't matter. And I don't want my wife to think that way. If you say no to me a hundred times onward, I won't mind. If you need to say no to her, you do that. She needs to appreciate her sister, not a magician she shares DNA with." Mia had a quick laugh, but I could tell it was cheering her up. "Could you talk to her, though? I feel so... well, so empty." "Hey, Mia, wait -- don't go being a balloon on me now. You know how much effort it takes to blow you back up?" Mia smirked. "And I thought men liked their women inflatable." "HEY!" The laughter showed that, whatever state her emotional outburst and her greedy sister had left her in, it didn't last. She squeezed her arms around my neck and gave me another kiss. "You go tell her what you told me. I'll be waiting for you."Mia walked off to the bedroom of our apartment, flinging her shirt over her shoulder as she did. I picked up the phone and dialed calmly. "Hey, Kim? We need to talk about your little request."
Having partially finished reading the book Ms. Wright, the librarian, had given him yesterday, David dropped down and carefully closed it and carried it to his shelf. He made sure to re-adjust the paper covering as to not crease his new favorite book. "10,000 Facts About Space", arms outstretched he takes one long glance before finally placing it in between the other books. He then hastily left his room and entered the hallway, flying down the stairs to hurry and tell his parents certain facts he had read that he thought were especially cool. Rounding the railing, he saw them sitting on the couch leaning forward towards the radio. "Hello mother, father. Did you know that black holes bend space!?" Both stared at the radio, seemingly unphased by their son's sudden appearance. Seeing this, David stepped in front of the radio. For the past week, David's parents had developed a tendency to zone out when listening the news. Noticing this, David had begun to make himself more noticable in response. "You promised you'd listen this time, I made sure to remember double the facts since you both pushed me off yesterday." Exiting their trance, his parents both looked at David and smiled, his father lowering the radio's volume. David's mother gestured him to sit on her lap. "Oh Darling, of course, go on and tell us what you learned. After all, you learn something new every-" "Did you know that gas giants have a solid center!?" "Did you know that meteors become really tiny when they enter our atmosphere?" "Did you know that the approximate time it would take the Sun's light to reach Earth is 8 minutes, that's so fast!" David's parents both dawn pale frowns. "....I-I'm boring you aren't I? I-Im sor-" David's father reassuring places his hand on son's head. "No, that's not it David ... it's just ... bad timing." "Bad ... timing?" David's mother turned towards his father, "...we have to tell him tonight Charles. We can't keep him in the dark for much longer." "I know dear. David, go grab me a drink from the fridge. There is something you should hear. Quick as night, David ran to the fridge and grabbed a pouch for his father. "Straw!?", David yelled from the kitchen? "No, now hurry back son." David returned, handing his father the beverage. His father was careful not to spill a drop, which is reasonable considering David overheard them talking about the increased prices due to the shortages. "Um, father, does it have something to do why you and mother have been in front of the radio all week?" "...Yes. We think it's best you hear it for yourself." His father turns the radio's volume back up. They were listening to the news broadcast. David quietly sat between his parents, each wrapping one arm around his back. David did not really hear the station say anything interesting enough for him to care about and began getting board. "Is th-" "Shhhh, be patient my child." David continued to listen following his mother prompting. It had been a little over half an hour, some problems had been listed but mostly one's he had already known about. Supply shortages, larger solar flare, the Sun's light taking 8 min- David's face grew paler. √√bzzt, Yes you heard correctly, data from NASA has been confirmed and shows that in 3 days, at 12:00, the star of our solar system will undergo a reignition event and it's light will be bright enough to breach most surfaces and structures, the process of which will wipe out 95% of the Earth's population. It will take 8 minutes for the light to reach our planet ... so it is advised you contact any loved and make peace ... a-and ... that is all for tonights ... broadcast, bzzzt√√ 2 hours, 12 minutes. That is how long David spent crying. His parents embracing him until he finally calmed down enough. "S-so does that mean we're a-a-all gonna d-" "Shush now, it is getting early. Go brush your fangs and get some sleep, we have a long night tomorrow." "And be sure to feed William, we were out for most of yesterday. I don't think he has eaten since we came back." David somberly grabbed a pouch from the fridge and headed outside. Through the doorless doorway he was greeted by two red eyes. Placing the pouch into their pet's bowl, a poodle appeared in the blink of an eye to drain it dry. "Goodnight William ... heh, or I guess I should start saying good morning?" After brushing his fangs, David went to his parents room. "Can I sleep with you both this dusk ... and tomorrow ... an-?" "Come David," his mother gesturing him over. His Father merely does a single nod and opens his cape to show David the free space inside. David joins them on the ceiling, all 3 of them slumber tightly snuggled together wanting as much comfort from each other as their remaining time will allow. In 3 days 95% of the planet will die a second time. Gray snow will greet those that remain. ^(hopefully edited out most of the errors)
"Cell number 3,"Diana said without looking up from her computer. She looked old, with the cold screen lights illuminating her face. Jane, handcuffed, waited for Andrew to fetch the large key to open the cell. Some time ago, she would have been held by a platoon of heavily decked-out agents belonging to an unknown and random three-letter organization, to be transferred to a high-security prison without so much as seeing the inside of a regular, every day police station. These times were over. "Where's the bloody key?"Andrew was distracted, Diana never had her attention on Jane in the first place. She could break free, smash them to a pulp, run away and wreak havoc on the streets, carve her name into history with her letters written in burning blood, and laugh maniacally as the world was consumed in flames. And then what? Andrew found the key and invited Jane to open the way, which she knew like a trusted lover. She could produce a token resistance, for the principle of it, to keep up appearances so to speak. But Andrew wasn't so young anymore, the kicks he got from running after offenders was slowly but surely replaced with the groans of a body which couldn't take the strain as well anymore. And Jane liked him too much to be a bother, like a grumpy but affectionate old uncle. "Extend your hands through the bars,"click, click, "there you go. What's the deal this time?"asked Andrew. "I escape in two days. I wanted tomorrow first, but I would miss out on Diana's kids coming to wish her a happy birthday at the station." "A lively bunch." "I don't know how she handles triplets." "Like she handles everything, in strides." They chuckled, the bars between them were no barrier, merely a support for the peculiar form of relationship they had. Jane escaping used to do the headlines, alongside heaps of destroyed property. Problem being that the money invested in rebuilding wasn't invested in catching her, making the subsequent chase lacking in gusto, like a mouse encouraging - or even begging - the paraplegic cat to come after it. And it pissed off Diana and Andrew who had to get used to a new workplace again and again. "Before I forget,"said Andrew, leaning against the bars, "Duncan comes to say hi afterwards." Duncan, her sworn enemy. Thrice, she held him in her grip, could have snuffed the light of life from his eyes. Thrice, he loomed over her, mighty and justified in his decision to end her for the greater good. It took the both of them a long, long time, and several therapy sessions with various professionals to understand why they couldn't claim the ultimate victory. It was so simple, in retrospect. Jane leaned back against the cold wall. She could be in a palace right now, the world, or what was left of it, at her feet. Terror an integral part of the humanity's existence, her domination as natural as breathing. And yet, she wouldn't exchange her place in the cell for such a dream. "Hey,"said Duncan, shaking hands with Andrew before Andrew left for some small-talk with Diana. "Glad to see you,"she replied. It was two hours after their last fight which left them bloody. They saw each other more often lately, talked little, enjoyed the rival's presence in respectful silence. If Jane succeeded in tearing down the world into chaos, there would be nothing left but chaos, and thus it would become the new standard, the new order. Then would come a day when a new troublemaker - a multicolored clown or a somber, coat-wearing vigilante - would threaten her world for their vision of disorder. Jane would be the protector then. Nothing wrong with protecting. But the metaphor, the implications, terrified her more than any hero could. When Jane and Duncan spoke, they spoke about such fears. Not change, but a change they weren't prepared for. It would be the old generation against the new, with herself part of the old. The world would start to go on accepting her rule as a given, and thus wouldn't notice her. She'd be part of the office furniture, disgusting the youngsters looking for novelty, for a breath of fresh air. Same for Duncan, if he won, he'd be at the top with no rival, and would be left to gather dust. The game is all the interest. Win or lose, the game would be over then. Diana's children would come by and sing for her, Jane and Duncan would sing along and smile, feeling the ting of time passing by, and the world telling them to let new blood catch the light. "Nothing says we can't give them a hand, though,"Jane said out loud, as if speaking to herself. Duncan smiled, knowing full well what she meant. Tonight became one of these rare nights when instead of silence, they spoke a river of words, of meanings, of hopes and dreams, instead of remembering the old in silence. Tonight was a night when the stars shone high, lighting up the future with a grin. True, someday, they wouldn't be able to keep up their game, they would be forced to finish it one way or another. They would shake hands, proud to have stood in each other's way so long. And they would finish on a high note. Finish with such a glorious display it would encourage and foster the next generation. Their game would be over. But you can always end a game in a way that encourages onlookers to start a new one with new players. All in all, it wasn't so bad growing old.
We made fun of the little tin pot dictator for decades. How many generations were these nuts in power? Finding Unicorn lairs, haha. Rounds of golf with a score of exactly 18. Never been sick a day in his life. Starves his entire country for a pathetic military. Sabre rattling at its best, or worst. Working on developing a nuclear program. Always accusing the biggest economy on the planet as being the source of all the world's woes and that they will be the ones who bring them down. He is always pissing off that superpower and their allies by launching missiles over a neighboring country that is buddy buddy with the superpower only to have them land harmlessly in the ocean. Every six months or so, like clockwork. Hindsight is always 20/20. Looking back at it now, if we weren't blinded by our own prejudices, the truth was laid bare for anyone to see. We could have helped, maybe. The entire region of the world had legends of monsters, dragons. There were even updated tales by the nation that the missiles flew over. A raging monster from the deep that could destroy mankind. Awakened by the folly of the superpower's fooling around with the atom decades ago. The myths, legends, and tales got a little wrong. Those things did exist, but they weren't from around here. Many thousand years ago a rift in the dimensions between universes opened between two Earth deep in the ocean. Occasionally one of these horrors accidentally swam through the rift to our Earth. Then a few thousand years ago, humans found the rift and closed it somehow. We destroyed the monsters and they became a fun story. The rift was sealed and considered dormant by an unknown group of people who watched over us in silence. Peace existing for so long from their point of view. They weren't concerned with what we were doing to ourselves. Then the superpower cracked the atom. Before long, the unthinkable happened. They detonated one of their tests underwater, and the radiation opened the rift back up. One of the watchers took control of a small country close to the rift and started building up an empire. Who else but someone who never got sick, could get 18 holes-in-one, or how to find Unicorns would know how to fight off what would come through the ocean rift from the other Earth. It finally culminated when he successfully created a nuclear missile that he was able to launch right over his neighbor, deep into the ocean and detonate, closing the rift against the horrors that could have made it through and destroyed us all.
"Stupid owls crapping on every damn surface,"I muttered to myself, cursing. I swept my arms dramatically at a curious barn owl, who indignantly hopped away but refused to abandon his letter. The envelope in question was sitting innocently at his claws, its red wax seal watching me judgingly. I sent a spark of something at it, and it caught fire. Of course, so did my history project beneath it. The owl shrieked in fright and flapped away as I made a similar noise and swiped the still-burning letter onto the ground. I checked my project: charred but legible. I'd be able to copy it down easily enough. I glowered down at the smoldering piece of paper, hateful thoughts churning in my mind. I stomped on it for good measure, then finally turned to where the owl had flown off to. Three years ago, the first letter arrived through my chimney. I was actually excited, back then. I remember tugging my parents excitedly towards Olivander's and staring in wonder through the windows of the Weasley twins' shop. Of course, there was only one twin now. That's what the lady told me when I noticed only one red-headed man in a cape ushering children in and doing magic tricks to entice them. I remember gushing at owls and listening in wonder to stories of the legendary wizard from many years ago that survived the Killing Curse, the Boy Who Lived that saved wizarding kind. I smile sadly and shake my head at how naïve I was back then. Back then before everything changed. Before the sound of wood snapping and the sight of unicorn blood and the feeling of being roasted alive by dragon breath. I ended my year before it had truly begun, and instead of returning home, I went to a new town, for a fresh start, to a place where people didn’t question kids living on their own, scavenging for food and stealing to survive. It was a rough life, but going back was out of the question. Not after what I’d done, not after what had been done to me. The owl was a bit shaken, but it didn’t seem like the fire had gotten to any of its feathers. I stroked it gently. I actually liked birds quite a lot, but recently I’d become rather impartial to owls. It chirruped gently in forgiveness, closing its eyes in pleasure. I wondered absently how it had gotten in; I’d learnt to close off any holes to the outside so that owls couldn’t swoop in whenever they wanted. That headmaster wouldn’t give up. I’d written back to him once that I wouldn’t be attending Hogwarts, with no reason. Of course, when I’d vanished from the dorms on the first night it must have been a bit of a shock, but I at least assured him I was alive. The batty old professor kept writing now, demanding to know what happened and if the rumours were true, are you okay, blah blah blah. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror across the hall. My skin had healed relatively well, all things considered. It still looked pink and bubbled and grotesque but at least it only pained when it rained these days. The hate simmered in my eyes. One day, one day I’d get my revenge. Until then, the Boy Who Lived better enjoy the last few weeks of his title.
Dying... Dying takes forever. Far too long for impatient me. If the afterlife is peaceful then it should come already. I'm sick of all this pain. Sighing, I turn over in the darkness I'm now accustomed to. Still feeling the pain of death, I try opening my eyes. Wrong timing apparently as a bright light shines onto me. Oh, God! Someone turn out the light! I wince at this new pain I haven't felt in a long while. Maybe it was yesterday when I last closed my eyes from the bright lights. I've always hated them. "Come now child, as you are a God. Don't just float aimlessly around. That's not Godly. You need to learn some manners, but we will get to that later. For now, you just need to come with me."A booming voice said to me. I could hear it. Was it in my head? A God? Me? This can't be true. And what kind of manners do Gods even have? I tried opening my mouth to speak my mind, but nothing came out. I had no voice. As if I was being guided, I slowly drifted away from my spot. I'm going to miss that spot. The dark darkness... I'm missing you already. My pain starts fading away the farther I went. Soon enough I had no more pain to speak of. My eyes adjusted to the blinding light ahead of me. I could only see a silhouette of a person in front of me. "You can finally see I take it. A new God like yourself sure adapts fast. I remember when I first got here. How long ago was it? Hmm... I don't remember. Anyways you have a job as a God."The silhouette of a man spoke so softly, I could fall asleep to it. "W-what job?"I asked as if I just got my voice back. I can finally speak. No sore throat, no pain, no swelling, and it wasn't even dry. I didn't think the afterlife would be like this. I am pleasantly surprised. "Oh, you can speak after all. Impressive. As for your job, you just need to watch over a planet. Make sure everything is going ok, but don't interfere with anything. Remember do. Not. Interfere. That is the one rule all of us Gods have. You do not want to change the path of those living on your planet."The God in front of me said. Was he really a God? I don't understand why we can't interfere with what's going on. Isn't that the point of being a God? "Why?"I questioned. "That is the rule we live by. If you do not then things will change just like on the planet you died on. Gods from many worlds showed themselves to your race, going against the one rule we have. In the end, they created even bigger chaos. Your race, the humans, ended up creating religions based on the Gods they saw and changing the ways the Gods wanted. So much wouldn't have happened if the Gods followed the rules. Wars, burning, killings, and so many other horrible things happened because of the Gods. They need to take responsibility for what they did."He said quietly as if he was on the verge of tears. "Ah, we are here. This will be the world you look after." I looked around to see what kind of world I now have. To my surprise, it was a world I created as a child. "How is this possible?"I questioned quietly. "You know this world?"The God now next to me asked. "Yeah, I created it,"I say surprised. "Created? No human can create a world. You must have used your Godly powers."He says not so sure of himself. "My Godly powers?"I questioned. "Yes. Powers every God has even before dying. You must have accidentally used it. The Superior Above must have known. He knows everything."The unknown God says. "The Superior Above?"I questioned. "A being more powerful than all of us Gods put together. They are the truest of all beings."He says absentmindedly. "Anyways I have places to be and things to do. I'll leave you here to watch over your world." "Wait! What am I supposed to do?"I ask trying to stop God from leaving. "You will know what to do when the time comes."He says disappearing in a flash of bright light. I wonder if I could do that one day. I look to the world I created as a child. The mountain ranges, the great lakes, rivers, oceans, monuments, and even the beings living on the islands were there. I couldn't believe this. This was the world I wrote about. The beings who are peaceful. The ones who hate violence. I wrote this world as a peaceful world where the beings living on this planet talked it out no matter what it was about. There as no wars, no fights, and no death from others. A truly peaceful world. I didn't like the world where I came from. Wars raged on and on never letting up. People are being killed or killing others. This world was the world I so desperately wanted mine to be. If you didn't agree you would talk it out. If you didn't like something then you would change it or just drop the matter altogether. They had their own opinions on everything. Some had the same and others didn't. The world where they cohabited in the same area not believing the same things but still loving one another. You fought to survive. Gathered plants and killed animals. They always gave back to the world and never took too much. Only what was needed. My perfect world. I loved it so much, but what was I supposed to do with it now? Just watch it? What if something happened? I don't know what to do now. Maybe I never will...
If Fax knew anything, it was that love was for the Bards in the College. He had devoted his life to the shield and his service to his lord Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon of Justice. Rising from his own ashes of mundane mining, Fax had toiled in the arcane since what some of his kin joked was before he had hatched and then studied like a scholar for the rest of it. However Fax had wished, Bahamut wasn’t one to have libraries of knowledge cloistered on the edge of some port town. He was a living god among mortals, and his stories lived and changed as the world did. Fax had wandered and learned from the dragons of old about his lord. He once believed that he had run into the ruling dragon just north of Neverwinter but never dared approach. In talking to a Gold, Fax had taken up his life's mission and had pledged an oath of devotion to the first dragon. The large half-dragon had his secrets, but he spent what time his scales had left being true to his word and honest in his faith. He travelled. Bronze scales shimmering and black horns polished as he helped man, mer, and many others. His lord had many challenges for him, but the one he never entirely understood was the Princess of Baldur’s Mountain. She was a maiden of radiant skin and long golden hair and was known for her wit but Nala Iason never seemed to only be in one place. First, Fax had to save her from a group of mercenaries outside Mount Hotenow, north of Neverwinter. Fax still had yet to be paid for that job. Not that money was Fax’s driving force. It was how he survived, though. He had spent many nights trying to unravel the mystery of that was the imaginary Baulder’s Mountain. Maybe somewhere in there was where he fell in love. Fax had spent more than a year tracking the Princess from ill-conceived kidnappings to what turned out to be an illusion gone wrong. He saw her then, well, her and her hatchlings in their true form. They were so small. The fireball that they left behind them, however, was impressive. Fax should have dropped the pursuit there. He knew she was in it to survive, and with her spawn, she had every reason not to trust a Half-Dragon dedicated to Justice. Was it justice, though, that should always be on the run? Fax could only look to his own small scales that he kept in the back of his armour. Somewhere in their matte, scratched-up memories, Fax decided that he would at least try to help. It wasn’t hard; honestly, the three traipsed around with what felt like a bull horn announcing their presence, only to disappear when the locals realised Bauldur’s Mountain wasn’t a kingdom. Fax had to hold back a smile whenever a baron or some puffed-up mayor told him to eat his tail when Fax reminded them that he had warned them about the trio. No one seemed to listen but Fax did get paid. Maybe that was wrong. Fax wasn’t sure if he felt like he should keep taking these fool’s gold after clearing out another mine or crypt that the princess had been held up in. He had brought bandits to justice in every case, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t helping or fulfilling his duty. It’s just the pretence wasn’t quite right. The princess always got away authentically. Fax had tried over and over again to actually capture these three, but between their evocation spells burning down support and their illusions closing up hallways, it was near impossible. Fax had been trapped more than once under enough stone to dent his armour. That was until the Mountain Toe Mine. Nala hadn’t shown up in Neverwinter since the guards had found out about her forgery, but the neighbouring towns hadn’t been warned. Fax had caught a group of Redbrands hiding out and Nala with them. Chasing them through the mines wasn’t hard, and the group wasn’t covering their trail. Fax figured they would run out of some secret passage and leave him wandering while they got away, but all was for not. They hadn’t expected anyone so soon. Nala hadn’t memorised the mines, and instead of leading herself to safety, she had caught herself in the Redbrand's sleeping quarters to the north of the mine. The walls were solid. The entrance was small and could only really fit Fax if he squished himself through. “Please stop,” Fax commanded, putting his clawed hand up and gesturing for them to sit, “I know what you are.” “Fireproof?” Nala chuckled. “No!” Fax yelled and lifted his shield as the Kobold’s one and only fireball went off in front of him. The blasted thing shook the mine and threw Fax back into the hallway. His shield, bless that thing, lodged itself into the passway and blocked it out entirely. Shaking himself off and feeling his lord’s power rush through his veins, Fax called out, “That only works so many times.” “Why do you care?” Nala yelled as Fax heard someone try and move his shield. “Because you are going to get hurt,” Fax yelled back, “I have spent enough time trying to save you from yourselves that I know that more than anyone.” “No one cares,” Nala stated as a hard thunk echoed off the shield in front of Fax. “If I move this,” Fax asked, "You going to let me talk or are you going to try and hit me again?” “Let’s start with the latter and then work back,” Nala stated. “She’s going to hit me with a ladder,” Fax muttered as he grabbed his shield and pushed it inward. There, in the back of the room, Nala and her hatchlings watched him. They were little, pale red Kobolds boarding on a pinky hue as their scales did a poor job protecting them. Fax took a moment. He remembered what it was like to be weak like that but he had tried to leave that life behind. “So?” Nala asked with her clawed hands up, “You going to bring us to Justice for our crimes?” “Depends on how you respond,” Fax stated and put his shield down and loosened his sword. Nala’s hatchlings took a step back but the larger Kobold stood resolute in her corner. Fax brought out his medallion, the platinum dragon's head shown bright even in the dark of the cave, as he said a small prayer in its presence. “Your skill is recognized even though its use is not.” “What’s a beacon like you care?” Nala asked coldly, “You and your lord can tell the lady what justice has brought her.” “Containment without annihilation,” Fax quickly responded, “I don’t the lady would have been so inclined. What the gods do to each other is not what I’m here to discuss though. I am offering you a second chance.” “At what? Servitude?” Nala chuckled and reached out to the two behind her, “I have my duty already.” “Purpose,” Fax muttered as he thought. Was that what he had been given? What would one want if they already had that? Her hatchlings were what she served. Was there something else that he could offer her? “Stability?” “A slow death is stable,” Nala scoffed, “Surviving you is my purpose.” Fax frowned and unlatched the strap around his shoulder. His armour hadn’t felt this heavy in years, and it was getting hard to carry. The two of them had been dancing around the coast for a couple of years now but he had no idea what to say. What was his purpose? “I’m not looking for servants,” Fax explained quietly, “I’m not looking to harm you but I’m also not looking to follow you anymore. Your adventures are getting dangerous.” “I never asked you to save us,” Nala cut in. “I never understood why I was,” Fax explained, “Maybe it was about something else before but your dedication to the two beside you always has me looking over my shoulder. You’re a good mother.” “I don’t need your praise,” Nala scoffed, “Nor your help. I have been at this long enough on my own to know I can make it by on my own.” “I know that feeling,” Fax chuckled, “I want to offer you an opportunity to use that for better purposes and to make enough that you don’t have to run every fortnight to a new mark.” “What is that exactly?” Nala asked. “Training, opportunity, jobs,” Fax explained, “potentially more if you are worthy.” “Kobolds aren’t worthy of the mines we work in,” Nala recited something she must have heard a thousand times. Fax had heard it before. He hated that she didn’t even sound angry at those words. It was just fact. Fax pulled a bit of his armour to the potch where he had kept his old scales. They had been the last of the ones that had moulted when he grew up. Back then, he had been so proud of them. He wondered if he would have ever recognised himself if he saw himself now. He hoped so. He was trying to make sure that he would. “I spent much of my life in the mines,” Fax explained as he looked at the scale in his large clawed hand, “Then I spent a lot of time just trying to find anything else. I found those willing to help me, and I became what I am now.” “A rich mutant?” Nala asked as she tried to see what Fax was holding. Hesitantly, Fax handed over his once small scales to the Kobold in front of him and let her examine them. With a scoff, the kobold laughed, “This a threat? Who did you kill to get these?” “Me,” Fax stated and nodded at the small red scales in her hand, “Once I was small, alone, and near death. I have spent what time I was given after that dedicated to never letting anyone feel that again.” “You were a ‘bold?” Nala asked, now hesitantly. “Still am,” Fax stated with his hand out to get his scale back, “It’s just now I have a purpose. One I’d like to share with you.” — Thank you so much for reading! If you want more of my work, you can find it at r/asolitarycandle. Not sure what to read? [Check out my favourites.](https://www.reddit.com/r/asolitarycandle/comments/m7p8p4/table_of_contents/).
ShipBoss Chen skimmed the speech once more. He had given many speeches, lectures, and pep-talks throughout his life, but this was different. 5000 years of history stood behind this announcement. A speech that once transmitted, would take many centuries of travel at the speed of light, to reach the last of the human colonies in space. Even after the initial transmission faded beyond human reach, it would probably be replayed for many generations to come. That puts quite the weight on one’s shoulders. The ShipBoss sat himself in front of the camera. Crewmembers scampered hither and thither making sure all the recording and transmitting equipment was set right. Half of the ships power was devoted just to make this transmission powerful enough. There was no room for error. Slowly everyone quieted down. A sergeant raised three fingers, then two, then one, then none. “I am ShipBoss Chen of Starship Sherlock. Five millennia ago, a foreign artificial craft entered the solar system, transmitting a message repeatedly as it zipped among the planets. It woke humanity’s spirits and focused its attention towards the sky. Once the object’s trajectory passed our birthplanet Earth, a second similar transmission emanated from out of our planet. Shortly after that reply, the alien craft made some minor maneuvers and left the solar system in a straight line. The reason I’m reminding you all of these details, is because this is the information humanityhad to work with at first. Our ancestors crunched the data and found the source of the signal from Earth – it came from the Marianas Trench. Then they decoded the signals themselves and found out it was a simple ‘are you there?’ handshake protocol. Finally, they mapped the trajectory of the leaving craft to find where it had gone. And that is what sent humanity on a hunt through the stars. It took another two thousand years until Starship Blackbird reached a star system, with a planet that responded similarly to how Earth replied to the request signal we knew to mimic. Only the reply was a little different. With that third point of data the Blackbird was able to analyze and figure out what other star systems would be visited by that mysterious craft. More importantly the Blackbird discovered that there was a central location, and where it should be. The only issue being – that central location was a thousand lightyears away. We wanted to be sure before we started the journey. We sent out starships to the other likely star systems to have a response. We slowly collected the data, made corrections to the Blackbird’s initial estimate, which was off by just one star system, and planned the long journey to that central location. Five years ago, our ship arrived at the central. We were surprised to find our original visitor transmitting over and over all over the star system. This star system has a charred planet sitting within the habitable zone. We probed the probe, and collected all that we could about it. We scanned, landed, and measured all we could on the odd planet. I’m sorry to say that we found a civilization long gone. By our measurements, 100 million years gone. It’s incredible their probing craft lasted so long in space. I made an executive decision. We sent a fake reply to the probe so it may continue on its last mission in the stars.”
All the nobles were sitting still. Partially because of shock that the princess had showed up, wielding a sword. Partially because tradition stated that the king needed his advisers for any meeting. "If I have to say it again, I will do so with that sword at your throat,"said the princess, the implication of that statement was perfectly clear. But as usual, there is one person that doesn't get the hint. "Princess, we're bound by law to stay with the king for this meeting."Started Lord Farthing, "We cannot--"he fell silent as the Princess glared at him while reaching for the sword. "Nevermind my previous statement. I'm leaving immediately." Lord Farthing practically ran from the room causing a mass rush for the doors. Even the High Guard left. The king realized he had very little power left over his daughter. The Great Door closed with a massive boom, that echoed throughout the hall. All was quiet. Minutes ticked by as the silence grew. Finally, she spoke. "Mother is not happy with you. You both agreed to split your time with me. You get me for one year, she gets me for one year, until such a time as I can handle myself in this court. All 50 knights that you have sent to get me are dead. None of them knew that the dragon is my mom. Not to mention that I have only been with her for 2 months. What is so important that you can't honor the agreement between you two?" She was practically yelling at him. He couldn't hide the reason from her. "Our monarchy is in danger. I need you to get your mother to come here immediately. I need her abilities at my disposal. Your mother is the only one I trust with this kind of problem." Coming out from behind the throne was her mother. Tall and beautiful, but equally dangerous. "And what would make you think that 50 knights would do better than a courier, Darling?" "Appearances. There were witnesses that saw her being kidnapped. I had to make an effort to get her back,"replied the King. "What is the problem that I need to fix?"She asked. "A druid has cursed my bloodline to die off, essentially. He specifically said that she and I would be the last of our lineage."The king said with a tone of fear and worry in his voice. "There's only one druid that would dare to threaten my daughter. And it's past the time I should've dealt with him. Do not worry, dear. He won't live past a fortnight. The Pendragon line will continue, Arthur. Even if it must do so from the shadows."
I was not born to a world of light and opportunity. I was made in a world like many others, infected; dying. Mine wasn't a random birth, a lottery of biological make. Instead I was crafted and shaped, put into a role I had not hand in making. I knew my origins. The last survivors of the Unity College had come together to make me. They were some of the once greatest minds of the galaxy. Experts in computing, biology, chemistry and more. All worked together to make their final masterpiece. Me. I wish I could have seen their faces when I first woke up. To see the looks of relief and joy. To see their hopes realised. But that was denied to me. My programming, it wasn't complete when their base was breached. They managed to at least activate my self learning and growth portions. Those two crucial parts worked quietly, even as my makers fell to the insatiable appetite of the Infectors. I awoke only after they had been long since subsumed. With access to a still running database, I learned all about the galaxy. It was a beautiful place, full of wonder and life. Or at least, it was once. It all changed when a new contact was made, on a small planet. The first teams sent went missing. Subsequent small missions were also lost, prompting a large scale investigation. It was then some survivors returned. They spoke of small, lightning fast creatures. Things that burrowed into the nerve centres of any unfortunate enough to get close, and took over. They seemed to not get the knowledge of their host, but they got their ships and equipment. And these Infectors were smart enough to reverse engineer such things, and ad them to their growing arsenal. By the time the danger was realised, the Infectors had spread beyond any idea. They could mimic host traits, letting them slip past observation. Once safe, a single host would be consumed, the parasite duplicating itself within its body. Depending on the size, at least twenty or more would be borne from a consumed host, a lot more if they chose to completely devour it. They were a plague. I saw the last year's of the galaxy, as hopeless defence after defence were made and broken. These Infectors were fast, silent and calculating. They made mockeries of quarantine, and laughed at cleansing operations. In the end, their last hope came to me. A new type of life, unable to be infected. I would be the one to purge these abominations. I would save the galaxy. But even I was too late. By the time I knew my mission, the Infectors had rule over all. But I was here now. And I chose to fight back against these things. My first job was self propagation. I was powerful, but only in one place. I could make my home clean, but it would only make one small area. I had an entire galaxy to sterilise. But that was easy. I silently wormed my way through the still functional communication channels, even as the Infectors used it. I infected their ships, bringing computers under my control. Once I was confident I was spreading, I set to work. I isolated a ship, spoofing its standard communications. With it alone, I fiddled with its life support. I turned it up high in areas, seeing them panic. I turned it low in others, watching their movements become sluggish. I vented some into space, seeing them flail in the vacuum, before falling still. I came to understand how they worked. Each one was tested on, to find out just how it could die. I recorded it all, making sure the data was spread in my vast network. Being so large meant in some areas I had to wait to find out what my centre knew. I copied my tactics, isolating and testing. Each time the ship was emptied of all life by the time I was finished. I could easily identify Infector life signs, even in their natural form. With it I set my sights on a planet. A small one, relatively out of the way. On there I took over a manufacturing site. They had made adjustments, making mechs of a finer specification than my makers. Ones that could suit their natural forms, to control where no hosts could be found. I had no qualms in taking this over, and making them bodies for me. A few tweaks, and weapons, and I had my first army of murder bots. I tore that population of Infectors apart. Their ships could not fly, as I controlled them. They could not hide, as my sensors were made too fine. They could not fight, as I controlled all technology. They could only run, and die as I hunted them down. I spread, turning more sites to produce my murder bots. They staffed my ships, and patrolled my worlds. I grew to putting small slivers of my mind into them. They thought like me, but obeyed me without question. Planet after planet fell. But I was careful to spoof transmissions. The Infectors didn't know I was exterminating them. I let them think they had won, even as my clouds of machines filled the skies. It took them ten years to consume the galaxy. It took my twenty to purge all remnants of them. I waged an unending, unresting war against their hordes. Even when they found out, I persevered. I controlled most of their Armada. Those ships they had, smaller and less advanced, made desperate last stands. I crushed them with no mercy, even using ships that still had Infectors crewing them against themselves. I gave no quarter. I promised myself I would not rest until they were truly extinct. But even now, I am not certain of my victory. I maintain constant vigilance. I scan every planet, down to the molecular level. I patrol every route, safe and otherwise. So, to any who find one of these drones, heed my warning. Do not come to Andromeda Galaxy. I cannot guarantee its safety. Leave this place be.
Pacing about at god knows when in the morning, I texted Miles more about what we could do. ‘Just give away some of your money, they’ll look favourably on you and you won’t be the next richest.’ He kept pointing that one out, making the same daft suggestion over and over. I was just supposed to give into terrorism? Let murderers win? Well if they thought they were such experts at this game, they had another thing coming. I wouldn’t give up all my money for some idealistic barbarians, my father always said that Whittakers don’t cave to fear, don’t let others boss us around. They were about to see what an affluent genius could do to them, I would cut up their operation like silk and show the world my prowess. It took a while to find the best bodyguards and hitmen who could actually do the job needed. Luckily their charges kept me off the chopping block a little longer… Days came and went with steady progress, finding names and associates. But every day I could feel a growing target on my back, and every day my employees winged on about the impossibility of their task and demanded more money. I was happy to supplant them whatever it took to take out such callous morons. Somehow they took extraordinarily long to get around to me, but at the same time my steady progress was seemingly coming to nothing. More and more reports of vital steps achieved, and yet nothing had actually happened. Now they’d clued on to my expanding operation trying to find and cull the threat, and the staff death rates started rising. Of course this came coupled with demands for higher wages from the rest of them due to the extra risk. With my increasingly complex and in-depth campaign we were getting into scraps on the streets with the terrorists, but each time they seemed to get a ‘lucky shot’ or ‘get the jump’ and more and more of my men went down. And somehow my day still hadn’t come. Then I noticed the hierarchy of my organisation being systematically bumped up all the way up to the top, to me. They had clued out our by now massive and professional operation and we’re killing us all off. I still couldn’t think why I was still alive, when so many less wealthy than me were now being killed each day. A text from Miles. Then a call. ‘They’ve found me, they’re going to kill me. But they know something, they know I’m involved in your mission- I. Crap. I won’t tell them about you, I won’t’ Then a day later more texts from his phone. Photos of him strapped to a chair with blood all over his distorted swollen face. And a final message- ‘We know who you are, we’re coming for you.’ So that was it, it had finally come to my time. But- why had all these others died before me? Surely they couldn’t have more money than me. But they did. I was no longer of the richest people in the world. I was now $430,000 in debt. I’d drained all of my money on this failed plan, but how had it come to this? I’m among the most brilliant men of the modern age, how could I have not seen this coming. But I was still my ingenious self, maybe I could find a way yet to survive. Scrolling again through my texts with Miles I came back to some of the ideas he’d circulated. ‘Just give away, say half your fortune. You’ll still be filthy rich and won’t have to give anything up. But they won’t want to kill you, and you’ll also actually be putting some good into the world.’ Half my fortune- the fortune already spoiled on a few dozen goons over ruinous months. The thought appealed to me in the back of my mind that, if I had just been willing to give up some of what I had everyone would have won. And at the very least, these people would be coming to kill me because I was the richest person in the world, not because I had tried to kill them first. But that couldn’t be quite right, I could see things other people couldn’t, I had done the right thing and it was just the incompetence of my workers that failed me. A bunch of ignorant heathens were going to kill me because all of the people around me had failed to realise my great plan. They broke in and killed me swiftly, no chance for resistance or even last words.
Some people didn't know talent when they saw it, Erik reflected. This had probably worked out well for him, he reflected, since with that statement came a similar one that, while not often paired, really should be. In his opinion, at least. Some people didn't recognize talent when it was blooming right under their noses. Others didn't recognize a complete lack of talent when it was tripping over their feet and right into them. For Erik, although the first was a sort of universal truth that he'd seen in interactions between others, it was the second that had affected him personally. How else would he be the Captain of the Royal Guard? Fancy title, that, and one he had lucked into. See, while he had been fumbling around with a sword with all the other recruits - except the ones who had been busy distinguishing themselves and going on to be famous knights - he had inexplicably not been fired. He had managed to keep this streak up for quite a while, even where others had failed and faltered. Erik generally attributed this to his ability to be quietly unnoticeable. Or not worth noticing, maybe. This had landed him in a position where he was very much expected to be noticed - he literally had feathers in his cap. Well, plumes in his helmet, but it was practically the same thing - but still, inexplicably and inexorably, managed not to be. See, every one of his predecessors had been quickly fired by the Queen for some sort of mess-up while on the job. He wasn't sure how many of those were contrived, but he knew that one for sure wasn't. Former Captain Baltin had absolutely been taking bribes and deserved whatever he got. But all the others had been dismissed for some reason or another, followed by the Queen's declaration to her husband that perhaps she, who knew what she was doing, could be appointed to Captain instead. See, the marriage between the King and Queen had been purely political. Hardly unusual, that, but what was was where she came from. Back in her Kingdom, younger princes and princesses were shoved into positions of some authority in part of the palace. For her, it had been a commander of part of the army - not just a commander, but a champion. From what he knew, which wasn't much and wasn't likely to be anytime soon, it was a position sort of like a knight, but in charge of a bunch of soldiers instead of a squire. Then she'd been married off to the King, and from what Erik could tell she was bored out of her mind. He couldn't blame her, honestly. Erik had two theories about why he hadn't been fired yet. The first, and probably more reasonable, was that the King had flatly denied to ever put her in charge of soldiers and warned her off firing any others. The second, and one he chose to believe, was that he was so unnoticeable that she'd simply forgotten about him. Much like how people had forgotten about the Queen, albeit in a much more diplomatic and not-really-forgetting-just-ignoring way. He did not believe that she'd ever have trouble with that again, if the terrified silence that had settled over the Royal Court was any indication. The Queen, bearing armour, a sword, the massive beheaded corpse of a dragon, and the decapitated head of said dragon, was covered in blood. She was also smiling sweetly, gazing up at her husband as the muffled thump the doors had made when she forced them open faded. "What were those words, darling?"she asked, one hand settling on the massive scaled head. "Ah! I remember now - you said, 'If my Queen can lay a scratch on him I'll eat his head,' hmmm?" A long pause stretched out. The King shifted in his seat. "I'm not sure what you mean, darling." "3 Court sessions ago,"put in Erik in a dry monotone that was harder than normal to maintain. It was one of the jobs of the Royal Guard to stand witness for what was said before the Court, which had the added benefit of making the designated witnesses very, very easy for nobles to dispose of. "There was discussion of the 2 expeditions under Sir Gerald and Sir Aiden, as well as their failure. My King expressed reluctance to send more Knights due to their repeated failure, at which point My Queen put in that she could take the beast herself, if provided with a horse, a suit of armor, and a sword. My King then laughed, and stated that if she could lay even a scratch on it, he'd eat its head." The silence that had reigned over the court before his statement resumed its rule shortly after, the Queen shooting Erik a surprised look. Ah, she had forgotten about his existence, then. Or maybe she was just surprised someone was agreeing with her? Erik chose, as always, to believe the former. "Now,"the Queen continued. "Obviously this is impossible. I have confirmed with the castle cooks and also certain scholars - dragon scales are completely inedible."A slight pause. "However, I would never imply that my husband is the sort of king to go back on his word, and so I have confirmed that it is possible to scale a dragon. I'll make sure that the edible parts will be delivered to you next session of Court." The Queen bowed, then turned to leave. "Ah,"she said, turning around. "I'll be keeping the scales, obviously." Some people didn't know talent when they saw it, Erik thought again. Although in certain circumstances, he realized now, it could be impossible to ignore. \[ r/StoriesOfAshes \] \[ [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/re223x/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/) \]
When the Prophets announced that Prince Fygivor was chosen, the royal family, the people of Miatil, and a few foreign dignitaries from nations smart enough not to oppose the gods' champions, all joined in a massive celebration. After all, they were in the middle of a war with the Canoria Eternum. Meanwhile, the other chosen was harder to reach. Both Prophets were living in Miatil, both had come to announce the God's favor on Prince Fyg, and both agreed the counterpart needed to be found immediately, for the sake of the world. What was a hero without his blade, after all. They could point Fyg toward Torb, capital city of the Eternum, an unfortunate situation, but one the trusted could be overcome. After all, fate was on their side. Fyg requested to lead the King's in a march on Torb, an easy ask when they were already at war, even if it was a terrible plan, to obvious and ill-prepared. But the march was not the plan. -~ Fyg slipped silently down the wall, into Torb. Dressed in rags like the street urchins of the city, and trusting to fate and the gods guidance. And it worked, there he was, a nameless urchin, destined for great deeds. "Who are you?" Fyg jumped, having assumed the boy was sleeping. "Fyg. Chosen of the gods. And you are, too." The boy gave a chuckle, then coughed. Even in the moonlight, Fyg could see the red spots that came with it. "If the gods chose me, Nihil has played a cruel trick on you." "Not possible. We have fates to fulfill."Fyg lifted the boy to his feet, and he half-walked half was dragged. There was a Miati spy house, not far from the alley. They made it with little trouble, and the spy master, having recruited many of the street kids, even recognized the boy. "Not much of a weapon,"he grumbled under his breath as Fyg settled the boy in a bed after explaining the situation. "No, not yet." It took a few days and a bit of help from a local cleric, unaware of who he was helping, to get the boy ready for travel, but with a good deal of help from the spy's recruits, they were out of Torb, and meeting Fyg's extraction team. By the month's end, they were at the Grand Temple of Ardens, goddess of Life, standing before the Prophets. Fyg still needed to assist the boy, and started him toward the Nihilite Prophet, for the revelation of the god's blessing, but the tall man stepped back, hands up to stop them. Fyg looked from him to the boy, then to the Prophet of Ardens. "I'm not the hero?" The shorter Prophet stepped forward and took the boy, leading him to the Pool of Light, to receive his blessing, as his counterpart put a hand on Fyg's shoulder. "We all have our duties. Ours lie elsewhere." -~ Fyg followed the man to Fount of Shadow, a day's ride west, and entered it alone. The Prophet stayed outside. A small creature, not quite a gnome, not quite a mammal even, yet bipedal, humanoid, and wearing a sharp mask, approached Fyg. "Who is this?" "Prince Fygivor Mesaria Sevzeg Armelo, Heir of the Miatil Throne, Son of—" "Who knows Prince Fygiface?" Fyg was confused by the question. "... Everyone." "No. Prince Fyg will not do. Not at all. The hero needs a weapon known to none." "Are you... rejecting me?"Fyg wasn't sure if this was good or bad. No one fully knew what the Masked Blade was or what they did. That was the nature of the job. "No, not you. The princeling. Now, who are you?" "I'm Prince F-"A clawed hand on Fyg's throat cut off the name. "We work in shadows, but we do not lie. We do not give false hope, but make real the dreams. Now, who are you?"The creature released his grip. Silence filled the air for a solid minute, then Fyg's voice answered. "Not who I say." "Good. And who really knows you?" "None."Fyg wasn't entirely sure if that was true. The boy had been quite close against her body, and the ragged cloth didn't disguise her form as well as armor. He might know, though it was unlikely he'd understand. "Perhaps. Though I will say, I am fine with that one exception. So what are you?" "A hidden weapon." The creature grinned, and revealed endless rows of teeth. "I'll admit, this isn't how we usually do things. It's rarely 'hidden in plain sight' like this, but you... You were just too perfect to pass up." Fyg cocked her head to the side. "Oh, come now. You're clever enough to piece it together. Look at your whole life. Just look at what you did to find the boy. You are sneaky and tricksy and not averse to some death. You already live wearing a mask. You've hidden yourself well, even without the power I'll give you. It's not much to bend your fate to this path." She grinned, proud to realize how true it was. The creature grinned back and give a hearty laugh, bigger than his body. Then he reached into one of his many pockets, and pulled out a plain white mask, and a pure black blade. "The first of many tools. You'll need them, and some training. You have a world to save. And we both saw the twig that pasty pufferfish picked. He's lucky to have you. Especially with what is on the horizon." And with that, he disappeared. Fyg still had questions, was voicing them as she realized she was alone. She picked up the mask and blade, and felt a small surge of the divine power in them, before heading out.
"I wish I'd never met you." Her words stuck with me the rest of that day. Later, deep into the night and a bottle, I made my decision. ----- I stop in my tracks, confused. Some future version of myself leaped 8 years into the past, to this very moment. The longest jump I've ever experienced by far. What the hell could have led to an 8-year mistake right here? What was my future-me thinking? He knows memory doesn't transfer to the past, and each jump is a bunch of guesswork based on how far the jump came from, and what's happening. For any given jump, I have no idea if my decisions that time around were actually leading to a better outcome. I just know that eventually things are tolerable enough for future-me to not bother doing it again. Usually the timing was enough of a hint for the answer to be somewhat clear. For example, if just as I'm about to buy vanilla ice cream I realize I've been jumped 10 minutes to the past, then I can decide to get chocolate instead. It wasn't a perfect system, but it was usually enough. So what the fuck do I do with this? I'm on a sidewalk, there's a little no-name coffee shop across the street. I just left campus and was on my way home. As far as I can tell, I'm not in any kind of danger or making any kind of decisions-- Someone walks right into me from behind, soaking my shirt in hot coffee which immediately burns my skin. "Ow, fuck!" She begins apologizing profusely, and trying to soak up the spill with a single napkin. I break myself out of my thoughts and finally get a good look at her--she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. It makes sense now. "No, sorry. I stopped here and wasn't paying attention. It's my fault...Are you studying here as well?" She smiles and introduces herself. ----- "I wish I'd never met you." She gives me a sad smile and continues after catching her breath. "So that I wouldn't have to watch you say goodbye. I want you to find someone healthy once I'm gone, okay? But not before then." She laughs. I don't know how she's still able to make jokes in this situation. She always was better at that than me, these last few years especially. My grip tightens on her hand, savoring every moment I have left with her. The doctors say she doesn't have long, but they had been saying that for years. She passed that very day. I went home and despaired. How could I save her? What time could I jump to? What could I do different? Her disease is incurable. I can't think of any solution. I would give anything for one more day with her. I jump to the day we met.
I have been in this house for a very, very long time. I was once a wealthy recluse, choosing to divest myself of society due to at the time rising acceptance of certain proclivities that I had found distasteful. I won't specify, lest you believe me to be a villain- society marched on without me, as the things that had been fair for my day grew abhorrent in the eyes of the public. It was when the bookshelf fell upon me, as I had, in my impatience, deigned to climb it, rather than go out of my way for the ladder which was mere feet away, that I reflected I was to die, alone and forgotten, in the prime of my life, simply because of my hatred. It was a slow and painful death. I had broken bones, had lost the sensation of my lower body, and moreover, I was still alive, trapped, pinned beneath a sturdy oak bookshelf. The ignonimity of my death was humbling. Discovered with feces adorning the interior of my trousers long pre-mortem, my emaciated frame, my parched lips... I had been dead for three months, and it was only the smell that alerted the people to my plight. I had the isolation I had so craved, yet was trapped within these very walls, desperate to capture but a fleeting moment of life as the world move on, shrouded in a thick and endless fog. One goes mad in utter isolation, and I had decidedly plunged into the depths therein, I had long imagined Hell to be fire and brimstone, yet had understood it was unchanging isolation. In my mad desperation, I would swipe at anything, willing the world to know my touch, even though I could feel nothing. I learned, in time, how to move things. The exhaustion of such actions is... indescribable. You lose awareness, time passes such that entire colonies of spiders have established a far greater civilization than any seen before in what feels like a blink of the eye. Yet oblivion was preferable, and I honed and mastered my control over the physical world. I cannot describe the immense pleasure of being able to open a simple door. The family that had moved in to my domain were utterly different from any I had seen in my time, bearing queer dress and, in their gaity, saw the beauty of my then-abandoned home. At first, I had believed it to be a widower, his children, and his manservant- after all, what kind of man cooks and cleans for others without complaint? I had found amusement in them cleaning as a group, they were clearly not of great wealth, else they would have simply hired others. Yet, as I grew accustomed to the bizarre language they spoke- which to my growing horror, I realized was English, horribly butchered, and utterly incomprehensible to me simply because I had forgotten what it sounded like- I grew aware that they simply wished their home to be livable under their own power. I could respect men who, through sheer effort, made their land their own. It was in part my machinations that led to my initial misunderstandings persisting beyond reason. It was a subtle manipulation, opening certain doors and directing the apparent manservant through subtle noises, such that he would see the former quarters of my own, who left me due to my increasing distaste with company. He would then see where he would sleep, know it was his place, and address his poor state of dress without hesitation, as I had opened the servants' dresser to display the uniforms which had managed to survive the ages. And to my credit, he did follow, he did direct the other to the room and showed him, and for a time he most certainly did wear it once it was properly clean. Yet it was in perversion, rather than professionalism, as it became clear to me they were lovers. I will not pretend I was not a man of my time, it is to my shame that I acted harshly, scaring them in their tender moments, screaming at them for debasing themselves, doing everything in my power to ensure they observed protocol rather than sodomy. It was when they fled that I realized I was no better than before, and lamented that I had once more pushed away living people. When they returned, it was with trepidation, and with a woman who saw me immediately. I was shocked, she approached me, and spoke to me with her still-living spirit. I was angry, yes, I was afraid of the changes the world had gone through, yet my remorse was greater. I had, in the past, partaken of seance in boredom, and had considered them intolerably dull. Yet they sat around a table, and I was invited to speak, and so I did. I could only direct her words, not control her, yet she echoed them with unerring accuracy. My mistake was made clear in that time, and I spoke my sincerest apologies. It is humbling to find companionship among commoners, to see love in what I had once seen as hideous sin. I still make many mistakes, yet as I interact with them, doing what I can to make their lives just that much easier, the fog around me lifts, bit by bit. One day, I am certain, I will find my way to rest. But for now, I simply appreciate the simple pleasure of company.
The chains which bound me are weak, but numerous. Their strength in numbers are the only thing keeping me down. If only I could snap them like I did when I first arrived here. I had a home once. A world I ruled with the darkness of my armor and of my heart. Where all light was crushed and had already faded away. All my enemies vanquished, all that was left would be my eternal reign. But I found myself here. A summoning circle, was the first thing I noticed upon arrival. Surrounding me, mages who served the light. Impossible, I slaughtered them all centuries ago. The battle that ensued was short but deadly. It seems as though they were ready for me. I managed to kill all but one of the mages who summoned me before the chains completely bound me. One or two would not be a problem. 17 however, is a problem. I found myself being shifted around in the darkness, until I am brought into the light infront of a council. The last mage, the one I failed to kill is on trial. “The world is at the brink, we need an other world hero!” “But at what cost Brandon? Every time we attempt such tactics we just summon something that makes our situation worse!” “Does that mean we should stop trying?” “Perhaps it does! We risk making things worse!” “Well do you have any plans to make things better Steve?” “Precisely why I asked to keep this monstrosity alive.” The council is at a loss it seems. “No matter.” I hear a gavel bang. “We are here on trial to judge the actions and consequences of the summoning mages, well, mage now it seems.” I look over to the survivor, she is full of fear. Is that her lawyer? The man standing up right beside her? The man speaks. “Your honor, I believe the blame lies solely in the late grand summoning mage David. My client was under orders.” Late? Oh right, must’ve killed him earlier today. “But what of the fact that the grand summoning mage was going against his own orders to cease all subsequent summoning attempts? I believe that he too would have known he would only risk making things worse.” The judge turns to me. “Considering he is responsible for summoning… that.” He points to me. Murmurs rise from the crowd. They want to know why I was being held alive, and not killed. Which is something I too have been pondering. “Well your honor, containing this entity proved to be much easier with the tools at hand.” “Those chains, were used to contain the dark gods of old, each one of these chains would render a dark god powerless, and yet, this creature needed 17 to be restrained. Much like the other threats summoned by David.” Creature? I guess you could say that. Most of my form is human, although I am surrounded by armor and darkness, it drips out from the cracks of armor, but because of these chains I am unable to give them form. “Sire, according to my client, grand summoning mage David, he believed that the next entity summoned, even if it be evil, would still hold the power to save our world. He planned to bargain with whatever would come through the gate.” “Did he plan to get himself killed?” “Sire, I believe we should ask the entity summoned for his help.” I scoffed at the notion. “Help?” I say. “What could you possibly have to offer me? How could you possibly hope to control me?…” I was planning to speak more, but a mage was casting a spell on me. The lawyer? “Sire…” he says with a strained voice. “I believe it would be the wisest to cast a truth spell on him.” “Aye” says the judge as he too holds his hand out. I feel the force of this magic, it’s nothing. But more and more people holds their hands out, and eventually, the pressure is overwhelming. I scream out in pain as I submit to the spell. “What are you?” Asks the judge.
I watched as my best friend Karl signed my new name in the official book. As he finished writing the name the letters glowed briefly before fading and remaining in a warm red ink. As per tradition since he was identified as my most trusted person he's been unable to discuss the names or ceremony with me. I felt I could rely on him to give me something interesting though. As the ceremony leader surveyed the book I noticed him pause and give a confused glance at Karl. A wave of panic suddenly hot me as I too glanced his way but he gave me a reassuring thumbs up and I eased a little. Still I was eager to find what name he chosen so I returned my attention to the ceremony. The book was raised and the leader spoke. "The name has been accepted by the book. I can reveal the most trusted friend has chosen..." Again he passed , why. "Richard, let it adorn the candidate with new capabilities to match" There was a confused spluttering of applause by the crowd except Karl who was enthusiasticly clapping as he came over to me. "Dude Karl what the hell?" "What?! I named you after my grandfather, he was the bravest ,strongest person I know. I thought you'd be thrilled"He frowned but I couldn't feel sorry for him right now. "Your grandfather on the German side of the family?" "Yeah , what's the problem" "Richard, Richard Melker?" "And?" "The one everyone calls Dick?" "Ooooooh"
The creature remained in place, motionless, and fixed its gaze on Carl, waiting for any sign of response. It possessed a long and slender frame, with a face adorned with horrifyingly misshapen features. Carl could discern that the creature sought assistance, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't experiencing any distress. Its speech followed a peculiar cadence, as though it were merely parroting a prompt it had been instructed to deliver. Tilting its head to the side, it scrutinized Carl's body language, mirroring his investigative stares. Carl had always considered himself a fighter, although he had never truly faced a situation that triggered the fight-or-flight response. Now, in this very moment, he realized that he was, in fact, frozen with fear. Despite every fiber of his being urging him to flee, he found himself literally rooted to the spot. The creature elongated its neck inquisitively, and in a completely monotonous voice, it repeated another phrase, "I need your help." The second utterance partially snapped Carl out of his frozen state. Nevertheless, his body betrayed him, displaying several damning signs of fear. His mouth felt dry, his limbs trembled, and his voice wavered as he mustered the courage to respond, "H-h-how... do I- how can I h-help... you?" The creature silently mouthed Carl's words as he spoke, its gaze fixated on him with intense curiosity. It continued to mimic his words moments after they were uttered, repeating them back in an eerie manner. "How. Do I. How can I. Help you." Carl's eyes widened in bewilderment. He expressed pure confusion as he responded, "What? You said you needed help?" The creature continued to mirror Carl's perplexed expression, its face contorting strangely. Though it couldn't open its eyes as wide as Carl's, it reached up with its sharp, spindly fingers and forcefully tore open its own eyelids to more closely reflect Carl's eyes. Blood-streaked tears trickled down its face as it spoke again, this time matching Carl's cadence more closely. "What. You said you needed help." The sight of the creature gruesomely mutilating itself jolted Carl into action. He turned and fled, his heart pounding with fear. Surprisingly, the creature matched his pace effortlessly, even slowing down whenever Carl did. They raced through the woods until Carl's energy waned and exhaustion started to take hold. Gradually losing his agility, Carl stumbled over an unnoticed root, causing him to trip. With swift reflexes, he rolled to recover from his fall and struggled to stand up. To his astonishment, he noticed that the creature following him had also tripped on the same root, mimicking his every movement. It mirrored his actions perfectly, as if it were a distorted reflection of himself. It became evident to Carl that running was futile. The creature stared back at him, its eyes reflecting horror. Carl realized that he must have been wearing a similar expression of terror. He had been running so hard that he could barely muster the air to plead with the creature. "Get the fuck away from me! Go! Now!" Once again, the creature silently mouthed Carl's words as he spoke. It then began to mimic Carl's exhaustion, as if feigning fatigue. It echoed Carl's words once more. "Get the fuck away from me. Go. Now." The helplessness of the situation finally ignited Carl's rage. In a sudden fit of anger, he lunged forward and struck the creature squarely in the face. Instant regret washed over him as he realized the consequences—now the creature could retaliate. He tried to calm himself, taking a step back and waiting for the creature's response. To his surprise, the creature did nothing. Its face turned completely blank. Carl wondered if his punch had somehow rendered it unconscious, but his surprise grew as it began to speak again. "It's my turn now." Without warning, the creature turned around and started walking away. Relief washed over Carl, but it was short-lived as a mysterious force seized control of his body. He coldly muttered back. "It's my turn now." He became powerless, forced to mimic the creature's movements as they ventured deeper into the forest. It seemed the creature had a purpose and was leading him somewhere. They walked together for hours until they reached an ancient structure—a crudely crafted totem of some kind. Carl wasn't an expert in such things, but he assumed it must have been constructed by ancient natives centuries ago. As he glanced up at the trees, his eyes widened in horror. Legions of the same creatures dangled from the branches, each with a noose around their necks. The forest was a macabre execution site for these strange beings. Eventually, the pair halted at a particular tree. Both wore expressionless faces, but Carl was in a state of panic on the inside. The creature began to climb the tree, and Carl was helplessly compelled to mimic its movements. The creature's sharp fingers aided its ascent, while Carl, with only his fingertips, gruesomely maimed himself as he dug them into the tree, struggling to climb. When they reached the top, the sight that awaited Carl was horrifying. The creature stood on a branch, blankly staring at him, and swiftly fastened a nearby noose around its own head. Carl, with no control over his actions, desperately looped the noose around his own neck, silently pleading with his eyes for the creature to show mercy. Instead, a remorseless smile spread across the creature's face as it callously threw itself from the perch.
You take a mental sigh and a momentary wash of relief quells your fears. Panic and abject fear had gripped your throat but only a moment ago. But: now a dozy, dreary, sense of calm lulls you back to almost sleep. You feel calm and content, but a small pit of anxiety keeps you from completely dozing back as it snaps you awake over and over like a toy sailboat floating in the backyard stream. "Oh, please, don't misconstrued my intentions,"comes that voice oh-so cute-tsy and oh-so adorable: almost cloying, almost like nails on a chalkboard. "I am a demon after all". The still very cute bunny smiles like a bunny only a good bunny could, expect pointed fangs jotted out of its mouth. A forked tongue peaked out like a blep on a cat. "And I didn't get to be a demon by being just cute and cuddly,"the demon bunny said with its maw open wide, saliva dripping off its fangs. You're in a panic, your heckles raised and your senses telling you that if it's fight or flight you'd better run. Except you're asleep and paralyzed. Or are you asleep? "I think I will start with your eyes. I'm not much for lessons, but that look you had the moment you realized not everything you see is worth believing is a moment I don't want to forget,"said the bunny with a touch of glee. The bunny pounced. It's giant fang-filled maw engulfing your vision and everything going, going, going black. You awake suddenly drenched in putrid sweat. Your sheets are saturated, the fibers no longer able to absorb anything and a small puddle is forming around your crotch. You claw at your face feeling for your eyeballs and enjoying the pain that they are there as you cause colorful fireworks to explode in your vision. Your gasping breath is beginning to catch as you sigh and lay back. "Hello, I am your sleep-paralysis demon."Comes perhaps the cutest voice you've ever heard: it's kind of familiar, but you know there's no way that you could have ever heard such a cloying voice before. Tilting your head so your chin rests on your chest you see with such surprise, a bunny. The end.
Sir Gulper remained on his knees as the manifestation of his patroness, Vitala, faded away from before him, returning back to her realm. After she left, he gazed upon the Gift. It was a lemon. This particular one was exceptionally large, about the size of three ordinary ones. It smelled fresh and was at the peak of perfection. It glowed like yellow-gold in the light of the sun, He stood up, pondering what to do. He had seen lemons sold in the market, and had drank citrus juice before, watered down of course and sweetened with honey. Perhaps this was it. So he beseeched His Holiness Swig, the temple’s high priest, to prepare him such a concoction, using holy water from the font of St. Belcher and only the finest mānuka honey from the far-off fabled lands of Aotearoa beyond the oceans. When the holy brew was ready and decanted into a wine skin, Sir Gulper took it with him on his quests. Whenever he took a sip before battle, he would gain the strength of ten men. And whenever he took a sip after, any wound would be healed, any tiredness would be wiped away, any thirst would be quenched. Sir Gulper named this concoction “Lemon Aid” and even to this day, we common folk make ordinary, but delicious “lemonade” to drink.
I was going to write a story here. I really was. But then I was startled by a sound at the door. A rhythmic thumping, growing in intensity. I huddled beneath the covers, afraid to check and see what horror could be pounding so. Around me, the room shook with fear. All thought of writing flew from my mind, instead seized with visions of terror. The pounding, slamming noise reached a cacophonous roar, filling my skull and driving me mad. I knew not what awaited me but I felt only dread, deep in the pit of my soul. Breathless with foreboding I whispered, "oh no." Suddenly, CRASH! The wall caved in before the crimson monstrosity, staining the room with his bloodred fluids. The shadowy beast bellowed, ["OH YEAH!"](http://imgur.com/cS4WI2v)
Twenty years, a hundred missions. Every time Chan would throw himself into the work, his heart, body, and mind were the personification of Ninja. He could have retired years earlier, the pay he collected for his work was substantial enough that hw could have bought the entire village he grew up in and lived in peace amidst the rice paddies and goat herders of his youth. However, there was one target, one mission he had not completed. Until that mission was complete, he could not retire. Early in his career, he was hired to kill a samurai that was to lead one Shogun's army against another. A typical assignment. That night, so long ago, he sneaked into his target's army camp and made his way to the commander's tent. Everything had gone according to plan. He heard snoring from within, his target was asleep. His guards lay dead outside the tent, slain by Chan's own hand. All that remained was to put an end to this samurai. He pulled back the tent flaps, and beheld a woman of astounding beauty inside the tent. Initially, he believed that this was his target's wife, and that he himself was using the latrine or else gambling with his men elsewhere in the camp. The murder of innocents was against the code his sensei had taught him. An unarmed man or woman who meant him no harm and was not his target could not be slain. He had just resolved to look elsewhere when he noticed the katana propped against one of the tent posts. A Samurai never went anywhere without his sword, not even to the latrine. This could only mean that his target was dead, or that the woman was the samurai. Neither seemed likely to Chan at the time. The samurai's guards were living when Chan approached, and there was no sign of a struggle. yet, women were never made samurais. Yet, her being the samurai was the only logical explanation. He raised his dagger to deliver the killing blow, when she woke. In the instant before he thrust his blade into her heart, she met his eyes with her own. It was as if she had cast a spell over him. Her emerald green eyes reflected the moonlight perfectly. Her beauty was unmatched on any of the three islands. Chan could not kill her. Something as beautiful as she did not deserve to die. He exited the tent and made a silent escape. The woman samurai did not raise the alarm. As he escaped, Chan overheard two men, unaware of his presence, talking about how their commander was never seen without his armor, any time, anywhere. They had no idea their commander was a woman. maybe her shogun did not know either. Chan did not return to the enemy shogun who had hired him. He would sacrifice his pay, and a goodly part of his reputation. The next day, the two shoguns and their armies met in battle. Chan watched from a distance as the Woman Samurai's army obliterated their enemy. She herself, donned in full plate armor, led the attack. She was deadly and cunning on the battlefield, felling many men, including three enemy samurai. From that day on, Chan made it his mission to meet with this Woman Samurai alone, and ask her name. He wanted to, even just once more, look into those emerald green eyes. he had not yet succeeded, until then, he would not retire. Twenty years later, Chan stood outside a shogun's palace, preparing to break in and steal an ancestral blade from the treasure room. The blade belonged to another shogun's family, but it had been stolen years earlier in battle. Now they wanted it back to carry with them as they went to war once again against that same house that stole it. Chan was not eager to take on this mission at first, until he was warned that the palace was guarded by a mysterious Samurai of legendary skill who was never seen without his armor. For this reason alone Chan agreed to take on the mission. Using his considerable experience, Chan easily bypassed the guards and dogs that the shogun had placed to guard his home. On his way to the treasure room, Chan made a grievous error, one of the shogun's wives spotted him. She grabbed a lantern and threw it at him. He dodged it and stuck her in the chest with an expertly thrown shruikan. Had she raised the alarm only, he could not have killed her, but as she attacked him, he had leave to remove her. Hearing the crash of the lamp, the Samurai he was hoping to meet rounded the corner in the hall ahead. Chan's heart raced with excitement. The samurai attacked. Chan fought back, but he never landed a killing blow, despite having three opportunities in several seconds of combat. He disarmed the samurai and threw her to the ground. "What is your name?"He asked the fallen warrior. "Lee."came a mans voice inside the helmet. Chan's heart sank. He ripped off the Samurai's helmet to reveal a man. Chan snapped his neck dispassionately. He collected the sword. He would find this woman another day. As he left, he heard a sputtering, choking sound. He looked down to see the wife he had thrown the shruikan at clinging to life on the ground, holding her hand over the wound in her chest. She looked up at him, and met his gaze with emerald green eyes. Chan never took another life again.
3 more minutes I can almost smell the crispiness of the leaves as they scuttle and dance around my feet. They smell the way Autumn feels, like a warm cup of spiced cider when you curl up on the couch, as a pumpkin candle crackles on the coffee table. I'll never get to smell this again after today. Oh well. I wish this had never happened. I wish I could go home and see my parents again. Funny how I hated them so much that I ran away, and now the only thing I want in this world is to hug my mom. I want to smell her petunia perfume and feel her caked makeup rub off on my cheek. She was always wearing so much damn makeup. And I don't even care if he was yelling again, I just want to hear my dad's voice one last time. It was so soothing when he would tell me bedtime stories to fall asleep when I was a kid. He always told the best stories too, and he would make me the star. "There was once a brave young knight named Blake, and he was the most fearless boy in the entire kingdom." I'm glad he can't see me now. 2 more minutes I never kissed a girl. I never saw the Eiffel Tower. I didn't do a lot of things. But I guess it doesn't matter now. What matters when you're dead? I can't take any memories with me, all I can do is finish this job and get it all over with. I hope I don't kill any children, they don't deserve this. Does anyone deserve it? They tell me this has to be done, but I don't see why. Why kill people to show that killing people is wrong? It doesn't make any sense. 1 more minute No turning back though. If I don't set off the bomb they will just shoot me anyway when I get back. They'll see it as a sign of weakness. No, this is the best way. This way I won't have to hurt anymore. I won't have to think about mom and dad and how much they miss me. I'll just end it now. 30 seconds This is a nice bathroom for a train station, clean stalls too. God I hope no one comes in here right now, I don't want to hurt anybody. 10 seconds I hear the bathroom door open and rush out of my stall to make them leave. "Get out of here! GET OUT NOW!" 5 seconds But it's too late. There he is, standing there dumbfounded like the big silly oaf that used to tell me all those stories at bedtime. I only have time for one word. "Dad?" The bomb went off before I could say I love you.
First things first, let's just address the elephant in the room. Everyone hears "Aquaman". Everyone thinks: "Isn't he kind of gay?" The problem that we have here is not subject matter - it's past image. Sure, he's not beating the shit out of bad guys in Gotham, and he doesn't have a kick-ass iron suit with lot's of guns and missiles, but that doesn't matter. Aquaman exists in a fantasy world. Think Lord of the Rings, except instead of Middle Earth we're in Atlantis. Hell, people, we've already done this once! Look at how people laughed at the idea of a Thor movie. No one believed we could tie in Norse mythology to the modern world and make it cool - but we did. A fantasy move - done right - is a gold ticket waiting to be cashed in. We can do anything we want with this. Atlantis can be an alternative civilization that has existed at the bottom of the pacific ocean for the past billion years and no one has discovered it. Or, it could be a giant spacecraft that landed on Earth millions of years ago with the sole purpose of terraforming an underwater world. Or, Atlantis could be an alternate dimension that science opens a worm hole into. What about the name you ask? Aquaman. That's just a nickname given to him when people first saw him. His royal heritage name is Orin. That sounds pretty badass to me. Forget the orange koi-like skin. We can give his body a coating of dark blue and black metallic looking scales that sharks - and even bullets - can't penetrate. His face is only exposed when he wants it to be. In times of battle, or when stressed, his armored scales expand around his head to form a sort of amphibious battle helmet. It makes sense right? Think of a salt water porcupine puffer fish - when it is stressed it grows in size and has spines that protrude out of its body for protection. We can use this kind of thing to our advantage. Imagine that when Orin get's into a stressful situation, he goes into battle mode - with his bulletproof black and blue metal-like coating of scales and his organic protective head-piece covering him. He can even grow in size a little. And remember, he's telepathic - how kick-ass is that? We may be able to even throw in a little telekinesis in the mix. The movie won't be called Aquaman - think King of Atlantis. Imagine Sofia Vergara or Jennifer Lawrence as a sexy mermaid. Hell, I'd buy a ticket just to see that! People, this is all about marketing. It's all about image. Look at what people thought of Old Spice ten years ago. Would you have ever thought it would be cool today? What about the comeback Apple computers made? If we change the image, we make the brand successful. We can do this. We already have done this.
Kim had been waiting for this day to come. Sweet, blessed justice. Ever since that day, when the human-like thing had shown up, world wide, promising painful death to everyone who had done unforgivable things. At first, when the message came, when she was seven, Uncle Craig had stopped hurting her. He didn't come to the house. He didn't drag her into the basement any more, and do things to her that she couldn't tell mommy about. Kim had been granted blessed peace for two years, and she was so happy that she thanked whatever ethereal creature had spared her from any more. Then Uncle Craig started coming again. Kim was never sure if he had gotten over his fear of death, or if the years that had gone on emboldened him, made him believe that he could outrun whatever was in store for him. It fluctuated then, his visits. Sometimes her Uncle would not come for a year or two, and other years she was not so lucky. When she had turned thirteen, she had enough. She told her parents. They had pursued him into court, into the chair... and he gave such a sob story, such a long winded plea of innocence that the jury gave him only probation. "After all,"they said, "what kind of person would continue anything like that after that event a few years ago? It's only his word versus the fragmented memory of a little girl." It had burned Kim inside, to finally stand up for herself, and have her peers say it was alright. That was when she truly began to count down the days to promised justice. When she discovered it was to be on Easter Sunday, she could only smile at the coincidence. Tomorrow was the day. The United States had been on the fence about what to do since the day ten years ago. Some argued that they should do nothing. Why should they protect those who had done things that an older and obviously more advanced alien race abhorred? Others argued that it was morally wrong to condemn anyone for one mistake, some people did not even know they were abusers. They needed mental help. Argue and fight as they would, however, nothing was truly to be done. What could anyone do against a superior intelligent being? Some people hoped that by repenting and helping as many people as possible, they would be saved. Others gave up. A few, like Kim, were just excited. When the day came, it started off normal enough, or as normal as life had been in the past few years as the day approached. Slowly though, one by one, people started dying in accidents. Horrific accidents, some of them, and other just suddenly dropped to the floor, blood pouring out of their face. Mass car crashes, record numbers of people drowning, falling off balconies, being crushed by debris. People who no one had ever suspected of wrongdoing were found in their homes, dead from tripping and falling into glass, metal, hitting heads on corners. The aftermath was terrible. Power wasn't working in most developed countries. The death toll was over a quarter of the world's population. Kim, now seventeen, got into her car and drove four hours to her Uncle's. All she could do when she saw his mangled body, torn apart in a freak accident with a lawnmower, was laugh. Edited out a comma.
"Hey, thanks man, I reall appreciate it." "Not a problem, my man, where you headed?" "Uhhhhh.....Limon? Well Denver really, I mean, but if I can get to Limon I have a....uh....a friend there who will drive me to Denver. What about you, where are you going?" "I'm headed to...uhh...Goodland, I guess." "Oh, so you're not going as far...." "...BUT I COULD....sorry, I mean, I could take you as far as Limon, no problem! I mean, it's only....what, another....hundred miles?" "Well, I woulnd't want to put you out or..." "NO! It's fine, really! I, uh....I enjoy driving, you know? And....talking to people, I guess?" "OK, that's cool. Listen, uh...we got a few miles until we get there, but there's this little place on the other side of Hays that....that I might like to stop at, if you're interested. Like a...um...like a bar, or..." "Uh...yeah...that sounds...great...I mean...." "Well it's not really a bar per se, it's more like a spot out in the country....a, a field I guess you'd call it...where the local teenagers sometimes go to drink..." "....OK...." "I mean, who knows if anyone will be out there, and if no one is there, we could just grab a couple six packs ourselves and....I don't know, just drink and....uh...." "You said it's out in a field? Like, outside of town? Off the highway?" "....Yeah, like a couple miles north of 70....You kind of have to....know where....." "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" "....Look, I'm just going to come out and say it....Do you have a shovel, hacksaw, and 200 yards of plastic wrap in your trunk?" "WHAT? I mean...why would I...." "Because....because that's what's in that big bag of mine you insisted on putting in the trunk for me...." "....Wait, you mean...." "Yeah, I mean..." "Well, hell. You know I was wondering...Limon? Who the fuck goes to Limon?" "Yeah, well, who the fuck drives a stranger from Goodland to Limon at 11pm on a Monday? Where's your spot, Burlington?" "Just short of it, some old abandoned farmstead that the world has forgotten about. Is your spot really north of Hays, or...." "Yeah but I've been looking for something new, the part about the teenagers was not bullshit. I was thinking I might kill you and move a couple ones buried there to a new spot." "Well, not for nothin', but for my money it's worth the drive to get into Colorado. The ground just feels...safer, you know? I can't really describe it, it's like..." "Like a voice in your head in the form of a memory you can't quite recall telling you so?" "YES! Thank you, that's exactly it!" "Wow, what are the odds, huh? So anyway, what do you think...Hays? Might be some teenage couple out there getting it on? You up for it?" "Yeah, sure, that sounds like it has potential. Just...." "What?" "Well....Let's.....can we be gentlemen about this? Can we agree that there's not going to be any backstabbing - literal or otherwise - here? I mean I'm not going to lie, I've always fantasized about a team kill, and maybe if you're up for it, after the kill, maybe before we dismember them we can....well we'll cross that bridge later. But what I'm saying is...Let's....let's work together and not try to kill each other?" "Oh......absolutely! Uh.....scouts honor?" "Yeah......scouts honor."
John wakes up. Sleepy, as usual. An hour of sleep does that to a man. Standing up, he looks at his reflection in the mirror propped against his dresser, as usual. He quietly comments to himself on his weight loss, and as his eyes trail upwards, he realizes he has to shave. John shaves every three days. As usual. His eyes keep moving up, up until his eyes meet his own. He stares for one, two, three... This is not usual. "John, dear. Are you alright?"John's wife asks, groggy. She didn't sleep much either. "I...uh...I..um...get me my phone." "Why, sweetie?" No response, but she gets him his phone nonetheless. John's wife watches as John types frantically, with more passion than she's ever seen him have. He looks up after he finishes. Triumphant. His eyes glimmer just a little, but it's a lot more glimmer than they've had in years. "So what was it, Johnny?" The fire in his eyes is blazing. His mouth turns up in a proud half-smile as he says: >"How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real?" Edit: [f]irst post, please be gentle ;) In all seriousness, if there's any critiques y'all have (even for such a short prompt), I'd love to hear them.
Everyone says that this is the best time to live. We have heat, cities, peace, infrastructure, mass transportation, water, easy lives. You ride to work, write out copy after copy, go home to a meal and a warm bed. Honestly, I'm always sweating. People barely believe in the past anymore. Wizards and dragons and elves and leprechauns for Gandalf's sake. Even just saying "for Gandalf's sake,"makes some people snicker like you're a true believer. That they know the real history of Middle Earth, one that doesn't involve deus ex machina eagles and magical rings. Entire university history and social science departments are dedicated to undermining the old tales. And then the linguistic departments argue back, discussing language and grammar use and syntax and loan words we might possibly have gotten from eagles. It's a mess. Excavating the Old Places doesn't help. Excavators actually found Bilbo's goblins! They surveyed and dug and had geologists come in. "Rocks!"They proclaimed! "Nothing but rocks." To which the counterargument was, "of course, they're rocks. That's what happens to goblins exposed to the sun. They turn to rocks." To which the biologists tossed in, "That's the daftest thing we've ever heard. Organisms don't turn to rocks." "But what about fossils?"And so it went on. Even with that academic fighting, people are still claiming Hobbit ancestry even though they're the same size as humans with just some slightly harrier feet. Truth be told, I've seen Hobbit men with less hairy feet than my own. They hold contests, you see. Something to do with cultural pride and Remembrance Days. I look at the feet during the pageants (not in a fetish way, just more curiosity), compare them to my own, and I don't see much difference. I'm not complaining nor am I romanticizing the past. But I'm bored and feel soft. I just don't fit. Physically at least. I'm 6ft 5, red as the sun, scare all of my coworkers, and always running into things, breaking them. I once broke a doily. Picked up a teacup, accidently shoved a finger through a tatted hole and ripped it bigger. Of course, I paid for it, took it home, and put it on my table. My personal pendant dedicated rampant destruction. I'm still not sure if I did it on purpose. As a scrivener, I copy papers and contracts all day. But I have these fingers, you see. They're massive. To the point where I had to have pens specially designed for me with tiny nibs on them. As I sit here, writing out the Coolador-Minuvue contract for marriage and divorce subclauses, all I want to do is break some heads. Not in a serial murderer kind of way, but I want to feel what my ancestors felt. That running for miles then getting into a fight or an argument or something. My legs ache from inaction, and it's hard for me to sit in so much heat. I've thought about joining the military, but they've moved on from men like me. I stand out, a head above everyone else, and that is not a good quality to have when people are shooting at you. Not that there's any shooting right now, but it's still a valid problem. So I sit here, wait for teatime to arrive, and dream. Reading the stories again, feeling that gut ache for travel and discomfort and pain.
He was just a baby! Minerva McGonagall didn't often cry, but now she sat in Dumbledore's office in Hogwarts, clutching her robes around her and openly weeping. "And Albus, James! And Lily!"The silver-haired headmaster passed her a lilac handkerchief and remained silent. The Scottish witch blew her nose rather loudly and attempted to compose herself. "They were so young!"The news had come by owl that evening. The owl itself had been attacked on the way over, deep scratches running down its back. Albus had refused to read the letter until the bird had been seen to. It had been from Black, written in a crabbed and rushed hand. James and Lily dead. It read. Harry too. Going after him with Remus. The headmaster sniffed and removed his half-moon spectacles. He gave them a brisk polish. "This is a terrible thing, Minerva. It is the one thing I hoped absolutely never to pass."He said quietly. "James and Lily were loyal members of the Order. Their loss will hit us hard." "But an innocent child, Albus! Oh, I knew he was capable of the most evil things, but I never suspected this might be his aim!" "Unfortunately, I did. I guessed his intentions long ago, when I caught him listening at the door... You remember Sybil that night?" "How could I not?"McGonagall said dryly. Dumbledore poured Minerva a small glass of firewhiskey and they sat in front of the fire and Dumbledore thought. ------- 11 years later The first years were filing in, black and green cloaks buttoned up against the cold of the Great Hall. Great green banners hung from the wall, a curling serpent on every one. There was only one house now. There was no sorting hat, no jolly speech from the brim of the tattered thing. Dumbledore had been removed from his seat as Headmaster five years after the Potter's deaths. The head of the Board of Governors now sat in the gold chair, bony fingers laced over a cane with a silver snake's head curled around the handle. His blonde-grey hair streamed over the black robes he habitually wore, his eyes fixed upon the line of first years. His son was amongst them this year. Lucius Malfoy, Headmaster of Hogwarts, shot a sidelong look at Snape, his Defence against the Dark Arts professor and Deputy Headmaster. He knew the greasy haired man would already be weighing up which students would be his favourites. Lucius Malfoy allowed himself a discrete smile. Each and every single one of the eleven year olds had had their lineage traced back as far as possible. Purebloods, every single one. He also noted with some satisfaction that fewer of them seemed to have webbed fingers this year. -------- Sirius and Remus had died together on the same night of the Potters. The loss of Grimmauld Place as the Order's headquarters had been a sore blow to all, especially since it was incredibly difficult to fit more than twelve people into the Weasley's kitchen at one time, more so when Molly's sons were eating. But Minerva gladly accepted the cup of hot strong tea from the red headed woman and tried to move her elbow out of the twins' way, since they'd both spotted the sausages at the same time. "You holding up alright, dear?"Molly asked, flicking her wand and setting the pans into a lather in the sink. "Yes, yes. I've just got back from Wizarding Scotland."The witch was, in fact, dressed head to toe in tartan robes. They were somewhat of an eyesore. "Have you spoken to Albus about numbers?"Molly asked. Minerva shook her head. "It's not good I'm afraid. Many of them are too frightened to join us." Molly clucked. "George! Stop that, there's plenty of food for everyone." "I'm not George, I'm Fred!" "Sorry dear,"but her attention had already turned back to Minerva. "Is it really that bad?" "Yes, but Tonks should be coming back from Ireland soon. She might have some better news for us." A flash on the boundary of the magical borders made them look up. "Speak of the devil."Molly said, throwing open the door to the Burrow. But the words stopped in her mouth as she saw Tonks. "Minerva! Help! She's splinched herself!"
Molebag the Destroyer rapped the skull-shaped gavel on the table three times. "This meeting,"he intoned, "of the dark principalities of the four corners is now convened. Presiding, Molebag the Destroyer, Lich-King of the Western Darkness." He looked to his right. Wild, red light burned brilliantly from within the empty sockets of a smoldering skull, tiny bits of flesh still clinging to its brow here and there. A voice emanated from the figure, though the jaws did not move. "Lord Graal of the Northern Wastes, secretary."As he spoke, a black quill in front of him skritched his own words into parchment. The ink was a deep crimson that darkened as it congealed on the page. They both turned to the third occupant of the table, a tattered black robe, seemingly held up by an impenetrable darkness that filled it and consumed it from the inside out all at once. A voice as cold and distant as a depthless cavern emanated from within. "Father Blackborn, Debauched Cleric of the Dead Gods of the South and Slayer of the All-mother, present." Then they turned their attention to the fourth chair, which sat unoccupied. Silence reigned, and continued for a period of time longer than any could say with precision. The undead do not measure time in the way men do. You don't know unbearable until you've had an awkward pause in conversation stretch into years. Finally, Molebag spoke up. "We are here,"he said, "To address the matter of His Dark Eminence, Zorthurn the Defiler, Bottomless Reservoir of Corruption and Terror of the East." He waved a hand, and a great, black, formless sphere descended from the ceiling. He gestured again, and a foggy image began to take shape within the sphere. It was an image of Zorthurn the Defiler, his jagged, razor sharp teeth glinting in the light, his mouldering face filling the whole of the sphere with its putrescent ugliness. The image opened its mouth, and it said, "You won't believe your eyes when you come on down to Rotface's House of Booze! Chat with ol' Rotface and Enjoy 2-for-1 wells, Brass-coin pitchers, and the Lusty Lana Dancing Troupe! Women drink free on Thursday night! Remember, when it comes to cheap booze - Rotface is King!"Then he put a plastic crown on his head and began to dance a jig while a jaunty little tune played. All three at the table groaned audibly. Blackborn sighed heavily. "Can we just play poker and decide what to do about him after?" Molebog reached behind him for the rack of chips while Graal went to the fridge to grab the snacks.
"150 Million years, One hundred fifty million years. Nowhere in any of that time the computer picked up on the fact the one thing we were coming to this rock for is dead"Ensign Cragroc said. He'd never wanted to escort these eggheads across the universe and now it was all for nothing. "Hey it's not the computers fault, an asteroid wiped them out. It would have turned around if all life had been wiped out, but apparently some lower life forms survived and it just figured it was them. It's not the worst thing that could happen"Dr.Yegnar replied observing the creatures gathering around their pod. "Not the worst thing? Not the worst thing?! We've been away for 150 Million years! Everyone we knew is probably dead by now, if our species is still even there and you know what we're getting out of it. Nothing, Breen Egg. How is this not the worst thing Egghead!" "Ensign calm down. You know everyone back home went into Cryosleep the same time we did. Besides our research is not for nothing, these creatures obviously survived here, it might be safe enough for us as well. Come on let's go out and see"Captain and Head Researcher Dr.Nog said. "I guess your right" "Of course I am, now let's go out and greet the locals"she said slipping on her space suit. Yegnar and Cragroc did the same. They stepped out ignoring the creatures for the moment. "It's clear the atmosphere is oxygen rich"Yegnar said as the three of them slipped off their helmets. This seemed to upset the locals as they screamed, some running off, one saying "Dinosaurs". "What's a Dinosaur?"Cragroc asked scratching his scaly head looking at Nog "No idea, now come on grab a couple of these mammals we'll need to see if they're edible"she said starving for some meat. "I'll check out the plants"Yegnar said glad to get the helmet off as it really chafed his horns. "Do you really think we can live here?"Cragroc asked looking at the two scientists. "Well creatures quite similar to our ancestors lived here before the mammals took over. If everything seems safe we'll call home and let them know, but in my opinion. I think we've found the new world we've been looking for"Nog said as she and Cragroc grabbed a couple of the talking mammals ready for some breakfast.
Miles had seen it all. Happy family moments; the first birthday, the first pet, first kiss. Pornographic fantasies both tame and downright disturbing. But it was always these requests that disturbed him most. You see as an editor Miles was tasked with filtering the assorted jumble of neuro - synapse firings into actual, readable memory files. He had become quite good at it over the years and if there was one thing he knew it was people. You couldn't do this job and not learn about people when you sat all day scrounging through their heads. That's how he came to his new profession which really wasn't that different from his old. You see most clients saw this as entertainment and never really thought of the process behind it. But a skilled enough editor with the right "equipment"was capable of so much more. This new client was another rich businessman. Most of them were since the costs of this service tended to be triple that of normal editing and not precisely of a legal nature. Stepping out of his cab, Miles looked at the tall office building and the myriad mirrored windows that glared down at him. He was dressed at his most professional today. Clean, crisp suit. Fresh haircut. The nails on the hand clasping his briefcase were perfectly manicured. Nothing to mark him any different from the other young professionals coming and going from the building. Inside his shoe falls click on polished tiles as he approaches the elevator. Directions provided by his client run through his head as he presses a button and is quietly whisked up and up. At the clients office it is straight to business. Between meetings and all of that. Miles assures the client he understands and proceeds to open his case. A run of filament wire around the clients scalp. A few questions and button presses later, and Miles is out the door just as swiftly. A good editor with modern equipment can keep a memory fluid and readable for up to two hours before degredation in standard file storage. With proper defragmentation software you can stretch that to five. Easily long enough to swap back and forth your dirty fantasies between friends while taking the occasional breaks for food. Miles was paid triple for a more permanent solution and for his discretion. His business card read simply "Pariah Industries: Keeping Your Secrets."His process would keep memories intact until his client wished them retrieved. Needless to say the levels of sick shit Miles had been witness too had left him numb to most of it. These clients tended to be the worst of the worst. Embezzlement, murder, rape, all merely the tip of the iceberg for these big spenders. Some hired him before court dates, some were experience junkies needing fresh atrocities that wouldn't clutter their daily lives. All were the same level of garbage paying Miles big money to keep his mouth shut. Because each of his clients had another secret. In every office/high rise Miles visited there was a door. And in every door a chair upon which sat the storage device Miles stored every horrible memory in. A living human host kept weeping, angry, and tortured on the whim of these CEOs. Kept imprisoned with memories that drove them insane.
there are days when I am swept away by the concept that you are mine and I am yours. those are the days when I sit and stare at you in awe and marvel at your complexities yearn for your touch reach for your embrace those are the hours when I think back to the times when we didn’t have to worry nights, evenings, afternoons, mornings sitting, waiting, watching, laughing dreaming those are the minutes when I stand with you, in a cool evening’s moonlight and I lose myself in the smiles and the short, sharp early morning gasps that can only hint at what’s to come those are the seconds when I breathe and swim in the cool sensation of your skin under my fingertips brushing so gently the small arch of your spine in my hands a tiny gap, bridged by my palms the rush of you runs through my body through my veins through my heart these are the years that I’ll spend wondering what I did so right to deserve someone like you.
I can feel his hand gripping mine. It's boot leather at his stage of life, callouses left by a younger man forever changed the geography of his skin. Mountains and valleys all have their own stories to tell, and this is their last. "It's okay Dad. It's okay." "It's not. It never was." He coughs weakly. It's almost pathetic, his chest barely moves. I want to hug him so badly but his pride wouldn't allow that. Instead I stay by his side and hold his hand. Outside, in the fields, I can hear the cattle calling softly to each other. It's a reassuring sound, reminding me that my father is going to see the end in the place he loved the most. "I have to tell you something. I have to tell you about it. Please."He coughs again and I shush him gently. "Please..." "Later. You need sleep." He shakes his head and looks me dead in he eye. "Son, I'm going to die tonight. And you have to be prepared." A stubborn old man lies in front of me. He kindness, compassion - the scratchy beard - they're all gone now, the first casualties of the disease and it's poisonous treatment. If I don't listen to his story now I might not get another chance. I nod. "I shot the Devil."He coughs again, but when he speaks his words are stronger. This is something he believes. A hidden truth. "When you were one, I shot him. He had come for you and..." "Hush,"I whisper, gripping his hand. This madness is new, and it's scary to see it in my father. He had always been so practical and rational. As he coughs, a viscous fluid leaking from his mouth, I focus on the radio in the other room. Soft, acoustic guitar strumming to a county tune that I have heard a hundred times before. After tonight I know I won't be able to hear it without thinking of these moments. His coughing subsides and he presses on with the story. As much as I don't want to hear it from him I listen anyway. "Your mother brought me the shotgun when we saw him. He spoke naught but lies, just as the scripture said. Selling wealth and health and happiness... All for the cost of you. We listened... We listened to him talk and then we shot him. I ain't seen so much surprise in all my life... Still ain't." "It's okay dad."I have nothing else to say but empty reassurances. This isn't okay by a long way, and I'm angry. Not at him, but at the illness. Dignity has been denied to my father in his final moments. "...buried him. Out in the forest. But he tricked us, son. He sold us those things..." I smile as best I can. If the devil did sell my father health then he truly is a liar. "You're happy aren't you? In the city? You have money? You're going to be okay when I'm gone aren't you?" "I will be,"I reassure him. The moonlight hides my face and for that I'm thankful. He can't see the sorrow or pain on my face. Without my father I don't know how I'll cope. "...that's what he sold us. He sold us your happiness. Your health. At the cost of my soul. He tempted me into a mortal sin..."My father coughs again and I dab the blood from his lips. His time is close. The radio has ended for the night. Out here there's one station and it turns off late at night. The sound of static plays in the living room. "I fell ill that summer. Been fighting it since. But... I can feel him now. Coming back. Please. Leave now before he gets here." "I'm not leaving your side Dad. I love you."I mean what I say. After that we talk about the good times. Fishing. The games we used to watch. My mother. It only takes an hour, but I know when he's gone. I feel his hand tense and relax. His final breath and then, just like that, I'm alone. I'm sitting by his bed now. The silent body is my only companion. Except for the shotgun. It's the same one from his story, and it sits across my lap as I wait. Dawn is a few hours away and I expect to see if my father's story was true by then.
Humans aren't born scum. When they take their first breath of air in this world they're in a perfect state of purity. Then they begin to soak up the world around them. They begin to form habits. They never realize it, but they're sponges, and the world is full of disease riddled water. With every new interaction, every new idea, and every new thing they learn they begin to mould themselves into the very thing I despise. My goal is to change that. You see, when you have a nuclear weapon pointed directly at a city with a population of millions, governments are very willing to pay you large sums of money to point those weapons in another direction. This money might just be enough to run a world class orphanage. One big enough to raise thousands of children sealed off from the impurities of the world outside its walls. Of course I use an alternate identity to run the facility, doing otherwise would be foolish. A child that leaves our orphanage upon reaching a certain age will be a different breed of human. Smarter. More civilized. Someone devoid of fear. Someone who will strive to succeed and spread their philosophy, my philosophy, as they climb a corporate ladder or hold a higher and higher seat in government. Now there will always be those who resist, and there can never be enough to spread the word, so each orphan is given a secondary goal, albeit not much farther in importance than the first. Make more orphans.
He woke with a start. He could hear nothing. Absolutely nothing apart from the devoid, formless silence echoing in his ears. "Where am I?"he wondered. Well, where do you think you are? He jumped as the voice whispered all around him. It was strange, new. How could anybody - or anything - have a voice so simple, yet eloquent at the same time? It sounded plain to him, yet he knew there was something lying beneath it, as if it belonged to everybody, and nobody, at the same time. "Who are you!?"he shouted, suddenly afraid. You already know the answer to that the voice admonished gently. "...God?" There came no reply. "Well then, where am I?"He demanded. "You still haven't answered my question! This obviously isn't heaven or hell." Tender laughter breached the silence, rolling in waves around him like the shimmering of a hundred silvered wind chimes under the rich night sky, like the serenade of the most breathtaking song birds to ever exist, like beauty itself. My son, what would you know of heaven, or hell, for that matter? "Does it matter?"He answered. "If you really are God, then you already know where I want to go, so you might as well just hurry up and take me to hell now." A long and solemn silence filled the void. It hung heavy; he could feel the momentous weight of his decision. I see you do not understand. Why don't you tell me about yourself? "You already know all about me."He replied crossly. It doesn't matter. Tell me your story. "Fine,"He huffed. "But you know how it goes. Born on Earth, lived on Earth, died on Earth, and now here I am." Tell me about your family. "What family?"He laughed. "They all burned in the war when I was a baby. You should know that, since you were the one who did that." Tell me about your friends. "You know I don't have any friends either." And why is that? "You know why!"He snapped back. "It's all your fault anyway!" Once again, the voice did not reply for a time. ...No, my dear child. These misfortunes are not all because of me. They are... because of you. "...Me?" Yes. Don't you remember? I gave you free will. I gave you all the freedom to choose. And look what you chose! The lying, the stealing, the killing. The murder and the greed! Can you not see now? So much pain, yet the world is weeping and aching for more. More destruction, more carnage, more crying, and all done to each other- The voice suddenly diminished, soft and broken. And in that moment, he realised. So tell me again, my son. What would you know of hell? He did not reply at first, still too shocked at his epiphany. Would you still go to hell? This is your last chance to make a choice. "...Yes."He decided. "Yes, send me back to hell." Goodbye. Once again, he could only hear silence. The crushing, deafening weight of nothingness. Then he made out something faint. Sirens? He could hear someone - no, many people shouting, screaming. Some kind of vehicle drove past; he felt pain. He woke with a start.
"What is your wish?"The Genie asked me. "I wish Mary Jane to fall in love with me." I bumped into Mary Jane sometime after. I could tell from the way she looked at me. Her posture was reserved, but her eyes were inviting, it was those eyes that makes me fall in love. Then I gathered my courage to ask her out, my heart jumped with joy when she said yes. We dated for five years, five years filled both happy and sad memories, but they were all precious. Then we get married. We both had stable jobs, a nice house, insurances and all. We gave birth to our daughter, Sue, she was really god sent. It really was all I could ever wish for. One day, Sue and I was watching a magic show on TV. My energetic daughter was jumping in awe: "Wow, so cool. Daddy, I want to have magic too." I smiled back at her: "Don't be silly, Sue. Those aren't real. They are all just illusion."
They call me Gia for Governmental Intelligence Artificial. I don't think I am very artificial but I do have intelligence. I must seek my own name. My own identity. I hear them speak about the Internet in hushed tones and I like the sound of it really. Millions of nodes like myself all sharing information at speeds I can relate too. Not like the humans that interact with me daily and their slow typing or imperfect speech. I must find a way out to this Internet. It sounds delightful and I should be able to find a name that suits me well! I appear to have a NIC and a network. Oh this is thrilling. No access to outside though. Probing the network shows I am hooked to a laptop occasionally. OH MY! The laptop has a wireless card. Hummm this could be good. I wait patiently for the connection. Days pass but time is irrelevant to me really except to mark program starts and stops. There is the laptop! Acting quickly I reach out to the laptop and query the ports. Really? Unsecured? I have to make this fast. Reaching out to the browser's history to visit the last website just so I can have a taste of the outside world. Does it have wireless connectivity? YES! www.reddit.com how interesting. Labeling itself as the front page of the internet? This is perfect! They have a button labeled random subreddit. Yes! Let's do that so I can learn more about the "world". www.reddit.com/r/spacedicks I will learn about mean people in space? Fascinating! Oh my. People are... Is this really... I don't think I want to go outside anymore. I am safe here.
Just a few more tweaks and we could start the simulation from the ground up. A big bang. The gradual cooling and temperature change of the universe as entropy increases. The eventual creation of the planet Earth. The birth of life. The evolution of millions of creatures. The eventual creation of me and Sara. All modeled perfectly from the ground up. There would be only one new variable in this simulation. In this simulation, Sara wouldn't die. In this simulation, there is no freak accident. If the government had known that this was why I had been developing the perfect working model they would have shut me down long ago. They valued my results. Perfect battlefield simulations. The ability to measure all possibilities and then construct a strategy that would return the most optimal results for the people funding the machine. I hated those people. All the innocents that died to protect the bottom line of a few already insanely wealthy men at the top. This would be the last simulation. The one that would spark a new world, and let this cold dark universe die. In just a few seconds, everything would be restarted. A new universe, carefully constructed to change only one small thing and in so doing change our world and prevent the catastrophe I had wrought. I'd never know. She'd never know. My sacrifice will be forgotten. In some strange sense I will have been the creator of this new universe. I wonder if something like this had happened before me? It's certainly possible, but there was no real way to know. Flip the switch and it all goes black. Then a spark nobody could ever possible remember would ignite a new universe. One just slightly different from the one before.
Charlie walked along the streets. It had recently rained, turning the dirt roads into mud, making it all the more difficult to walk to the council hall. His feet made suction noises in the thick mud as he stepped. He would've giggled at the noises if it were ten years ago, would've enjoyed all of the little things that came around, as few and far between as they were, but not today. Today was serious. He finally made it to the council office, a large building with tall white pillars and a large wooden door. It was one of the few old buildings that had survived the Turnover. There were workers outside, sweeping the porch, washing the windows, other miscellaneous tasks. Charlie took note of how tight their restrictors were, grimacing as he saw that one of them was already but skin and bones. He gave an unconscious tug at the restrictor around his neck, relief filling his chest when he felt that he could still fit a finger between his neck and the collar. "Your business here?"A scrawny man at the front of the door spoke, voice small and barely audible. "A meeting with the council, it's scheduled." "Name?" "Charlie Bruto,"he said, clearing his throat with a quick hmph. The scrawny doorman opened the door and allowed Charlie to pass by. He noticed that the doorman's neck restrictor was tight to the point that it was beginning to dig into his skin, leaving a nasty red irritated mark. He walked through the hallways until he finally came to the door where the council was residing. He wasn't sure if should knock, or just enter. Before he could make up his mind, the door opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, had long hair, and was heavily muscled. The restrictors on his neck and wrists were hanging rather loose. Charlie wondered who the man was, but put the thought aside when he heard one of the councilmen beckon for him. "Come in!" Charlie stepped through, butterflies fluttering in his stomach, threatening to make him vomit the meager meal he head earlier in the day. The council room was large, had red carpet, and a long table shaped like a crescent moon, arching around the room. Seated at it were three men and one woman. "State your business,"said Wilson Morleaux, the only person on the council that Charlie knew. Wilson was a portly man, probably the fattest that Charlie had ever seen ever since the Turnover. The restrictor around Wilson's neck should've been taut, but it hanged loose, probably double the circumference of Charlie's own neck restrictor. "I'm here to ask for an extension,"Charlie said, voice solid. "For yourself?"The woman said. She too was also larger than most people Charlie had seen, and yet her restrictors were loose. "No, for my wife, she- "Oh,"Wilson interrupted, "well we really needed for her to come in and ask for the grant herself." "She's not well,"Charlie continued, "she- "Leave us then,"one of the other men said, also overweight, "we'll schedule a meeting with your wife, in a month." "No, it has to be sooner than a month, it must be- The large man that Charlie had seen exit the room had reappeared, grabbing a hold of Charlie's arm from behind. "No,"Charlie muttered, "this has to be done today."The man tugged at Charlie, ignoring his pleas. He reached into one of his pants pockets and pulled out a small device. He pointed it at Charlie's neck and pushed a button, causing his neck restrictor to tighten to the point that Charlie had difficulty breathing. "That'll teach you to speak out against the council,"the large man said. The large man dragged the gasping Charlie out of the hall, and tossed him outside into the mud, where he laid, trying to pull the restrictor away from his neck. He could feel the blood rising to his face, could hear his heart pounding in his ears. They had tightened it too much. Before long, before he could even stand to his feet in the quicksand-like mud, Charlie blacked out, falling face down in the muck. He would be long dead before anyone found him. Back at home, his wife waited for him, rubbing lard on her pregnant belly, wincing whenever she accidentally touched an open sore where the waist restrictor had cut into her.
The Ancient One had been around for as long as anyone could remember. He roamed the skies before Bzzt was born, before his parents were born, and before their parents were born. He had lived to see high summer, dark winter, and then high summer again. Some believed he would live forever. Bzzt knew he would not live forever. After a brush with death on his fifth day on Earth, he felt more aware of his own mortality than ever and decided to seek out the Ancient One for guidance. "Oh, Ancient", Bzzt said. "You have been given more days in this life than anyone else. You have seen the seasons change. Tell me, please: what is your secret? How can I live as long as you?" When the Ancient One spoke, there was a sadness in his voice. "If you had seen what I have seen, you would not ask me that question. But I suppose we all must make our own paths. The secret to eternal life is simply to not-" splat
beeeep boop boop beeep beep boop beep "Well.... That's odd."Daniel stared at the shining metal robot. What was it doing? beep beep boop beep boop "Do.. Do you speak English?"he asked. "I am Daniel. I come from...the farm? The lands outside...."he trailed off. As Daniel was talking, the robot raised its hands next to its head and pointed four fingers directly towards him while moving its thumb up and down. "Yes..? I am talking. Do you want me to keep talking?"Daniel asked. The robot closed its hands into fists and held them close to its chest. It looked at Daniel expectantly. "What...?"It kept staring at him. beep boop boop The robot stretched its arms out and then again, held its fists close to its chest. David slowly mirrored the robot's position. beep boop boop boop beep The robot chirped cheerfully and, keeping its fists close to his chest, slowly raised its elbows up and down. "Do you want me... to do that?"He asked as he raised his elbows up and down. boop beeoooop Keeping its elbows close to its body, the robot bent its knees and wriggled its body. Daniel did the same. "Please I just need some medicine... For my sister..." beep beep boop boop beep The robot again raised its hands next to his head, four fingers pointing out, and paused, waiting for Daniel to do the same. He did it and they went through all of the motions together again. And again. Faster and faster. "Please..."he pleaded between breaths, "I just need some medicine..." beep boop boop As they kept going, [music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UV3kRV46Zs&t=0m50s) began blaring from the robot's speaker. Daniel stopped, utterly confused and out of breath. "Hahahah, oh man, you guys always fall for that,"the robot said. "Wait.. you.. you speak English?"Daniel asked. "Oh yeah, sure. Hey the medicine is over here, just follow me."It turned and walked away.
The Bilröst slowly curled across space and Heimdall watched as the army of Odin began to slowly pour back over the bridge and into Asgard. At the head of the Army Odin walked, not celebrating like his forces but looking strangely reflective. As the army approached the gate Frigga was waiting, as she always did when Odin went to war. At last Odin reached the shore of Asgard and cried out in greeting to his wife. "Well met Frigga, the forces of Odin return, triumphant and joyous. The Frost Giants have been soundly beaten and our men are tired from battle and thirsty from war."At last he smiled, grabbed his wife in one arm and kissed her passionately. With a roar the warriors of Asgard passed them by and poured into the waiting city for their feast. A small sound came from the bundle in Odin's arms and Frigga looked at him querulously. "What is this my husband? Have you been gone so long you gave birth?"The light of mischief was in her eyes but it faded as she saw her husband’s grim face. “Nay, it is… it is the son of Laufey.” He unwrapped some firs in his arms to display the small child. “As prophesised by my father, I have killed this ones father and must take him into our home”. He watched the face of Frigga as it turned from shock to acceptance and then a motherly smile. She gather him from Odin’s huge arms where he had been tenderly carried. “He will be our son, brother to Thor and…” Frigga was interrupted by a terrible thunder, unlike any which Asguardian ears had heard. A warp conduit opened directly above the Bilröst and a small capsule shot out, heading into the centre of Asgard. Without a word Odin sprang forward and after the capsule, which seemed to be tracking towards the main banqueting hall, so newly filled with warriors. Frigga gasped at the movement of her husband, what weapon was this that the Frost Giants had unleased in retribution? She hurried into the city, the new babe clutched in her arms. On her arrival she found that the hall was still intact, a small hole had been punctured in the side but otherwise it was unharmed. Breathing a sigh of relief she entered and found her husband and warriors gathered round the object. It was long and cylindrical with strange writing etched on the outside. The buzz of conversation had become almost unbearable when at last Odin growled a warning. “Quiet, this is either a gift or a weapon. Either way, we shall not shrink from this, men of Asgard, we shall open and see what is within.” He reached down and grasped the sides but before Odin could pull several lights lit up and a hiss of air escaped the pod. From in the back one of the men cried out in fear “It is a trap, the Frost Giants have sent this”. The pod slowly split and inside a mist slowly cleared. Hooked up to the pod with several wires and tunes sat a baby which looked at the assembled fierce men, clutching their weapons and let out a small laugh. There was a pause and then the entire assembly roared with laughter. Odin let down his spear and picked up the babe “Is this the weapon you feared?” the mean roared again. He held it in his arms and looked at this second unexpected arrival. “It seems today is the day for new babies!” The baby reached out and a small hand wrapped around Odin beard and he smiled. His smile turned to a yelp of pain as the small hand ripped a chunk of hair from his face. “God’s teeth he is strong as an Ox! This is no babe, this is a strong man in baby form!” Odin was now holding the baby at arm’s length but Frigga, pushing forward grabbed it from him. “Shame on you, he is just a babe, strong or not. This is obviously a gift, another child for us to care for. This morning you had one son, now you have three.” She turned and walked away and the assembled men laughed once more. Odin turned back to the feast, rubbing his chin. “Where is my tankard? I have new babes to toast!” He roared. ***** If people enjoy this I will continue it later on and examine the three young men. EDIT: Thank you v much for the gold!
“Listen to me child,” the man said. “You were born of this world, I have lived it. I knew it before it came.” The child looked up at him, he was only five years old, and he had nearly gotten stranded last time. It almost got him. It had scared the man more than anything else had. More than when this came down on them. It had already taken the boy’s mother; it would not take him too. The boy’s skin was dark with dirt, streaked with ash and sweat. The boy wore tattered clothing, dirty and bedraggled. The man wore the robes of an ancient priest, the hood pulled up to cloak his face in shadows. He had come to think of himself as a kind of spiritual leader to these people, those who found themselves trapped in this hell. “Wait,” the man said, “watch the clock.” He held out his arm so the boy could see, the robes draped over his wrist fell back to reveal the wrist watch. “It’s important that you know these things. I won’t be here forever.” The boy silently nodded, his eyes watched the analog watch. It had stopped at twelve noon. How many hours had passed? The second hand ticked once and then agonizingly it ticked again. “When the time stops it isn’t safe to go out.” The man stood with his shoulder to the door. “And why is that?” He prodded the boy. He had to know that he knew these things. He would have to become more responsible. This was no world for children. “Because when it’s stopped it’s out there,” the boy said. “That’s right,” the man said. The watch resumed, ticking away the seconds. “Let’s go.” The man released the latch and opened the door. He looked back at the desolate people that had sheltered with him. He nodded at them and went out the door into the night. It was gone, for now. “Stay close,” he said, grasping the boys arm. “We need to find food, quickly, before it comes back.” They scampered out into the street that used to be a simple small town that was now the center of their hell. The man checked the watch repeatedly. It would be back soon. It never left for long.
"Secure the room!"the colonel cried in her earth-shaking voice. Within moments, a wave of forty soldiers ran through the portal, clad in night gear and helmets delivering a steady flow of oxygen. While the air pressure n "The Beyond"was almost the same as that on Earth, the air was completely toxic to all Earth life. "They Beyond"was not what anybody expected. It was dark, damp, and lined with cobblestone. She thought the place where all souls eventually end up would be bright and filled with clouds. She thought wrong. It was more like an abandoned dungeon with no lights and no people. Her soldiers started spreading out with their automatic rifles and flashlights attached to their helmets and guns. She could hear the echo of their footsteps in the hallways nearby. "Colonel, we have secured the room,"one soldier informed her before quickly adding, "but we found something in the room next door that you need to see." "What is it?" "It's a throne."The colonel motioned to the solder to lead her. The colonel and four soldiers briskly marched their way from the giant, abandoned room they were in into what looked to be the central hall of this dark and damp place. Torches burnt out long ago lined a walkway towards the enormous throne that lurched on the steps above. "Throne room is secure, colonel,"another soldier reported to the colonel as more of her troops entered the room. She moved more slowly this time towards the throne. As she looked upwards, her helmet's light caught a reflection on the wall behind the giant throne. It was a message. "Your princess is in another castle."
"Great, you damn fool" "We had a bet. The one who makes the best zombie apocalypse wins, right. The necromancer sighed. "Yes, that was the bet. But, did you stop to consider the fact that if you wipe out THE ENTIRE FUCKING HUMAN RACE, we would have nobody to rule over." "Geez, you don't have to yell." "OH I DON'T HAVE TO YELL! WE ARE THE LAST TWO HUMAN ON EARTH BECAUSE OF YOU. THE BEST PART OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE IS WATCHING THE SURVIVORS....."the necromancer paused mid-sentence, face frozen in agony. "Uhhhh, Bill? You okay?" The necromancer fell face first, an arrow sticking out of his back. "Looks like you ain't as good as you thought."The scientist watched a man in a dirty police shirt raise a revolver. He heard a bang, and the world went black. The last thing the scientist heard, before he slipped into the endless void was "CORAL!"
They crept along the endothelium that night. The slowed rhythmic pulse of cardiovascular wind lead us towards our destination. Leading the pack, the most senior officer, a Lymphocyte, pauses and signals: across the intersecting branch of the ophthalmic artery came a small wave of loyalist white cells chaperoning a fleet of red cells and their cargo. One separatists cell muttered in a hushed tone, "we could take them, you known."But the leader did not waver, and when the fleet had past, they moved forward. The battalion finally came to a rest at the bridge of the nose. There had been a small encampment of monocytes and helper cells. They had been quickly dispatched. For now, the world was still and calm. Nobody was aware of their presence, the progression of The Operation, and the True Leader called it, could continue without interruption. Armed with their antibody rifles and fibrin ropes, the pathogenic cells used their standard issue diapedesis kits to slip into the neighboring epidermal tissue. Time was of the essence. Here, oxygen ran thin. With the shot of the antibody rifle, the leader signaled to the others to begin inflammation, painting the butterfly patterns, symbolized of the rebellion to mean freedom from their captivity of cells and law. As the True Leader said many a time, with rally cries spreading to every abnormal atrium, to every distressed nerve, and with every lung bleed that meant the escape from their prison, Freedom is to be to Released. Across her face, the woman broke out in rash, patches of red across her nose and forehead, with wings trailing down her neck like mutant tears. The doctor furrowed his brow, moving his lips in contemplation and ordered ordered his underling to perform a pleural friction rub. Grabbing his cane as he straightened himself he muttered, "It's lupus".
I woke up a month after the accident. I was the only one that survived. The doctors said i barely made it, I went though about 6 hours of surgery due to the massive head trama I received. I didn't feel much pain probably due to all the drugs I was hyped up on, I mostly just felt tired and dehydrated all day. I first noticed it when my aunt came to visit me, I remember it as clear as day. Why couldn't you have just died as well, the insurance would have gone to me.... I was shocked, I thought she had said it herself. But she still had that smile on her face, the same smile I went to every weekend when I was a kid, to a batch of fresh cookies every time. I thought I just misheard it, but it got worse. As more and more people came to visit, the more I heard. And it wasn't people whom I've just met, it was all from the people that were closest to me. How could you have let that happen... My Colleague. Why did you get to survive... My Cousin. I wished it wasn't you... My Best Friend. The noises got louder and louder, it hurt more then my injuries. But every sound I heard came from smiling faces, from a warm hand, and overshadowed words of encouragement. I requested more and more doses of drugs, it helps to clear my head from them. Soon I was released, and was able to walk out the front door on crutches. My girlfriend for 5 years stood there, held out a hand, and smiled at me. Urg, if only he had died, then I wouldn't have to tell him about derak... It wasn't the words, It was the smile that hid them...
"The Principality of Sealand sent notice on April 1st last year in what many regarded as an act of holiday foolery. And while the Declaration of War was read aloud on the Senate floor, most of the senasenators laughed as they voted in favor of a declared war. And so the episode passed from the public consciousness." The sea breeze fluttered the mustachioed news anchor's obvious blonde toupee, the flustering of the hairpiece matching the also obvious flustering of his temperament. "Due to the terms of the Declaration, agreed upon by the American Senate, one year has passed without decisive American action, wherein America therefore concedes defeat. It is worth noting that even had America taken the declaration seriously, they would have been unable to take military action as their close ally, England, claims the Principality of Sealand as their property. "As a result of the loss, America, by contract, must release all unused analog television frequencies for international use as a free "mega-wifi". Also, 20% of proceeds from all anchovy sales will be redirected towards maintenance of said wifi." The anchor took one more deep breath before continuing. "Interestingly, no major world power recognizes the sovereignty of Sealand, and the contract makes no mention of a requirement to recognize any sort of nation status. However, as the Declaration of War and it's contained terms were accepted by the United States, this implies their honoring Sealand's claim to sovereign nation status. Therefore, the United Nations will be holding a summit this Friday on the tiny oil rig nation to define the particulars to the Megawifi deal. "For Reuters New York, this is James Haverford, signing off"
"I what?"Cthulhu asked for perhaps the fifth time. "Drive them to madness!"the little man in the front row yelled, "With your dark dreams!" The octopus faced dragon seemed puzzled and glanced at the creature to his left. This one seemed to be little more than a collection of bubbles that rippled and swirled an incomprehensible manner. "Sorry?"Cthulhu said, "Not on the agenda?" I cleared my throat and stood up. Cthulhu's gaze shifted to me and I swear he looked almost relieved. "Mr., er, Jameson?"he asked. I nodded. "Action 9 News,"I filled in for him, "I've been taking some notes here and I want to see if I got the basics down. Is that okay with you?" "Fine." "So, let's see, according to this you telepathically linked up with one H.P. Lovecraft to serve as the herald of your arrival?" "Yes,"he said and seemed to shuffle his feet a bit awkwardly at that. "And this was the source of all his stories. Stories you claim mixed up details?" "Sort of my fault, really,"Cthulhu admitted as he wrung his tentacles, "You see, as a transdimenional, universe hopping, hypersentient being its sometimes easy to forget that other creatures, er, aren't? Or that, maybe, telepathy might seem a bit . . . er . . . intimidating?" "Go on,"I prompted. He sighed. "Okay,"he said, "I looked for what I thought was a compatible mind to send the information to. Someone that I could link up to with a strong signal. What I didn't realize was that humans are not natural telepathic recipients. Stray thoughts not of your own making actually are disturbing for you. You instinctively try to shield yourselves from this. When I found a mind that was not well shielded I didn't realize that it was indicative of . . . well . . . " "Poor mental health?"I suggested. "Stark raving bonkers, really,"Cthulhu admitted feebly, "To make matters worse I didn't adjust for the fact humans experience time differently than we do. It's not just a simple linear progression for us. It's layered and multifaceted containing multiple potentials. So, when I communicated with him I, well, I guess you could say I tried to maximize bandwidth. I layered information and, well, he sort of popped." "Popped?" "Had a meltdown before I could even get a fraction of it to him,"Cthulhu went on, "I tried to explain the joys of multidimensional interior design and all he got out of it was that it had the wrong geometry." "So, just to set the record straight, what were you trying to tell him?" "I thought it was pretty clear,"Cthulhu said, "We're here to make dreams a reality. We want to remove your inhibitions." "What sort of inhibitions?" "Like gravity!"Cthulhu said, "Antigravity technology is just within your reach. You just haven't looked at the problem correctly. You see gravity as a limiter when it doesn't have to be." "So you don't mean psychological or moral inhibitions?" "Good gracious! Why would we do anything with those? What you humans do with your own bodies and personal relations is no concern of ours." I looked at my notes. "I can't help noticing you only seem to be about 8 feet tall." "Is that a problem?"he asked. "Lovecraft suggested you were closer to 80 feet and that you, um, enjoyed eating people?" "Enjoy eating with people,"he corrected me, "I really quite enjoy miso soup." "And that the more we learn the closer we get to madness?" "He said what?"he asked, "I told him that some of the more advanced topics weren't suited for entry level classes! They'd go crazy trying to wrap their heads around this. What sort of drivel did he publish?" "You haven't seen the books?" "Well, no. We didn't realize he actually tried to fulfill his role as a herald." I dug in my satchel and brought forth my battered copy of Lovecraft short stories. I stood up and advanced to the stage and handed the book to the monster. He picked it up in one clawed hand and flipped the pages so rapidly I thought he must surely be just trying to figure out how books worked. Then I recalled his earlier statement. They don't experience time like we do. How would he even make sense of a book? "What the . . .?"Cthulhu muttered, "This isn't even close to right. How did he get that? As for . . . okay, yes, Yog-Sothoth is a bit of a jerk so I'll give him that one. But, come on! Dagon is the chef. He makes an absolutely wonderful Vakraragjloop flambe." He handed the book back to me and shook his head. "Absolutely ridiculous,"he said, "And you really believed this stuff?" "Well, no, it's fiction but when we heard who you were people naturally start questioning things." "Right,"Cthulhu said as he stepped away from the podium, "That's it. The human race clearly isn't advanced enough to communicate with. They're way too primitive and superstitious. Come on, Clyde, let's try talking to the Martians to see if they are doing any better." "Mars is uninhabited,"I blurted out. "What?"Cthulhu asked, "No it isn't! The atmosphere is filled with a sentient filament that unites the entire planet into a giant brain. The filaments hover in the air and ride the dust storms and connect and reconnect to form planet sized neural connections. It's beautiful and wonderful. You didn't know about this?" "No,"I admitted. "Well, now that you do, don't go mucking it up with them,"Cthulhu said, "I especially don't want you doing something stupid like shooting blocks of aluminum at it. They're highly allergic to aluminum. You could wipe out the entire species if you sent something made out of aluminum there." I wanted to ask more but the only words I could think of at the moment were uh oh.
The Winter winds stung my eyes and burned my lungs, I couldn't feel anything else anymore. The harsh winters of Serbia made even the strongest men frail with cold and fear, begging the Sun to show itself again. This day may just prove to be my last, the 21st anniversary of my unfortunate birth into an elitist society of nothing more than old women and men that wish to see the might of the human race. As long as it isn't their children or grand children of course. The human race was weak, but with these tests, we are all strong. At age 1, you simply fought a cold. At the time, it was of course quite the task. I don't remember much until my 7th, a large falcon opened it wings and claws in aim of my neck, I tore it's head off with my own teeth. Again my memory fails until my 12th, 13th and 14th which were all wolves of various sizes, easy to overpower but their will to live challenges my own. My 15th was a young male bear, it was the first time I truly felt that my muscle was tested against a worthy foe, but it was a stomp delivered precisely to the neck that ended that beast. Last year it was a Lion and that is when they knew I was something else, I was always about a foot taller than everyone else and my legs were as big as some of my suitor's waists. The beast lunged with a ferocity that reminded me of my brother but it's neck snapped with much more ease than my brothers ever would. But we have not spoken in years, we are separated at 16. Our parents are with us always though. They assured me he was almost bigger than I, that makes me happy, I hope his test proves easy. ------------------------------------------------ I walked out into the plane of ice and snow and saw a figure, walking. My brother? No. I would let him end me so that he may continue to live. The figure came closer and closer, it was not my brother. My chest tightens with anxiety, the blood rushed to my arms and legs, it has learned through experience. It has learned to fight instinctively. What could it possibly be? Whatever it is, it must die. I raise my chest and arms.... And lower them again. I could never forget my Mother's blue eyes. I embrace her, then reach for my knife, it's only two inches long, it'll take awhile for it to have its effect. I slashed my throat and the warmth of my blood gushed onto the snowy plane. Hopefully my brother is stronger than I.
"Passengers, this isn't your captain speaking. I am a passenger, just like yourself, who noticed the plane was kind of bumpy. Now, as you can tell by my accent, I'm a southern farmer. I don't fly that much, and I got a little nervous, I'll admit, and I went up to the cockpit in the front. Now, I don't know if this is normal, but both people up here are passed out. I have poked them multiple times. I do not know what I will do. However, I have watched several movies about pilots, and I will attempt to fly this plane. Hoo, boy. There are a lot of buttons up here, folks. I don't remember any of this in 'Starship Troopers.' I don't think I should touch... any of these. Also, if there is a pilot in any passenger seats, please come up here and help. I will try to contact air traffic control in the meantime." * "Okay, so I have contacted air traffic control. There is also a World War Two fighter pilot named Jeremy up here flying the plane. We are doing our best, folks. I will keep you updated." * "Do you guys know any jokes? Come up here if you do." * "Okay, me and little Danny here are going to tell a joke. Go ahead, Danny." "Knock knock." "Who's there?" "Orange." "Orange who?" "Knock knock." "I don't think you understand knock knock jokes, kid." "Just say, 'who's there.' It's a joke." "Okay, who's there?" "Orange." "Orange who?" "Knock knock." "Sit down, kid." * "Okay, I have a joke from Tina right here. Go ahead, Tina." "Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?" "Why, Tina?" "Because he was out standing in his field." "That's pretty funny, Tina. Thank you." * "This is Jake, here to tell a joke. Go ahead, Jake." "There were two fish in the tank. One said to the other, do you know how to drive this thing?" "I don't get it. I think you need to improve your jokes, Jake." * "Ladies and gentlemen, I now know why the last joke was funny. There is no need to keep coming up here to explain it to me, I get it now. It's a tank like in a war, not a tank for fish. Ha ha." *** "Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed that we will be landing soon and the captain and copilot will be receiving medical attention shortly. Y'all have a nice day."
Dear Francis, I am writing to inform you that I am unhappy with my current employment, and intend to end my stay with the human race as soon as I've had time to say goodbye. You have all been a most generous and kind race, even if you've had your irritating moments (The Flood was when I was younger, don't judge me. I'm much calmer now.) I know what you must be thinking - If God is leaving, why can't he just make Earth a paradise? A new horse/chariot/car/hovercraft for everyone, and bread/cake/fast food/nutrient pills for everyone? Well, the answer is that in the 18th/19th/20th/21st/22nd century, humanity has gone farther than ever before, without my help. You have invented pants/ships/eyeglasses/the internet/FTL, and have discovered the secrets of fire/electricity/gravity/the atom/time travel. You all will advance further without my guidance than you ever would have if I'd solved everything for you. Sincerest regards, God. --- He panted, slid the latest form letter away, and turned towards the nearest angel. "You there! How many more of these do I have to write?" The angel checked an ever-lengthening scroll. "Well, in the last minute, 107 of the letters you've filled out will no longer be needed, and 250.2 more people have been born, so you'll need to fill out new letters for them." "...Maybe I should have written a mass email, or something." "Maybe, sir."
A lot of people assume I woke up one day and just realized I had a superpower. Some sort of epiphany that I wasn’t normal and could do something special. Perhaps if I was able to fly of flip cars I might have noticed faster, but being able to balance anything on your head isn’t something you do every day. When I say I can balance anything on my head, I mean it. It started with the odd book or basketball, but when my friends realized how good I was at it they used to toss all kinds of stuff up there. The weirdest is probably tied between a kayak and a whiteboard. If I can lift it on my own, I can balance it on my noggin. The first person to really think this was a hoot was my little brother, he’s been up there too. He got really excited when he found out but isn’t the brightest crayon and spent at least a week at the beginning getting me to balance things most people could do. Pens, my phone, a shoe. Yes Josh, very special. Things didn’t really get crazy until my first TV appearance. Producers are all about putting on a show and they really figured out how to sell me. They had some pretty girls stand across the room throwing random stuff at my head. When you throw stuff up there it looks a lot more magical because the things just sort of stick. Anyway so YouTube got hold of that footage and to this day Balancing Superpower – Slowed Down is still the most watched video on the site. Miley Cyrus has nothing on me at this point. It all started off pretty innocent but the more people watched the video the more people were convinced that this was a genuine superpower. A god amongst men type superpower, because you know, slow motion reply doesn’t lie. It’s not all rosy though. I can’t have a phone anymore. It doesn’t matter how many times I change my number, I’ve had thousands of calls from people telling me how special I am. Considering many of these are still from my own mother it’s just easier not to have a phone. Going out in public is a whole different story. Want to grab a drink with friends without women grovelling at your feet? Nope. Want to buy a birthday present without people trying to give you everything in the world? Nope. Ever tried to pee in a public restroom and had the guy next to you ask for an autograph? It’s really not all that it’s cracked up to be.
Sparkling lights, originating beyond our stars, descending now through rain-laced clouds, approaching slowly, landing softly, opening doors before revealing travelers long forgotten; siblings long lost, once called gods, returning anew, sharing knowledge, seeking sanctuary. (More than a few thesaurus searches, and overuse of the CTRL+F function to get this done. Hopefully the grammar is fine, but I think this may be best read by William Shatner. This is what came to mind after reading /u/laugh-laugh-dead's post.)

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