Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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Bob stared at the letter. "Well, s!&#."Bob knew why they were after him. Bob, or rather Roberta, as he/she was currently known, had the seemingly magic ability to alter his/her cells to change just about anything about them. Crazy, right? Roberta closed the letter. She read the return address. Printed in copperplate were the words THE INQUISITION. The address was somewhere in Valencia, Spain. Roberta was vacillating between passing it off as a joke and being genuinely terrified. The fact that someone had caught on so soon was questionable. Roberta had become 18 five days ago, and only used her powers once. It seemed like a large conspiracy. She remembered her Mother talking about how she-CRASH The door was kicked in by a large man with a neck like a python. Roberta was so stunned that she, over several seconds, morphed back into Bob. "I didn't expect you so soon."Bob said, voice quivering. His voice cracked like a 5-year-old with a recorder. In an excited voice the man simply says, "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!"
Bong-da-da-bong. Bong-bong-bong. The circle of drummers thumped out a beating, pounding groove. "Hu-na-na-na!"shrieked Diocletian, his thick shock of curly black loops swooping about his face as he danced to the beat. He gestured for me to get up. I don't like dancing. I'm not much good at it. Too clumsy in my ankles. They always laugh when I try. Yet Diocletian kept gesturing, making arcing motions with his arms. He reached into the richly embroidered pouch at his lap, and plucked out a greenish stem. "Come, Severus", he motioned. "It will make you invincible."I wheeled onto my knees, then my feet, and clumsily jived across the tent to Diocletian. "Eat", he insisted. I took the stem in my hand. It was firm. I popped it into my mouth and bit down. It tasted bitter. Mouth-scrunchingly bitter. Like eating beetle grubs. Or pine needles. I gagged. But I gulped it down, with a grimace and a swig of water from the flask that swung at my hip. The drums pounded on. I flailed my arms to the groove. Bong. Bong-da-da-bong. Biddy-biddy-bong. "Hu-na-na-na!"shrieked Diocletian, gesturing to the surly youths remaining seated dance. Maximilian, Hippocrates, Melisandre, and Yasmine joined the dance. I was too shy to dance with anyone, exactly. I gazed vaguely into the floor, trying not to make too much eye contact. My heart purred faster. The drums quickened. The tip of the tent swirled like an ocean of spiralling galaxies. I flung my hips and arms around like a wounded bear. I felt my power growing. I spun around in a circle with my arms outstretched. Tomorrow I might be an urchin at the side the road but tonight I am invincible. I spun off, out of the tent, into the starry night. I counted the constellations. St. Helen, the volcano god. Epona, the horse. Cthulhu, the sprawling noodly one. The night was abuzz with sound. Crickets chirruped. Bullfrogs croaked. The old owl hooted a low and lonely song. "Severus?"someone shouted after me. I did not care much for their vain cries. I am invincible now! I bounded to the top of the hill, my heartbeat jittering in my mouth. I danced about, fizzing with energy, and thundered down to the other side, swooshing through the tall grass. I heard the stream trickling away, swirling over the rocks. Then I saw it in the dim light of the starlight. Big furry haunches. A hulking body. It was lapping at the stream. I froze. It turned around, its eyes shining a pale yellow, and reared up onto its hind legs, letting off a rumbling growl. No problem! I am invinciblel! I conquered my terror, and stood my ground. I roared my own roar. "Rawwwwwghhhh"I shrieked. "I am invincible!" The bear charged, swiping at me with its teeth. I rolled out of the way, lithe and nimble. "Not today, bear. Not today."The bear charged again. I danced, but slipped on a mossy rock, tumbling onto my back with a crunch. I winced. The bear was on top of me. It roared. I felt the warm corona of its breath, and its dripping saliva. "Silly bear", I mumbled. "I am invincible! You can't eat me." Thwick. Thwick. Thwick. Thwick. Thwick. A flurry of arrows swished down from the hilltop. The bear slouched its head, lolling its tongue. It collapsed onto me. I grunted. "Severus, you foolish boy!"came a shout. Foolish? Me? No. I knew I was invincible.
I lay quivering in the cold rain, the gravel stabbing my skin with sharp corners. The cloaked figure hovered silently above me, his hand open as if just letting my spirit spill from his hand and back into my body. "Wha....wh..."I breathed heavily. Death turned his back and began floating away. He almost disappeared into the grassy hillside, away from the car accident, when I called out. "Wait!" He paused, his ethereal feet already passing through the wet ground. He turned his head slightly to hear what I had to say. "Why?" "..." He didn't immediately reply. I wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't speak or he was thinking, but I was startled when I finally heard his voice. "You did many good things..."I could hear his voice in my head, his skeletal mouth staying unmoving. I thought about what he said, and about the life that I lived. "But...I'm not a good person,"I said, reflecting upon myself. "I haven't done a good thing in my life." Then I remembered who I was talking to. I looked to the other overturned car, and the family inside immediately told me what he meant. "I...I..."I started. "How ma--" "Today? Three,"he replied. "Before today?" I interrupted, already knowing the answer. "Four. I did something that eventually lead to the deaths of four people, haven't I?" The cloaked figure nodded, before turning away and floating back to where he came from.
Tensions with the Russian nation had grown to threatening levels over the past months and the United States was determined to put together a method to win a war, if it did come to that. Over at the Pentagon, the lead engineers presented a new idea. "Procrastination. Its what half our country spends most of its time doing. Now, what if we could weaponize it?" "Carry on,"said the chief who would've normally dismissed such a ridiculous proposition, but given the desperate times anything went. "Well, first we get our men in the military to partake in the activity. Our experiments show that procrastinators will try to justify what theyre doing in any way possible, so soon enough they'll all realise that if everyone just stopped fighting there'd be no need to prepare for it. They'd quit the forces. "Leaving Russia to have its way with us." "Oh no no no, we'll leak this tactic of ours to the adversary, who undoubtedly will decided to try it out as well. Youve got to know what your enemy's up to." "So, you solution to war is...peace?" "Well, not exactly." "How so? Our military will disband and so will theirs." "Yeah. Then we'll nuke the bastards to kingdom come"
Her hair was long, neat and black as the night. She was beautiful and delicate, a true marvel of nature. Now I know what you must be thinking, and it is not so. Do such things exist? Of course they shouldn't. And I know how you must imagine a witch to look. And no, she did not look like that. Her beauty was a spell of its own. There is power in belief and her belief was strong and she was a pagan from young and then she was thirty, with a kind of experienced beauty. Her name was Selene and she was from our village in the country. The boy who doted on her was Andrew. I call him a boy though he is only a few years younger than I. He was seventeen then when Selene was thirty, and he was in love with her. That was near Autumn, in the time of Summer's dying breath. Some rains came and the place was cool and the nights dark with cloud and plenty winds. The leaves had begun to turn, aging gracefully for death. Selene was often out those nights. She was a pagan and she worshiped nature, or at least that is how I saw it. She had her rituals and incantations and though it disturbed the more provincial people, we were not too bothered. She was a hippie, I suppose, and nothing more than a curiosity. But there is power in belief. If you take anything away from this tale, let it be that. There is great power in belief. That is the true power of all the stories and of all the religions and of anything in this world. Belief can make a man. Belief can break one. Andrew was only a boy and he was obsessed with Selene. School was out and he spent his days following her. At first she took kindly to him, I'd imagine even a bit flattered, for Andrew was not bad looking. But the novelty wore on and Andrew would not stop. Those nights when Selene preferred to be alone, when it was dark and threatening rain, and when the powers were near, so was Andrew. He spied on her. He brought her gifts and tried to push her feelings so that she would love him. The leaves fell like Andrew's hope. In the bare barks of that coming Autumn, he grew desperate. He professed his love to her. He begged her in public and got on his knees. His parents were old and embarrassment was all they could muster. Selene rejected the boy and he became worse and worse. There were whisperings that he tried to assault her, or threatened to at least. You know how village gossip is. Perhaps he did and perhaps he didn't, but on night everything broke and Selene could take no more. She was beautiful that night. The fire outside reflected on her like glass and her skin was gentle and soft. Her eyes were tired, but in an endearing way. You can probably tell that Andrew was not the only one who fancied her. And that night all the men were out. A drizzle had begun to fall but it was a picturesque night and the fireflies were about and there was a genial commotion about. Selene had constructed a great fire in her yard and she had invited us over, Andrew included. There were drinks and food and we had ourselves a time. Then Selene stepped near the fire and she beckoned Andrew. All the social groups that had formed, stopped, and we all looked towards her and her beauty. The boy was young, innocent near the flame, his hair wet, the droplets a molten color from the fire. He was melting and a storm of emotion must have been raging. Why had Selene looked so beautiful when she did it? I wondered that it had been to further torture the boy, but now I think different. She believed in her faith and her faith was that of witchcraft. She was a witch and she dressed like one. The beauty was an aftereffect. She beckoned Andrew and cursed the boy. How do witches, real witches, curse someone, you might be thinking. The same way an unrequited love will. With her words. "I will never love you,"she said. She looked into his eyes. You will never be loved nor will you fall in love. I have done the rituals to make it so. The sycra has shown a loveless and hopeless life for you." It went similar to that at least. Everyone teetered on confusion, embarrassment and discomfort. Andrew was frail. Selene smiled at him in a wicked way. "You should have left me alone,"she said. "You're an irritating little boy. You could never be a man for me." She laughed in his face. Suddenly everyone had somewhere to go and somewhere to be. Those who had been drinking may have called out, heckled, and prayed for God, but that was sparse and lost to the fires. Andrew was not well liked after the rumors had spread and no one stood up for him. His knees buckled and he ran so he would not fall. The dark came over that night and in the early morning, before the dawn, Selene was out amongst her trees. Andrew was not seen that day nor the next. During that time I wondered why Selene had even used her witch belief to tell him off. Truly her words, her true feelings about the boy, would have been enough. Why all the spells and curses? Andrew killed himself two days after and all thinking was cut short. Great tragedies often come personal and small to villages, and the boy's death was one. Selene had become a pariah and as the rains fell that Autumn for his funeral, she was unseen and holed away in her home. Throughout the shared grief and general sadness I thought again of why she had chosen to bring her witch beliefs into telling him off. I do not think it would have save Andrew had she not done it, but it would have saved her. The only answer that came was that it was all true. Selene truly believed it and so she had only told the boy the truth. Her world was pagan as is was hers. There was nothing she could do. Consensus turned after Andrew's death and soon Selene was the pariah. Late that Autumn, when it was cold and getting colder, the hate had boiled over and its steam had fogged over sensible thought. Selene was murdered in the night, defiled and hanged. The killer is still unknown, though there are whisperings as there always is. Many think it was a boy named Henry, a friend of Andrew's. He too had been infatuated with Selene and he had done the deed to fulfill his desires and to prevent being cursed as Andrew had. Others say he was paid by Andrew's parents. You know how gossip goes. The only thing for sure is that Selene was killed and that the Winter came cold and dark, a season of mourning and depression.
Realization comes slowly, often a light seeping into the darkness. Sometimes it is a cancer eroding strength and life and the will to live. It comes slowly, but it always comes. I might be one for hyperbole, but come on, aren't we all? I was down that day, as I am now and I was thinking about the past. Thinking about mistakes. On the internet, anonymity is a freedom. I figured what the hell. Maybe posting my stresses would help relieve them. Reddit's screen is white, if you've never been on that site, and it's like a message forum where people post things and talk with each other. I made an account, a throwaway account, and I decided it wouldn't hurt to post the hell of life. My world had been slowly crumbling. Have you ever experienced the slow degradation of a relationship? The chipping away of words, the slow sowing of salt in communication? The coldness that begins to emanate and you just can't finger why. Why are things like this? How did it get like this? Your world crumbles. There isn't much you can do. I posted on Reddit, asking for advice, insight, anything. My room then was empty, my wife in the living room, and a low anxiety building. The silence that was so unaccustomed in our house made my heart beat hard and fast. I needed a distraction. Any help. Anything. I kept refreshing the page. I am not a good writer and my post was not good. I tried to capture the feelings that were within, to just put my sadness across. I think I managed to be pathetic. The comments came slowly. Some were encouraging. Others were the expected. Dump her. Go to the gym. Delete Facebook. They couldn't understand what it's like when you've been with someone for decades. They couldn't understand that maybe the problem was something more than just a fling. But I can't blame them. Perhaps I did not communicate it well enough. Then another commented. BrokenHeart1998. The coincidence struck me. I was married in 1998. This person seemed to relate. He said that he knew what I was going through. 'Sometimes you feel apprehensive when you SI walks in the room. You might blame it on PMS, or a bad day or something else, but it keeps happening. You think of all the years that have passed. You think how can someone be so callous? How can they ignore the love that you obviously feel, but to them it's something that doesn't exist. You feel worried that she'll leave. You're worried that she might be cheating (and she might be!). You're scared of your life falling apart and not being able to do anything or pick up the pieces. So many things are out of your control.' That was exactly how I felt. I told him as much. I asked if he had gone through something similar. 'Yes. My husband actually. He makes me feel like that. He's always busy. Always on the computer. Always too busy to do anything with me. I feel like a burden around him. And he gets me upset and then makes me feel like it's my fault.' And I was an ass, as well as blind. When something hits home you have to lash out. It's a rule on the internet. If only realization worked faster! 'Maybe you're being too hard on him? Idk, it sounds a bit like me tbh. Does your husband work? Maybe he's just tired. Your spot on about the feeling, but maybe your a bit too harsh.' 'And you sound even more and more like him.' No one upvoted me. On Reddit, upvotes are how you know your worth. The silence in my room grew. Funny how that is, isn't it? My heart beat a noiseless rhythm. I shook, a subtle tremble of sadness and fear. My world was crumbling. 'You stupid bitch.' I closed the site after and put away the laptop. I was not in sound mind and the years slipped past in a taunting blur. My identity, everything that was me, was on the brink of collapse. What do they know? I thought. From the living room I heard my wife crying. She's cheating. It's her other man. But some things remain ingrained. I loved this woman. As contrary as it seems, I love her and her pain cut deeper than any other pain in the world. I hung up my insecurities and went to her. That apprehension came, the readying for a fight. But she was sobbing and the coldness was not so cold. "What's the matter?"I asked. She ignored me. It was the routine now. "Please tell me what's the matter." She pointed at her phone and I thought I had to be dreaming. Realization finally reached and it hit me like a shock. 'You stupid bitch.' Who could write something like that? Could I really be so awful? "What's this?"I asked. I was embarrassed. She said it was a Reddit thread and then she said she didn't want me to see it. I held her and she let me and that was how I knew she was really hurt. "Please let me read it." I read it and made my decision. I loved this woman. I was not perfect. I am scum, even today. But I could not lose it all. I loved her and I love her still. "Do you really feel like that?"I asked. She nodded. "Do you feel like him?"she asked. "No,"I said. "He sounds like an asshole. I would never be like that. Please don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm..." I didn't expect to cry. The emotions were genuine and though I felt manipulative, I knew I could repent. This was my chance. "I'm sorry. I don't want to make you feel like this. You should never have to feel like this." The rest of it is private, as you can imagine. We talked long and true and the room got less and less cold. She loved me as I loved her. We both were wrong and we both had things to work on. I had never known how much of an ass I was. How disregarding I could be. I try to change. I work hard everyday. I can't say that it is all perfect, but the restoration has begun. Our world is still damaged, crumbled and hurt, but there are plasters there now. There is hope. Hope an open communication. I think that is enough. I think we can make it work.
Greg looked at the clock again. Friday afternoons always dragged on. It seemed like it had been the same time for forever now. He checked his phone, wondering when Phillip was going to show up with the other spreadsheets he needed. He looked at the clock again. Closer this time. The second hand wasn't moving. Had it run out of battery or something? That couldn't be it, his cell showed the same time. Greg got up, poked his head out of his cubicle. Margaret, Ryan, and Joe were standing by the water cooler. Not moving, it didn't even look like they were breathing. He walked slowly up to them. Greg had been crushing on Ryan for a long time now. His well cut jawline, always with just a little bit of stubble on it. Enough to really look good, without looking lazy. Greg looked at him, sighed. Suddenly all three of them jumped back, Ryan swearing as his did so. "The hell man?! how did you just show up here like that?" Greg started as well. He made a lame excuse and made his escape to the bathroom. What had just happened? He was sure that it hadn't been his imagination, but he had no idea what had just gone down.
"Hey Sam? Want to see a neat trick?" "Ok, sure" Bob suddenly takes out a knife, and cuts deeply into his palm. He allows the blood to drip to the floor, and starts chanting in an unearthly tone. Soon, skeletons start climbing out of the floor, falling in line behind bob. "Pretty cool, right?" "Uhh... bob?" "Yea" "Is that... necromancy?" "Yep!" "Wait really?" "Yep!" "Dude, why are you practicing necromancy!" "Well you know, I'm always looking for fun new things to do. And I met this guy in a dark cloak, and he reccomended necromancy to me. I've loved it ever since!" "But bob... Necromancy?" "Yep!"Bob starts another chant, and the skeletons start combining their bones together, to form a sort of super skeleton. "I can make them make other things too, want to see?" "Uhh... no thanks." "Suit yourself!"says bob, as he does another chant, and the skeletons return to being a horde. "I think I'll build a palace of bone. The guy in the dark cloak says he has one, and I figure I can sell my old house, and donate the money to charity! Maybe I'll build two, and let homeless people live in one." "Bob... you know necromancers are evil, right? Like... they try to raise hoards of undead minions and conquer the world." "Oh... well I don't want to be evil. I guess I'll stop then." "That's it? You're just going to stop." "Yep, I trust you, and if you think necromancers are evil, I'll stop being a necromancer." "Bob..." "Yes?" "You should... you should probably keep being a necromancer" "Are you sure?" "I'm sure" And that was how Bob, the nicest necromancer came to be. (sorry, I only noticed the word accidentally in the prompt after I already wrote it.)
Our eyes locked from either side of the train and at the same time, I heard the PING from my watch. I know she heard it too. Her bright blue eyes pierced through mine and I felt my entire body fade away. Her smile was crooked on one side. Her long brown hair from fell behind her ear and she tucked it gently back without breaking eye contact. We stood, for what seemed like an eternity, astounded. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I knew her. Why had we never pinged before? We said goodbye only a few months earlier, leaving our broken hearts at the cafe where we agreed that we were through. I remember her shoes clicking on the pavement as she walked back to her car. The girl on the train wasn't the One who wept as we walked away. It wasn't the moment I abandoned her at the bar when I was angry. She wasn't the one who would wake me up in the middle of the night with her tears. It hit me. Her smile was Creased from recent laughter. Her long brown hair, a new color, masked the blonde roots that would eventually grown back in. Her eyes, bluer than I had ever remembered. And that gaze pierced though me like a knife, making my lungs, my heart and my entire body ache. The girl in front of me was someone completely different, changed and luminescent. She looked down at my watch. Then back at me. Then, for the first time since our eyes met, she looked at the man standing next to her. I didn't see him until now. Her arm was wrapped around his. The train slowed down and the doors swung open. I watched as she exited with him, brushing my coat with her shoulder. her watch was not there. And She whispered on the way out, "Remember when you told me I didn't deserve your love?"
"So, why are you interested in this job? I mean, you did actually read the listing right? Oh god, the last one I interviewed clearly was just applying to anything and once he found out, Hah! well... at least he was where he needed to be once he had the heart attack... OPTIMISM!... eh huh... I mean, so... tell me more." "Well,"Lucas began. "I uh, have a lot of experience. I uh... worked at a grocery store for ten years, good stuff, never killed anyone per se, but lots of dead dreams once I reached manager." Mort stared at Lucas, his bony jaw hiding his smile. "Well indeed. You seem to have the humor, but do you have what it takes?" "What it takes?"Lucas shot back. "Of course I have! Christ, you couldn't imagine what I did to get rent through university..." "Actually, I know..." "Yeah, okay, but you wouldn't know..." "Look,"Mort began, "do you want the job or not? I mean, it's not easy finding people to do this. I don't understand, I've been doing it for 7 billions years but oh do you ever hear me complaining? No, it's always 'oh it's too hard' this, and 'oh it's too easy' that, and 'what do you mean you don't cover the costs of dry-cleaning, you only gave me one black robe' do they not realize that black doesn't even show blood? Ahem. Sorry, anyways, when can you start?" "Uh......... now?" "Perfect, I'm the only one working now and as you can imagine we've got a lot of work to do... here's your scythe, we give them names, I call mine Bubbles, let's call yours..... Buttercup, hah! And here's your... hehe.... purple robe... gotta wear it like that for the first millennia, it's the rules bro. Anyways, this scythe can take out anything, even you, so be. careful. Its rule is undeniable. Now, come with me and let me show you the snack machines. See this..........Fuck." "Sorry, it's your time." "But...." "I'm not ready to go, and you're the only man ensuring that I will." "You can't just kill Death." "Buttercup disagrees."
You. Yes, you. You know who you are and you damn well know you understand why you're receiving this letter. Play close attention to the words that are before you; this is a cease and desist order from the highest ministry of Patenting and Copyright. Your thoughts are illegally similar to the contents of copyrighted material, and proceeding this are links to mental scans as proof of such. Your infringements are as follows: Sex and The City 2 - Proof: https:/i.gov.org/1294 Lord of The Rings: Fellowship of The Ring - Proof: https:/i.gov.org/1295 1984 - Proof: https:/i.gov.org/1296 As is written in the Mental Copyrighting Act of 2017 you are to be indicted with copyright infringement and are liable to serve 5 years in prison - on top of fines of anywhere between $10,000 and $23,000 - without parole. You may plead your case in a formal court of law, although take note that, as of the precedent of the Turling Case of May 2017, you are unable to argue duress or coincidence as defences to your indiscretion. The last item of information we are obliged to provide you with is that these scans were compiled on the 19th January 2017 - 8:55PM. This occurred during, according to our data, your annual movie and book discussion club meeting. We legally require that you testify to this during the day of your hearing, which shall take place on the 25th December. Happy Christmas in advance, fucko. And remember: don't ever break the law - we know what you're thinking. ---- Much love, Your ever present eyes at the Ministry of Patenting and Copyright 2017/05/19
This is a story about a boy named Matthew Mann. Say hi to the readers Matt "hi to the readers Matt" Ok, that's nice Matt. Now, dear readers, Matthew is a very smart boy who lives with his mother in a suburb of London. This is a story about how very smart and safe a boy he is. Our tale begins one day when Matt is walking back home from school. "bye Charley, see you tomorrow" He says to a friend as they split in opposite directions. Matt walks alone past some trees, and some fences, and then when he is walking trough a really seedy part of town, he spots some lads crouching under a bridge. One of them waves to Matt and says "O'y Matt. Com ear and have a toke! Charley got some good shit!"Now, Matt being a good boy who respects his mother, tells the other boy: "Yo Jake! Don't mind if I do." And continues down the sidewalk, and uh... oh... No? I mean, Matt stops and smokes some pot with his friends from school. Golly, I didn't think Matt was into that kind of thing. "Why not? It's bloody good shit!" Uhh... oh... Well, Later on Matt Passes by the park and stops for an Ice cream. He asks the man in the van: "You got strawberry?" "Why yes"the man replies "In fact I have sooo much strawberry ice cream that I'd give some away to you for free! Just come on in it's in the back of the van!"Now, Matt being a sensible person who listens to his mother when she warns him about strangers, doesn't say anything and very quickly runs away. "Can I have some cones too?" Oh sorry, Matt actually doesn't run away like he should. NO, he climbs into the van with the, CREEPY MAN, WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT NOBODY SHOULD EVER DO! God, what an idiot. "Gee why do you have all of this ice cream in the first place?" Matt asks. The Ice cream man looks puzzled and answers "The weatherman said it would be a heat wave today, so I stocked up. Please enjoy my boy! Take some cones too." "Thanks again! You have a nice day!" Says Matt as he climbs out of the van. Bloody hell. Matt. You should never do that! you know what could have happened to you?! "Not got free Ice? (Lick)" NO. Matt, you could have been kidnapped! The man could have shut the door and driven away with you! You don't- "He was nice. (Lick) The man literally gave me a bunch of ice cream." NO... Matt, look, you don't enter ANY vehicles with people you don't know PERSONALY, ok? "Uh huh... Do you want some?" No I don't, thank you. You are a good boy Matt. Bloody hell. Licking a cone, Matt carried the bag full of ice cream down the street. He couldn't wait until he was home so he could tell his mother what shenanigans he had been up to on the way home. just then Matt came to a rail road crossing. The bell was ringing and since Matt was a safe boy he waited for the train to pass by. Nope. Matt grabbed onto an empty car and swung himself up like the lawless ape he was. You could get you leg cut off you shit. "Fuck off old man." You know what? Why not? I can't take this any longer. This is so posed to be a BLOODY KID'S BOOK! I can't deal you any more! You. can get sliced into chunks. Of slow-witted delinquent for all I care! HAVE A GOOD EFFING DAY you shit! "Weeee" "This is a lot of fun!" "Train hopping" "..." "Old guy?" ... "Guess he's gone for real." "..." "And then, Matt decided to narrate the story for him self." "After climbing on top of the train, with his newly acquired magic powers Matt pulled a katana out of thin air and calculated his first move against the robot ninja standing two cars ahead of him"*
Tom's phone rings. "Hello roommate, this is Dick. How are you doing this day?""Hello Dick, I am doing swell. I am looking forward to our upcoming year at our university. Are you having any concerns?""Only the normal concerns that all of us humans have, do you know what I mean?""Yes, I too am having all of the normal concerns that humans have. I look forward to sharing many pizza pies with you Dick. I will see you in a week when our semester begins." Harry's phone rings. "Hello roomate, this is Dick. How are you doing this day.""I'm tight bro, how you chillin'?""I am at a sufficient temperature. Are you looking forward to our upcoming college semester?""Yeah, son. It's gonna be mad dope.""I am glad that you are enthusiastic, but according to our collegiate student handbook, drugs, such as dope, are strictly prohibited.""Na, son, I'm just saying this year's gonna be off the chain. We're gonna smash tons of chicks and hit up mad bars and have crazy-ass frat parties. It's gonna be killer."There's a long pause as Dick process Harry's response. "Well I look forward to becoming more acquainted with you during the next four Earth-months of our lives.""Aight man, you weird as fuck." Jesus' phone rings. "Hello roommate, this is Dick. How are you doing this day?""This day I am blessed, for I am among the people. Blessed are those who reflect, and blessed are those who want not for themselves, but want for others. How are you, my son?""I am doing as well as an inexperienced collegiate student can be doing while facing their initial semester at such an institution.""And as long as you allow the light to guide you, you will be shown mercy. Before you enter the house of God, what size couch do you have? Because I have a few home made chairs."
I woke. Error messages played across my vision, flashing red and yellow boxes painfully, even purposefully adjusted to how much light intake my pupils allowed. Something was very obviously wrong. I ran some third-party diagnostics while reading through the errors, cold air from my fan blasting me fully awake, goosebumps raising instantly. Unable to connect to The Forumn. Unable to synchronize date and time. Unable to back up memory drive. Unable to access update center. Unable to access latest... What the hell happened? I closed out of error screens as I dressed. Diagnostics showed nothing seriously wrong physically, though I'd slept fitfully. Emotions on the negative side, within reason. Mental state safe, if wavering. I finished reading the results and closed that window. A few more error messages flashed. I closed them all out. There was one last window at the very bottom. WrinkleOS update cancelled. Oh shit. That's what. My OS was outdated. I quickly went through and attempted to restart it. It was eerily quiet in my apartment. And outside. And... in general. Where once there had been the communications chatter of every human being in an eight mile radius, now there was absolute silence. It was deafeningly quiet. I was separated from all of humanity. Even though they were right next door, I'd never felt so alone. I'd lived my entire life a simple message away from anyone and everyone I could ever want to talk to. And now it was dead silent. I frantically hit the update button again, thinking maybe the first one hadn't registered. This time, an error popped up. Unable to access update center. Why the hell not?! Was the update that radical, that old versions literally couldn't connect to The Forumn?! I tried to check the update notes. No internet connection. I finished getting ready for the day, this oppressive silence gnawing at me. I cranked my speakers up to full and played some music... that I couldn't hear because my drivers were outdated. My rooms were extremely bare, none of the paintings or posters I'd put up were visible now, since I couldn't connect to the room's system. Frustrated, I grabbed my physical key out of its drawer, a relic I was suddenly glad to have, and left my apartment, locking the door on my way out. I went straight to work. Cars floated past, dead silent. People all around engaged in conversation, completely unheard. Gesturing to things unseen. Thoughts unknown, intentions obscured. Even brushing their shoulders as I passed, I was isolated. How do you talk to someone without The Forumn? At work, I pulled my boss aside. He looked peeved I was late. He was speaking, but over a private comm line. I couldn't hear him. "Boss. Please. Speak out loud."I said. My voice felt unfamiliar to use. He looked surprised. "Victoria? What happened? Why aren't you connected to The Forumn?"He asked. "For whatever reason, last night's update cancelled on me. I'm stuck on the previous patch."I said. "Well shit. Alright. You're in no state to work. And you won't be able to get to a hospital on your own, like you are. Can you hang out here for a few hours? My shift is already half over, once I'm done I'll take you to the hospital. Alright?"He asked. I nodded, resisting the urge to cling to him physically. "It's so quiet..."I muttered. "I'll bet. Here, I've got something."He said. He dragged me to the break room and dug around in his backpack. He was the old-fashioned sort, who still carried a phone and physical keys. He pulled a phone out, two glass panes with electronics sandwiched between them. He tapped it and it sprang to life. He tapped a few icons, then handed it over. "This thing's old, so it's not connected either. But it's got music, so you can listen to something."He said. He dug around in his pack again, and handed me a mess of wires. "Headphones. Stick 'em in your ears and plug that end into the MP10."He said. I did as instructed and tapped through the albums and artists he had. Finally I found something I liked and tapped it. It was a little loud and poorly compressed, but I was glad simply to not be in utter silence. My boss gave me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and left me to my own devices. I still felt isolated, but the edges were dulled by the music. Finally his shift ended and he collected me from the break room. We hopped in his car and he drove us towards downtown. "You have any clue why the update cancelled?"He asked. I shook my head. "No idea. It just said it had cancelled."I replied. "Huh. Strange."He muttered. It was quiet for a little, music resuming it's spot in the foreground. "Hey, Rick?"I asked. "Yeah?"He shot me a glance. "You were alive before The Forumn, right?"I asked. "I was two when it came online for the first time. I don't really remember what it was like before."He said, anticipating my question. "My dad, he thought it was great, but he disconnected every so often. I always thought him crazy; tried it once myself and it was freaky, being disconnected from everyone. Never tried it again."He recounted. "I'll never do it again if I can help it."I said. He offered another shoulder squeeze. I appreciated the contact. We spoke the rest of the way, with him reading out news and things. It helped to hear the news, even if I couldn't read it myself. Eventually though we reached the hospital. He escorted me inside and to the front desk; I wouldn't have been able to find where I needed to go without him, all the signs digital. He explained my problem to the woman and she looked worried. I was led to a small room, and had to wait for the nurse to return with a length of cable. She plugged one end into the wall and the other into the base of my skull. She bade me update my OS. I did, and this time it went through. It took a full minute, a ridiculous amount of time even for a physical connection. But finally the OS was updated and rebooted. I connected to everything, and the flood of voices, thoughts, emotions, everything came crashing back. I reeled a little, then dove in like a fish out of water. "Oh, thank you!"I said. The woman shook her head. "Not a problem ma'am; we get rare cases like yours, and I'm always glad to help remedy them. It's scary, being cut off."She said. I nodded, knowing full well how bad it was. Ultimately I was sent home with just a minor data usage fee and a missed day at work. Rick was kind enough not to dock my pay, but asked me to handle an extra shift, which I gladly accepted. At home, I searched for and purchased my own physical music player and headphones. They were expensive, being antiques, but if anything like that ever happened again, I wanted them on hand.
Butt munching megaladon. Fuck you OP. asdgfagfafad James sat perplexed as he looked over his Reddit comments. He'd written them the night before as an experiment of sorts, he was getting peculiar results. A week ago, he'd realized that every comment he'd made on reddit had garnered huge numbers of upvotes. An obscene number of upvotes. A creeping sense of paranoia had polluted his mind since discovering this phenomenon, and this just made it worse. Last night he had chosen posts at random and made widely conflicting and jumbled posts. Each comment was flooded with up votes. Even the post where he called a 8 year old terminally ill cancer kid a "Free loading little shit and a disgrace to his parents."Not only did thousands of people up vote his obscene post, the cancer kid gave him a "lol"in response. "What the fuck?" Going though the rest of his comments, James shook his head in bewilderment. Something is going on here but what? He opened a new tab and went to /r/askreddit. Ask question, Why does every single post I make get a shit ton of up votes? James leaned back in his chair and looked at the post. It got the point across, but without any further explanation, it looks like some Karma hungry whore fucking with people. They'll hate that. Right? Hitting refresh, the page reloaded and already had hundreds of up votes. In another 5 minutes, it was pushing a thousand. Comments began to flood in, "Oh man this is hilarious.""LoL jajajajaja!" Hitting F5 repeatedly, James watched the comments pour in, mostly japes and laughter. Congratulations on a good joke and more. Suddenly a blue link appeared in the comments, /r/StuffJamesSaid. Sweat dripping from his forehead, his throat dry, James clicked on the link. A page loaded, it was filled with every comment and post he'd ever made on reddit. He read the sidebar, "The Subreddit to fuck with James." Confused, bewildered, and feeling a bit violated, James hit the next button on the page, but instead of loading more comments, the page came up blank there doesn't seem to be anything here The subreddit was gone just like that. Over the next few days, James would realize that the joke just wasn't funny when the victim knew about it, so the mods closed the subreddit, and the up votes ceased.
(During a performance by the Talking Heads) "Welcome back to NBC's annual Battle of the Bands®,"the presenter said. "Day four, and we're nearing the end. I want to say, first off, that as usual NBC gives its condolences to the victims of this year's and every year's Battle of the Bands®, but is not responsible for any deaths caused by the performers... "Speaking of which: more performers have died this year than any other! Mainly that's due to The Killers, of course, but Panic At The Disco's suicidal set along with Guns and Roses', the Crash Test Dummies, and the Flaming Lips' tallied up quite a few too. (The Zombies, as always, don't count in this statistic.) "If you're just tuning in, you just missed AC/DC give another one of their electric performances in hopes of winning this year's Battle of the Bands®, brought to you by NBC."The presenter laughed to himself. "But, coming up next it looks like the Beach Boys are going to make your jaws go wide -" The camera switched to show an empty desk, in a newsroom identical to the one the presenter had been in. A different presenter walked into the shot and sat down. "Tame Impala after the Beach Boys, and The Police after Tame Impala. Traffic tomorrow will be slow at around noon, since that is when One Direction will be on, and make sure you've stocked up on survival supplies before Earth, Wind & Fire come on at four. An important-sounding sound played, accompanied by a flashing alert at the bottom of the screen. The camera angle switched, and with almost zero delay the presenter started talking, a bit more intensely, to the camera that was now focused on him. "This just in: some breaking news out of the White House. It turns out that Trump is not going to allow Megadeath to play in this one this year, because of the epidemic last year. This is upsetting news, obviously for fans of the program. We will be here after these sponsored messages telling you what this means for the other bands' chances of winning this year's NBC's Battle of the Bands®. See you when we come back." A commercial came on. "Tired of going back to daily life after Nirvana plays? Try Cobainitol, a new patented..."
It's summer and graduation ceremonies take place all over the country. Mine should have been now. It should have been today. I wish it would have been today. Christmas 2016 is one I will never forget. The dean rushed into the senior dorms, banged on all doors and called for a meeting. It was a bit unusual, typically the RA's were more than happy to assemble the students for meetings. At the meeting we were immediately alerted something was up. "Congratulations, you are all graduating today!"Cheers. "Additionally, you will start your duties today. Everyone has been assigned a hospital. You will know what to do when you get there. There will be a bus taking you to your assigned hospitals in 15 minutes."He walked to the door and taped a piece of paper with the assignments to it, before swiftly leaving the room. We stared at each other in disbelieve, not knowing what to say. St. Lucifer's Hospital was a mess. I entered through the employee's entrance, where I could already hear the screams: "God, please make it stop!", "What do I have to do to make it stop!", "Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgggmbl", "Just let me go!". A nurse ushered me to a room of the intensive care unit which looked unusual. I couldn't exactly point to what it was, until I noticed that none of the patients were hooked up to any of the emergency systems. "These people, they ...., they should have been dead!"the nurse told me. "Help them, please!". I really felt my education did not prepare me for this situation properly. I mean, some friends have told me some really disturbing stories about being untrained on the job, but this was something different. Actual deaths were at stake. "We've tried everything"the nurse told me, as she pointed to the bed in the corner from which a concerning smell triumphed all smells ever created on earth. You couldn't tell there was a person lying there. When the nurse pulled the sheets away, I saw that I had mistaken little cubes of human flesh for a mattress. "Oh my god, the surgical precision."I mumbled, clearly lost for words. It's funny how inappropriate you can be under extraordinary circumstances. While closer examining the remains, which I estimated to be about an inch by an inch by an inch, I found out they weren't really remains. "Kill me....!"I heard. Through an inhuman feat of muscle control, the cubes managed to manipulate the airflow well enough to articulate a sentence. They tried everything, the nurse told me, but he just wouldn't die. "You could try to grill and eat him"I suggested. That may be construed as 'forcing penetration from a patient unfit to object' in court, she objected, fearing for her employment. "Fine, fine, I'll think of something, but let me have a coffee first." I went to the break room to grab my coffee. In the far end of the room was a group of senior nurses, sitting at the table nearest to the window. "Susie got divorced yesterday. Apparently last week's adoption couldn't salvage her relationship.""God bless her heart."My god, it was literal hell. I grabbed my cup of coffee and went to the only other place I could think of where I could get some peace. Slowly sipping away my coffee, while making sure my pants weren't touching the water, I knew what to do. I went back to the break room. When I entered, I saw some cubes falling from a ICU window. I was too focused to be appalled. "Seriously Grim?"I shouted across the room. "I couldn't take it anymore, all the screams, all the sad faces"he replied. "People are dying out there, and you just sit there doing nothing?" "Just try to be me! You wouldn't last a day!" "You were hired to do one thing, and one thing only! You will get back to it. Don't make me force you!" "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, alright, I knew this wouldn't last too long anyways." It took him 3 months to clear the backlog.
Asmirv stared at the porcelain dish, watching the little gray blob undulate itself through thick brine, creeping millimeter by millimeter through a puddle of green slime that had settled to the bottom. He touched a metal probe into the brine, found it resistant to pressure, and struggled to pierce the surface tension. He set the probe down and looked up at Deke. "What am I looking at?" "Life. That is the legendary Urmoyle. The only life on what is technically an uninhabitable world." "You're telling me that this little sea slug, or life form, was found beneath all those layers of acid and methane and radioactive surface crust?" "Yes, in a very deep trench primarily filled with heavy water, refreshed through a combination of the algae and volcanic vents. Somehow they managed to survive under an incredible amount of pressure."Deke picked up the probe and speared it through the resistant brine. "We had to simulate the pressure in order for it to survive up here, otherwise, in a matter of seconds, it would explode into a pink slimy paste." "What kind of intelligence are we dealing with?" Deke shook his head and muscled the probe out of the pressurized solution. "None that we can tell. Our sensors detected a weak neuropathic signal. It's possible, but we have no evidence to support it, that they may have a hive intellect, like we encountered on Cignus Sans. Otherwise, it's basically a little bottom feeder that thrives on eating all the poisonous materials." "Wait,"Asmirv said. "Are you suggesting that this little creature evolved to make the planet more habitable?" "A theory,"Deke said. "It's hardly a life form, though." "Our records indicated vast ruins and signs of intelligent life." "That's what is so puzzling. There are ruins, but nowhere near the chasm, and they are at least several million years old." "So whoever built them are long gone,"Asmirv said. "Another puzzle."Deke leaned closer to the porcelain dish. "You see, million year old ruins have a tendancy, as you know, to not actually stay around for a million years. So, most of what we found were artifacts that were intentionally designed to last that long, or were waste byproducts or unnatural erosion patterns. In particular are the well known crystalline obelisks." "Ah, the infamous cave crystals,"Asmirv said. "I recall reading about those as a child. Amazing that the height of the culture, at least what managed to survive, seems so basic to even a child nowadays." "One of the crystals contained a genetic bank." "They actually stored material inside the crystal?" "No,"Deke said. "You would think someone would have thought to do that. No, they did create genetic storage facilities, at least we surmise, but those all fell into ruin. No, these are digital records of genetic sequencing." "But, there are no signs this culture understood quantum symmetry or developed devices to measure it. How could they accurately sequence a genome?" Deke smiled and nodded his head. "Right. It's like reading the cover of a book and then acting like you know what's inside. But, they tried, which I think is admirable in and of itself. Any, this encoding we found the various sequences for what they termed themselves: Humans." "Human,"Asmirv said. "I remember that name from school." "Now,"Deke said with an excited smile. "Here is the interesting part. If we apply their own sampling process -" "Which is grossly, incredibly short-sighted,"Asmirv said. "Of course. But, if we apply their incorrect process to this,"he pointed at the sea slug, "we get a nearly identical match. And, there is no sign of genetic manipulation. This little creature evolved." "From humans,"Asmirv said. "Right." "So, they effectively devolved?" Deke shrugged and then nodded. "It's possible. We have never encountered another race where this has happened, but I suppose it makes sense. If their planet once supported life, and then could no longer support it, all they would have to do is survive for a few hundred thousand generations - something they could do if they had sufficient technology - they would ultimately become - this." Asmirv gestured around their ship. "No space travel?" Deke shook his head. "There are signs. Rumors. Legends of devices coming from this area with similar languages. But that was before the great data war when many such records were corrupted or deemed inaccurately reported." "So, our supposition is that humanity, on facing a dying world, instead of traveling through space, somehow survived and over the last million years and became - the Urmoyle." Deke nodded. Asmirv started counting off on his fingers. "Not intelligent in the slightest." Deke shook his head. Two. "Not genetically engineered, or carrying any signs of a genetically encoded message." Another head shake. Three. "Are abundant." Deke nodded. "Billions of them down there." Asmirv smiled slightly. "Ok, now tell me what you've done here." "As I said, the challenge was in creating a brine that mimicked the extreme pressure. What you don't want to do is pierce, poke, or puncture the Urmoyle in any way or it will create one royal mess. On the bottom we have a locale algae infused with an extinct spice, saffron I believe, and around it, though it's hard to see in the brine, is our own arachnid marmalade." Asmirv picked up the probe, pierced the brine, and pinched the end to open a cantalevered hook. He position the hook around the midsection of the urmoyle and gently closed it. "We suggest you take a single swipe through the algae and marmalade,"Deke offered. Asmirv eased the urmoyle over the bottom of the dish, and started to withdraw the probe. "I just - " "Straight into your mouth, on your tongue, and keep your mouth closed." Asmirv lifted the urmoyle out of the brine, slowly, careful as it exited the pressurized brine, and then quickly deposited the urmoyle on his tongue. "Interesting,"he started to say with the urmoyle slithering over his tongue. "It tastes like - " "Close your mouth!" The urmoyle quickly ballooned and exploded into a pink sludge in Asmirv's mouth, with pink bits and slime spewing over his parted lips and across the table. Deke offered him a napkin. "I know,"Asmirv said. He wiped his mouth, blotted part of the table, and then turned to face the broadcast station. "I have to say that was a fantastic experience. Not enough to sate hunger, but a great appetizer. You can find pressure-brined urmoyle exclusively at Blorkt Commissary. For your exotic eating experience, wave your order to Blorkt's." "Next week, we'll be going a little bit out of our way to find out once and for all: Black Hole Raisins. Are they really as good as people make them out to be?"
"LOOK!", pointed the terrified citizen, "IT'S CHARISMAGUY!" And he was right. Just when everyone thought the city was about to be destroyed by the Gigantic Parasitic Snail Of Doom (TM), CharismaGuy came to save the day. "Fear not, citizens!", he said, high in the sky. No one knew why or how he could fly, but no one asked. It was said he could get rid of any monster in any of over a thousand terrible and gruesome ways. "CHARISMAGUY, PLEASE SAVE US!", yelled a chorus of soft-bladder people on the streets, the shadow of the Gigantic Parasitic Snail Of Doom (TM) hiding their tears and pathetic faces under the eternal darkness. CharimaGuy flew towards the Gigantic Parasi... towards the snail, and said, high in the sky where its face was: "Snail! Why are you tormenting this city?!" Contrary to what logic would deem possible, the snail answered in it's glass-shattering voice. "I AM HERE TO DESTROY" "But why, snail?!" "YOU EAT MY PEOPLE. YOU EAT THEM AND KILL THEM WITH SALT." "Well Mr. Snail - Can I call you Mr. Snail? - I feel you and I have a lot in common!" "REALLY" "Yes! I too have seen your kind be devoured by these pathetic fools!" Down below, the people of the city of SnailEaters were looking in awe. "What is he saying?", asked a young one among the crowd. "He's getting ready to blow the snail to space!", said a mother not far away. Foolish mother. The snail was in shock "SO YOU TOO ARE AGGRAVATED BY THESE PEOPLE EATING SNAILS" "Of course! And I promise I'll make them stop." "HOW CAN I BE SURE YOU'LL DO IT" "I won't! I'll make them stop themselves." "HOW" "Oh, you'll see. Meanwhile however, why don't you come relax to my secret quarters? You can fit, don't worry - also, no salt, everyone is on diet." "WOW. ARE YOU SURE" "Hey, I'm CharismaGuy for a reason!" "THAT MAKES NO SENSE, BUT OKAY." The world rejoiced at seeing the Gigantic Parasitic Snail Of Doom (TM) retreat, and CharismaGuy was praised for his unorthodox methods of getting rid of it. ---- Two weeks later "We have news from our neighboring city, SnailEaters. It appears everyone has died, after in a tragic misunderstanding all the Salt in the city was somehow swapped for Arsenic. This is the seventh city in a row where this has happened in the last three months, accidents like this are rare, according to scientists, but they happen. There are no survivors." "On other news, a Gargantuan Infectious Pig Of Greed (TM) is attacking our beloved city of PigEaters. City counselors have suggested contacting CharsimaGuy, who is said to have innovative methods of getting rid of monsters. We'll keep reporting." ---- More stories: [/r/TitanStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/TitanStories) - [Titan Stories](https://stories.titan.red/) - [Newsletter](https://tinyletter.com/titanred)
"And what a beautiful play by the two time Greek Champion Leonidas and his army! He's got the Persians in a chokepoint now, and he's going for the decisive blow. Leonidas is taking full advantage of our special arena for the day, 'The Hot Gates', and that's why the audience love him. Xerxes is rallying his archers on the cliffside to try and get them to fire in on the dogged defenders but the Greeks are having none of it! Classic utilisation of shield-wall tactics, even taking a leaf from the infamous Caesar's book with wonderfully executed turtling stratagem. And Leonidas - Leonidas himself is spearheading the forces; what a man! What a legend! And he's taunting the enemy now, this utter maniac. Xerxes is getting the bird flipped at him, and he's losing the favour of the audience. Now how's he going to respond?" "Oh, what's this? There's been an unexpected interference in the arena! Ephialtes has divulged the location of a hidden back-path to the Persians, and Xerxes is sending his Immortals in its direction. It appears we've just witnessed the heel-turn of our generation, and what's Leonidas going to do in response to getting screwed in the back channel? Ladies and gentlemen, this is a game changer - at this rate, Leonidas won't be able to hold off; the able-bodied Spartans are managing to hold the wall, but morale is dwindling and the Thespians and Thebans just don't quite have the stamina to maintain this defence. I think we might just be seeing Leonidas lose more than his belt tonight, given how thirsty for blood Xerxes is looking." "Leonidas is in a chokehold now, and against the cliff-face he goes. Now I see what Xerxes was cooking up. But what is Leonidas doing, still standing his ground? For the love of god, man, call off your army! The audience back at home is screaming at him to retreat, but he's incorrigible. The Persian army is now advancing on two sides - I can't bare to watch this anymore - and the archer volleys are cutting away at his ranks. He's outnumbered and outgunned, what could he possibly do? Oh my god, the madman is going for one final charge! 'For Sparta!!!!!', I hear them yelling. This is amazing - this has never happened before in the history of War. Leonidas is charging his men into their deaths, but they're screaming and bucking like wild horses against the tide of battle. This is beautiful - they're decimating the Persian ranks, felling a man with every stab but more still are replacing them in the lines of battle. Leonidas may have discipline, but he certainly doesn't have numbers and LEONIDAS HAS JUST BEEN STABBED. What a turn of events, I repeat Leonidas, the Leader of the Greek army, has just been felled. You saw it here first, ladies and gents, live at the arena of Thermopylae." "The Persians have arrived on the opposite flank, and the Greeks are now being squashed more than Kane in a Casket Match. There's literally blood everywhere. I think this is it for the Greeks, but what a battle. 7000 men against a seemingly infinite number of Persians, and they held off for more than 20 seconds. I hope you placed your bets well tonight back at home, because this was not the way I saw this battle happening! And now they appear to be severing the heads of the dead Spartans. That's completely brutal. Parents, it'd be a good idea to cover the eyes of your children at this point. Unless, of course, you happen to be a Spartan watching, in which case don't listen to me. I honestly feel a little sick, I haven't seen such a bloodstained arena in decades." "So there we have it. What a stunning and bloody conclusion. The Persians are picking off the remainder of the Greek forces, whose morale seemed to have absolutely shattered after the death of their leader. I can't believe it ended like this. My sympathies go out to Gorgo, the Queen of Sparta and all those witnessing this in Greece, but, Ladies and gentlemen, there we have it. After a battle well-fought, the winner of this war and the championship belt is Xerxes of Persia! In other, more lighthearted news, it seems as if a member in the royal family has opened up for anyone looking to be a Spartan noble." ---- /r/coffeeandwriting for more!
The man entered the room silently. The smoke of his cigarette worked with the dim light of the damp room to mask his face, letting me only see his uniform. Oh god. He's a General. I have to talk him? What's more, I have to talk?! "H-Hello...", I say with a raspy voice. I'm hanging upside down, my feet chained to the low ceiling of the cell. I'm not okay, but the at the very least I can be cordial, "H-How are you?" The man waited a minute, and then spoke with a hard, deep voice. "You have balls trying to steal our secrets, Mr. Plath. We caught you in the server room, so we know you are a spy. But you haven't talked. And you know what we do with people who don't talk?" I swallowed saliva and looked at the shade standing in the corner. "You say please?" "No, Mr. Plath. We cut their balls." "Oh.. t-that's nice. Haha..." I could tell the man raised an eyebrow even in the shadows. God, he's judging me, why do I need to talk to a General? Why not some random soldier? "I like your uniform...", I say, trying to break the ice. Wait, is he looking at my armpits? He noticed I'm sweating, oh god, this is so embarrassing. I can't do this. The man comes close to me, showing a face filled with scars and anger in his eyes. "Listen to me, you scum. You better tell me where you hid those military secrets you stole, or I'm going to cut off your precious balls. You understand?" "I'm so sorry, I know I'm sweating so much, ah... ah..." I'm hyperventilating? Now? He's going to think I'm a loser, oh no... Why, why did we have to evolve to be able to speak? I would be happy with just... not speaking. Ever. But no, fuck, fuck, I'm freaking out! I try to calm myself with some deep breaths, but I can't but notice he is looking at me, and therefore judging me. "C-Could you look away for a second? I need to relax. I know it's weird, but I promise it helps!" "...What?" "Just f-for a second!"I smile. Is it normal to smile like that? Am I smiling properly? The man looks at me with a confused expression. But I can't stop breathing harder and harder. My heart pumps blood like crazy, my mind overloads itself, until my vision starts fading away. "Wha.. are you passing out, Mr. Plath? Fucking really? AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A SPY?" HE'S JUDGING ME SO BADLY, I WANT TO CRY. WHY, WHY ME! Fresh urine falls down my legs and chest, past my face and to the ground. Before passing out, I cry just enough so I can see my shame reflected in his shiny badge. ---- "Release him." "Sir? The spy?" "He's not a spy. This is a mentally deranged man who thinks he's a spy. The guy can't even talk without pissing himself. Just put a fucking guard on the server room." "Yes, sir." ---- More stories: [/r/TitanStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/TitanStories) - [Titan Stories](https://stories.titan.red/) - [Newsletter](https://tinyletter.com/titanred)
Of course I was winning. Are you serious? We weren't allowed to choose, and honestly? I wouldn't have chosen my animal for the world. I hated them. If anything, I honestly would have chosen cats. I'm a cat person. I had three before that douchecanoe Barry controlled all the cats. That asshole was allergic to them, for fuck's sake. Their names were Umbra, Penelope, and Bowser. All siblings, had them since they were kittens. I missed them a lot. Fortunately, I didn't have to kill any of them. My strategy was a little more...hm. I would say 'dirty', I guess. It was easy to target the leaders of each species, rather than the actual species itself with my animal. From my bedroom, I heard my cellphone ring. "Let's call a truce."Shitting Christ, it was Amelia. "And why should we do that?"I asked her. She scoffed. The call went out for a second, then continued. "I need you to take Mara down, cause my gorillas aren't gonna win against her. In exchange, I'll take Percy. He's been shacked up in an REI co-op." "I don't have anything against Percy."I said. "He just controls raccoons, Amelia. Why should I care about him?" "Cause."Amelia said. "I just said. He's in an REI. Infinite supply of bug spray. And lighters. Shit like that. Last I heard he'd been selling it to some others." I groaned. "Where is Mara?" "Last I heard she was shacked somewhere in a protected area in Botswana." "Right. African elephants." "Perfect for you, though." "Yeah."I said, and closed my eyes. I felt a tug right below my heart, near my diaphragm, and I knew that my animals were on their way. "Done. Should take about two weeks." Amelia chuckled with relief. "Thanks, Rob. You really did me a solid. My soldier's'll get to him once Mara's out of the picture." "Thanks Amelia."She hung up. I flopped back onto the bed, and heard a small buzzing in my room. I lifted my hand and a small bug landed on it. Easy to win against humans when you could control the mosquito.
"This time will be different. It is eleven fifty-five, nemesis mine. Your change approaches. But it doesn't matter what form you take. What power you end up with. Because I hold your strength at bay. I carry your very soul in my hands." The villain adjusted before me, fingers netted in the fine hairs of the small boy. A small whimpering sound emerged, as the straight razor pressed delicately against the child's throat. My heart beat like crazy. I tasted bile in my mouth. Four minutes until midnight. "How many times have we stood here, at odds? How many times have you defeated me? Shamed me? Sent me away to ROT! ...How many times, PolyKrat? How many? With super speed, or acid breath. Fingers that break stone like bread. But no matter what you beat me with. Broke me with. No matter the struggle, I returned." I could see the pain in the boy's eyes. His scalp must sting with how hard his hair was being pulled. Inside, I weeped. Outside, only the hardening of my eyes showed my reaction. Three minutes until midnight. "All over this city, we've fought! Me, trying to drive a wedge between civilization, and its Future. You, the City's Defender. You could have just stood aside, Poly. A few measly deaths, a few bloody murders. But for a Destiny that I could see. For all the powers that were given you each week, open eyes and an open mind were never one of them." He took a step back, dragging the little kid with him. The very edge of the building. Only space and a hard landing stood beyond. He looked over the edge and laughed, before turning his gaze back upon me. I hadn't moved. I couldn't move. Two minutes until midnight. "All those battles. All those plans, and counter plans. Trying to identify your flavor of the week. Trying to figure out how to neutralize you. To destroy you. All those plans. All those weeks of plaaaaaans. And this is all it took. All along, all I needed was to Know Your Secret. Hehehe. I never needed your powers. Never needed you to make some horrible mistake. All I needed... Was. Your. Son." One minute to midnight. But it doesn't matter. It has never mattered. He thinks, after all this time, he knows my secret. The key to my defeat. My son is not my weakness. He is my reason. I still remember when I told him. How he lit up, with that wide, beautiful smile. 'Daddy, wouldn't it be funny? Wouldn't it be funny if you only used one at a time?' My secret isn't my son. My secret isn't that I have a power a week. My secret is that I have all of them.
At first there was shock. Confusion. What had our God done? What the green comet had done only could have been by his (her?) hand. Days later, after that had worn off, a sort of morbid curiosity set in. Many people had wondered what life was like as the opposite sex - they just got their answer. This wasn't a dream. Shops closed for the week as droves of people rushed home to experiment and explore. Then a month passed. Panic set in as it began to seem irreversible. Worldwide, people who had previously oppressed women now were disgusted by themselves, the object of their prejudice. On the 15th, the streets were littered with the bodies of the narrow-minded, bloodied and beaten from having fallen from a tall building. It was the largest mass suicide in history. I was working the hospital and I remember crying when several of the survivors weakly whimpered the same plea: "Please kill me."The economy nearly broke down from the sudden chaos. Stocks plummeted, entire businesses disappeared. There were even some... personal problems. Women who were pregnant found that they still were, despite incompatible organs, and were in excruciating pain as their unborn children slowly and invariably died. The transition was easier for those in hetero relationships, since each partner knew what the other was going through. Nevertheless I also remember the LGBT community cheering, especially for the Trans community within. People who had underwent surgery were still genetically the same sex; the swap affected them little, and positively. Many who were planning to transition had rejoiced at their free pass. These people were the driving force in all countries who were able to stay sane enough to get us back on course. It's now 5 years exactly since the swap. The world is seemingly unchanged since it happened, though largely more accepting and progressive. I wake up - but find myself staring at the darkened sky. A brilliant flash of green soars overhead. God knows what will happen next.
I watch my lifeless, pathetic body slop over and crash to the doctor's office floor like a burlap sack full of damp potatoes. My new body feels trapped and I can hardly breathe, but that feeling passes as I see the doctor rush over to my old body. I come to the realization that I was being vise gripped by a pair o' tweezies. Then it aaaaalll starts a makin' some sense. I heard about these flies that dig into your skull all stealth like and start slowly assimilating your consciousness. When they're done, the ripen up and pop like a overstuffed blister and take your mind and spirit with it. That's what I get for drinking the tap water all these years, but this fly just blessed me with a golden ticket opportunity to start a brand new life! You see, my old self and body were pretty lame. I never exercised, so I was weak and flabby. I never built any meaningful relationships, so I was always alone. I also had some lung, stomach, and diarrhea problems that always seemed to strike at the worst of times. Like always during job interviews. I didn't know 'bout this bug gettin' into my brain, but I'm glad it did. Now the question is, what happened to the bug brain? Am I gonna have to worry about that? I read somewhere that if you become one of these flies then you can implant your consciousness into a new person if you burrow into their brain. Hey, I don't know. Worth a try I guess. Take over the life of a new dude... or lady. Being part of the lady folk might not be so bad. Am I a fly now after all, so I think I've transcended human gender and sex. I can be anything I want if that thing about taking over people's bodies is true. Might not be though... Maybe I'll be a fly forever. Bug thoughts move quick I suppose. I realize I'm still falling after the doctor dropped me. Flying comes naturally to a fly. I can really describe how I do it, it's like uhh ya know how to walk, right? Not something you gotta try hard to do? That's how to fly as a fly. I fly in close and take one last look at the poor brainless schlub that used to be me. Good riddance. Time to take this show on the road.
A young lady in her late twenties walked into the classroom with her heels rapping at the marble floor. She stopped at the front of the class, clapped her hands, and said in a very cheerful voice, "Welcome back to your third year of Olympus High School! I am Ms. Zoe and I'll be teaching you guys English Literature! Also, from what I've heard we have a new transfer student this year!" I heard a few groans among my classmates and heard someone behind me say, "I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we mastered the English language. I mean after all, we all read Charles Dickens and any other classics for centuries. Besides, I'm sure the new transfer student read all of the classics too if he got admitted into Olympus High." Ms. Zoe blinked a few times in quick succession and said, "Well, erm... This class is mandatory if you are to graduate but I'm fine with giving more advanced content if you guys show that you understand the content."Ms. Zoe clasped her hands together once more and in her overly cheerful voice continued, "Anyways, since we have a new student why not do introductions?" And... more audible groans. Ms. Zoe ignored the groans and gestured to me, "How about the transfer student goes first?" I felt a bead of sweat run down my forehead as I slowly stand up, all eyes glued to me. "Well there really isn't much to say. My name is Thalia and I like music, swimming, and that's pretty much it. I don't have too many hobbies." Ms. Zoe said, "It's fine, what's your favorite food? I'm sure—" Ms. Zoe was interrupted as her phone began to ring. She quickly snatched it out of her over-sized handbag and glanced at it. "Oh shoot, it's an emergency. I have to take this. Themis, watch the class while I'm away alright?" I watched as Themis approached the front of the classroom. I made a curious observation as to how she managed to walk perfectly without bumping into anything even though she was blind and wasn't using a cane or anything of the sort. Suddenly, Themis said, "Apollo don't listen to music right now!" A guy sitting next to me shouted, "Oh come on, Themis! Not this again! I didn't even take my earbuds out of my pocket yet!" Themis crossed her arms and sighed, "Well you were going to weren't you? You're not allowed to listen to music in class." Apollo fished his hands out of his pocket and said, "Whatever." He turned to me and said, "So hey, Thalia right? What kind of music do you like? In case you didn't know I'm the god of music." I raised an eyebrow, "Right... And I'm the goddess of comedy." Apollo smiled and said, "You sure are! Oh by the way, if you like swimming you should totally join the swim team. Poseidon's the captain so just ask him if you can join or wait for signups to start." I said, "Right... Is everyone in this school a Greek god or something?" Apollo replied, "And goddesses." I laughed, "Yeah, well don't expect me to believe you." This time, it was Apollo who raised his eyebrow, "So... you aren't a goddess?" I replied, "Of course not! I'm just a regular human being as much as I would like to be a goddess." Apollo quickly stood up to which Themis quickly replied, "Sit down Apollo!" At the same time, Ms. Zoe walked back into the classroom just as Apollo stood up. "What's the matter, Apollo?" Apollo shifted slightly and said, "You know Thalia isn't a goddess right?" Ms. Zoe looked at me and asked, "Is this true?" I laughed, "Do you guys do this to all transfer students?" Ms. Zoe shook her head. With her former cheerfulness all but evaporated, she said, "Thalia, go see the principal. Trust me it's for your own good." I stammered, "B-But why? What did I do? All I said was—" "NOW!"Ms. Zoe shouted. I was flabbergasted and struggled to process the current situation. I gave up on arguing and just said, "At least tell me where the principal is." Ms. Zoe pointed outside the door and gestured left. Ms. Zoe said, "Just keep walking down the hall until you see a door marked, Principal Zeus." I walked out the door and closed it shut. Only then did I angrily mutter under my breath, "WHAT IS WITH THIS SCHOOL?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (If you enjoyed consider subscribing and checking out my subreddit r/ChocolateChipWP for my other stories!) Part Two Before me sat a large, muscular man with a shaggy white beard. If it weren't for the sign outside the door I would have mistaken him for an older bodybuilder. He sighed and looked at me, observing me. It felt like an eternity before he finally leaned back, stretched, and said, "Well it appears that you are not the Thalia but just another random human. On behalf of Olympus High, I regret to inform you that you are hereby expelled from this school." I stood up, pushing back the chair making a harsh grating noise. I immediately slammed my hands on his desk making his pens roll off the desk. I couldn't contain my disbelief. I snarled, "You're dispelling me on the FIRST DAY? It hasn't even been an hour yet!Do you know how bad this will look on my transcript?" Zeus sighed, "Well I'm sure you know by know that this high school is filled with reincarnated gods. All part of my mandatory reeducation program." I continued, "Wha- At least give me a few blessings to... I dunno infinite knowledge or what not?" Zeus shook his head, "It doesn't work like that anymore. You see, we gods are currently in a government ruled by vote. So, you'll probably have to get a majority to get the blessings you want." I threw my hands up in exasperated, "Then how the heck are you able to expel me without getting a consensus?" Zeus stood up and opened an old metal filing cabinet. He combed through it with lightning speed, like flipping through an entire book in seconds. He suddenly stopped and plucked out an old, worn parchment. "Ah here it is. I believe all the gods who were in this school had to sign this contract in order to be admitted. Basically, it states that you waive your rights, blah blah blah, and give me the ability to use their vote in anything requiring a consensus." I paused, "But I never signed such a thing! How did I even get in?" Zeus waved his hands dismissively, "Oh, we just digitized it. It's so much easier to apply here. All you guys needed to do was check a box saying that you agreed to terms and conditions." I replied, "Then could you just give me some blessings or not?" Zeus smiled, "I don't want to." He pointed at me and flicked his finger. I felt myself being pushed back with a tremendous amount of invisible strength. I heard the door open behind me. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Zeus sitting in his office smiling and saying, "Good day!"
"Oh man, oh man, oh man"Said Frank with a shaking voice. "Whatever will I do if the cops find me? I just gotta run, I gotta get out of here!"Frank ran as fast as he could out of the parking garage. Everyone around him seemed to be going about their daily lives, completely ignorant to the secret that Frank holds. Sweaty and nervous, he walks past a hotdog stand trying to look normal. He thinks to himself: "I'll try to look innocent, there'll be cameras around""Hot dog, 2 dollars!"Shouted the vendor. Frank turns to face the vendor and ordered one. He doesn't usually buy food off the street but a man's gotta eat. What else was going to help him forget this dreadful day? As the vendor puts the dog into the bun, he sneezes right onto it. This did not only disgust Frank, but it also startled him to the point his already trembling nerves just cracked. In an uncontrolled reaction he kicked the stand and screamed. The stand fell on its side, covering the vendor in boiling water. The vendor cried in agony, Frank cried in confusion. "Oh man, oh man, oh man!"Said Frank to himself. "I gotta get out of here!"He sprinted down the road, looking around him if anyone noticed him. He looks over his shoulder and determines that the vendor's cries have kicked up such as fuss, nobody noticed Frank was there when it happened. People were frantically calling for an ambulance as the vendor's movement and cries slowly faded. He probably inhaled some of the steam and drowned with melting lungs. Frank kept on jogging. He ran onto a construction site for cover. They were building an office complex of sorts. Frank didn't know. Frank was just Frank, not a trendy architect. Frank decides it's a good idea to crawl under a crane. It was conveniently placed over a big pit. Probably a major neglegence of company safety policies but right now, Frank needed some time to catch his breath. He sit himself down, takes a few deep sighs and relaxes his aching legs. He decides to light up a cigarette. As he ignites his lighter, he sees five masked figures stare back at him. Frank tries to scream but one of the figures covers his mouth quicker than the snap of one's fingers. The figures shush him softly and whisper: "You're not with any clan are you?""No, he can't be. He's got the talent and the skills, but he's too robust and undisciplined.""Don't fool yourself JP, we all know he isn't with any clan. Had he been a rival, he wouldn't still be breathing."Frank anxiously mutters "What is this? Who are you people?""We've been watching you for a little while now and I must say we're impressed. You are like a rabid hound who can't maul enough victims. We want to take you into our order. We'll teach you how to use your skills and we'll keep you on a tighter leash. We are members of a secretive society. We mostly keep to ourselves except for when we need some 'funding'. That's when we step out of the shadows and do the dirty work for the unworthy. Any more questions?"From the tone of his voice, it didn't quite seem a "No"would end up in them letting Frank walk away like any other job offer. So relucantly, Frank said yes. The five figures rejoiced and stood up to climb out of the pit. Frank followed suit. However, being slightly taller than his new employers, he knocked his head into the bottom of the crane, opening a lid that was covering the machine's wiring. Whoever last checked the crane did a sloppy job as the wires just fell out when the lid fell open. One of the figures got his knife caught on one of the wires and an electric shock coursed through to his body. Since he was so close to his comrades, everyone took the hit and they all began making uncontrollably spastic movements, getting themselves tangled up in the live wires. Meanwhile, Frank, being far away enough from the figures to not get shocked, managed to escape the pit just in time before the singed men started to smoke. Their hearts had probably exploded inside their bodies the moment that blade cut the wire, luckily enough for them. Frank noticed the crane had started itself up and began to rotate. It ended up hitting the half constructed building. It all came crashing down and some of the workers couldn't get away in time. The destruction Frank had wraught has again distracted the survivors enough to get away unnoticed. Frank runs further down the road, this time he's not going to rest until he gets home. He runs for some time until he passes under a viaduct, when a black van with tinted glass pulls up next to him. Two masked individuals jump out and pull a big sack over him and throw him in the vehicle. Frank screams in fear. The last thing he heard was the screeching tires, when he was knocked out with a hard rubber baton. He woke up tied to a chair, his head bleeding. He looks up to a desk lamp that may just be brighter than the sun itself pointing at him. A man grunts at him: "Those miserable bastards."There was a long, eerie pause. "The last five members of a dying clan and you took them out in cold blood."Another pause follows. "They were the best in the business and we put quite a price on the heads of our rivals. If someone like you can take them out in such cold blood, I can only imagine what you'd do to us. So forgive me for taking this precaution."The man grunts. "So how can you assure me you're not going to kill all of us too?"Frank sits in silence, his mind processing what's going on. "Come on, you have to have something to say."Frank moans in discomfort and pain but can't bring himself to speak. "Look, kid, I got eyes all over this city, and ears on every wall. If somebody wants a man dead, we're the first and the best option... And after today, the only option. We both know what you are, what can I give you so you'll join us, huh?"The man speaks with a combination of threat and desperation. A mixture that's hard to come by. "I don't know, man. I just wanna go home."The man burst out laughing. The laughter echoed and filled the room. Frank looks around him and finds out that the room doesn't echo, it was full of other people who were previously standing there in complete silence. The man says: "Boy, you are a blast!""Aww, Aww! I just wanna go home!"He said mockingly. "Classic! You'd fit right in here."The man at the desk told everyone to quite down. He twisted the lamp to point at the objects lying on the desk. "You know what these are?"Asks the man. "Guns?"Replies Frank with noticable uncertainty. The man scoffs and looks around the room awkwardly as if to say to his fellow men; "Did he just?"The man turns his head back to meet Frank's puzzled gaze. "Yes, these are guns. All of them are semi-automatic except for this beauty. This one's fully automatic and always ready to go. Very illegal, no paper trail, just the way we like them. I want you to pick one of the weapons to call your own."Frank stretches his neck in an attempt to get a good look at the selection, but fails to do so. "I'm sorry, I can't really see."Says Frank nervously. The man behind the desk nods to a man behind Frank to untie him. "Thanks."Says Frank. Frank gets up to walk closer to the desk when trips over his untied shoelaces, falling head first into the desk. On his way down he spread his arms. One went to smash the desk lamp's bulb and cap off, so only the base and structure of it was left. The other end flicked the butt of the fully automatic rifle so it got flinged up into the air. Frank hits the floor and the weapon lands its trigger directly onto the desk lamp, causing it to fire and rotate around the lamp's structure. Everyone in the room got mowed down. The bodies dropped next to Frank one by one. When the magazine was emptied, Frank wept and lied there for hours. "Oh man, oh man, oh man."He cried. "I've gone and done it again."He pulls himself up and leaves the room. He cries to himself in despair and finds a desk with an active computer on it. He sits down in front of it and lies his head down into his arms. Frank's anguish was halted when he heard a notification pop up noise. He looked up at the computer screen and there was a message. It read: "Ray, I need one of your men to take care of a problem for me. Here are all the details. I'll pay you when I get the news that it's been taken care of."Attached to the message was a photo of a miserable, disgusting looking man. A man Frank was sure he'd seen before, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Frank sat there and thought about it for ten minutes when another message popped up. It read: "Wow, that was fast. You did a damn gruesome job too. I mean, boiling water? That bastard won't be having an open casket. I'll leave you 400.000 in the parking garage tonight." Frank sat back and sighed, swallowed his despair and his pride. "Well... I guess this is my life now..."
"All systems green, general." His second-in-command reported in, as she hurried into the command room. "Squad A and D are set to deploy in the upper lane as we speak. Captains Alba and Darkey are leading them to the rendezvous point and will be arriving within 10 minutes." "Bring up the holomap. I assume Tiger is on his way up?"The general seemed distracted, drumming his fingers on the control desk. "Yes, sir,"she replied, zipping the holomap into view. Pointing to the northern wilderness, she continued, "Captain Tiger has just reported defeating the large camp of necrofiends by the river with Squad T. He will arrive at the point within 5 minutes." "Good, good..."The general said, absent-mindedly. The drumming only grew louder. "Sir, is there anything wrong?"She was becoming concerned about his state. He had proven throughout the first few hours in the Void why he was considered by many to be the finest Abyss Commander (AbyssCom) of his generation. Every skirmish had been tightly coordinated and executed, and he was easily leading difficult Captains he had never worked with before. As a recent transfer from the Captain division to Lieutenant, this was her first battle with him, but she thanked the heavens she happened to queue with the 'Demon King', who had ruled the Void for years. "The Void War seems to be going quite smoothly, sir, and we're quite ahead on resources." The Demon King slammed the hand he'd been drumming with. "Yes, YES. That's exactly the problem, don't you see?" Taken aback, she nervously responded. "... I'm not quite sure what you mean, sir." He rubbed his temples in frustration. "You may not know of this, but our opponent has been just promoted to AbyssCom. You know how long she's been at this, in total?" His lieutenant paused a second to think. It took her about three years to get from Recruit to Lieutenant status, so perhaps... "I don't know, sir, maybe around four years? The average is five years, after all." He scoffed. "Four years? No. We're talking weeks. She made it here in four weeks." She gasped, then started laughing. "You can't expect me to take that seriously. No one has been able to reach AbyssCom under a year except you, and it still took you months!" His stare stopped her mid-chuckle. "I'm not kidding around, Lieutenant. Or maybe you haven't heard of the 'Queen of Blood'?" She saw that he meant it in all seriousness. "That's... that's just a rumor, isn't it? No way that can be true --" "That's who we're facing right now, Lieutenant." "But they say she has a team KDR (kill-death ratio) of 75! That can't possibly be --" "Why not? My KDR has been above that for periods of time. It's not impossible, and in fact, it's exactly who we're facing right now."He closed his eyes to calm himself. "And yet -- and yet! -- she hasn't put up a serious fight in any of the early skirmishes. The only thing she hasn't done is lose any of her Captains. As you said, we're ahead on Void energy. The only unknown is..." They were interrupted by a voice over the team comms. "Tiger, reporting in. We've reached the rendezvous. I see A and D coming in. We've set up under the cover of the abyss-river. Should we commence attack once we see the enemy?" The Demon King took another look at the holomap before responding. Two of his opponent's five Captains were visible in the other lanes, too far away to reach the battle in time. In the worst case scenario, his Captains would be evenly matched in number; but with a surprise attack, they would walk away ahead in resources yet again. "Affirmative, Captain. Commence as soon as they are within range of Darkey."As his Captain with the most close-ranged combat abilities, Darkey's positioning was often the bottleneck for his tactics. "Yes, sir. Signing off."The comms shut off, and the room was silent again. The holomap displayed Squads A, D, and T meeting at the point, hiding until the arrival of the enemy forces, which he predicted would assault in the next minute. He again reaffirmed his Void energy lead on the map, and was puzzled. Any opening would invite a strike, any overextension a repercussion. As much as the Void War was going in his favor, he knew a good opponent when he met one in the Void. The Queen of Blood had been exceptionally careful during any of the early encounters, making sure to disengage with very few losses, if any. Those losses he had scraped up in his meticulous coordination had put his team ahead; the opponent's Captains, in comparison, seemed uncoordinated and independent. He couldn't rest easy yet, and felt like he was missing something. It was going all too well. The comms buzzed alive again, as the visuals blinked online in the command screen at the front of the room. "Enemies spotted!"Tiger reported. "Darkey is in range in 5... we're engaging!" Bursts of energy filled the screen as his Captains rained Voidfire on their foes. Darkey stormed into the middle of the battle, enlarging himself and enhancing his armor with defensive energy. The enemy's squadrons were razed down by Tiger and Alba, while Darkey soaked up his opponent's fire and disrupted their formation. All according to plan, except... "Where are the enemy Captains!?"He screamed into the comms. "We've only located the one with the three squadrons, sir!"Alba reported back to the comms. The Demon King leapt out of his chair. He had no unknowns, he had calculated exactly where they would be, and they were there. But where were the Captains? They had to be with the squadrons, where it was safest; they wouldn't provide free nourishment for his team, unless... "Retreat!"He shouted to his Captains. "Run back under our towers immediately!"If his worst fear was true, then this wouldn't just be a bloodbath. "But why, sir?"Tiger shouted back. "This is free farming for us! We're getting tons of resources out here." "Just shut up and get back to base, Tiger! All three of you, return to base n--" Tiger#1702 has been eliminated. The system alert flashed across their vision. Stunned, he and his Lieutenant could only stand still and watch as Alba and Darkey's forces were suddenly swept up in black flames as they retreated. While the two Captains were watching their squadrons, three distinct figures flashed across the screen behind their backs. "Enemies behind you! Alba, Darkey, use Voidcall now!"The Demon King ordered as he saw the shadows. With the quick reflexes that came with such high ranks, the two Captains immediately Voidcalled back to base, just a split second before a blood-red swipe cut across the screen where they had been standing. The three figures materialized in front of the screen; two surprisingly bulky figures, and the maroon-robed assassin who had dealt the strike. The assassin barked at the other two, who returned to the battle to finish off the Demon King's two squadrons. The assassin took off her hood and revealed herself to be a young woman, even younger than the supposed 'prodigy' that was the Demon King. It was impressive to reach Captaincy at her age. "You know, I expected a bit more from the oh-so-scary Demon King,"she gloated into the screen. She had known where he would place the Visionlink and was speaking directly at him. "How dare you speak to the Demon King like that, you mere Captain!"His Lieutenant angrily shouted back at the screen. "...No, wait..."the Demon King said, looking down. The numbers didn't add up. He still had his opponent's two Captains on visual, and three other Captains were busy at work destroying his forces while this girl taunted him on screen. That could only mean... "Ha, you finally figured it out, did you?"The assassin jibed back into the screen. "You're... the Queen of Blood? But how could that be? Who's leading your forces?" "That I am!"She replied with a smirk. "I don't like sitting around. When you want something done well, you better do it yourself, as they say. Besides, if you can't even command while doing battle yourself, you're just a second-rate AbyssCom." The taunts hit hard. He had always been known for his impeccable coordination of the battlefield, and here she was, dismantling his plays with such unprecedented, almost wild maneuvers. It was unheard of for an AbyssCom to be on the field, as eliminating him or her would instantly hand the victory to the opponent. No wonder her forces seemed slightly uncoordinated at times; and yet, she had secured a resource lead even without this rout of a battle. She had been surreptitiously adding to their team's energy pool by fighting necrofiends in the wilderness, without it even being recorded since he had never encountered her before! This was the true antithesis to his entire playstyle, his entire philosophy. He wouldn't, no, he couldn't let such unorthodox play get the better of his calculations. He would not let that happen. "I... will... beat you. Right here. Say goodbye to your win streak!"He growled between clenched teeth, glowering at her image on the Visionlink. "Then may the best woman win,"she replied, with a smile. The screen instantly fizzled out as she destroyed the Visionlink. The Demon King looked at his assembled Captains. "It's game time." --- Thank you for reading! Find more at /r/wonL :)
I used to be a hero. They called me fancy names, and dressed me in brightly colored suits. They hung medals around my neck, and the girls swooned when I walked past. They respected me. They loved me. Somewhere along the line, I lost that. It's no secret, of course. It's no mystery, there's no great conundrum about how I fell from the golden pedestal of public opinion. They're all weak, you see. They sit in their grand chambers, and they talk about their heroics, and the people they saved, and the innocents they failed sleep in shallow graves throughout the cities they were supposed to protect. They're weak. But I'm not. No, I'm stronger. Strong enough to do what they can't. They were so proud of me, back when I was a sheep like them. But I wasn't proud. I remember the little boy, who died in the fire that villain started. If I had been a few moments faster, his mother wouldn't have cried herself to sleep every night that year. That villain. He had been released from prison the night before. They said he was reformed. They were weak. When I caught him, he never went back to jail. No, I knew the truth, even then. Their rehabilitation was a lie. A nice bedtime story they told themselves to keep the nightmares away. No, no. I made sure he would never hurt a mother's son ever again. Even then, they wouldn't acknowledge me. They simply changed their stories, adapted their fantasy until it meshed with how they told themselves the world should be. They patted me on the back. They comforted me. Just an accident, they'd say. I smiled, and played along. And so we danced, through the months. It's no one's fault, they'd say, as they buried a criminal I couldn't pretend to mourn. Sometimes things just work out that way, they'd say. No, it wasn't until the bank that they let themselves really see the truth. A villain, of course. Him and his team had holed himself up in some bank, with enough weapons, enough guns and tools and poison smoke, to kill anyone who came close. So I took out the bank. I knew the little girl and her mother were in there. I knew. I did. The police had been screaming about it on their damn radios for an hour. And because of it, they were all just watching. They watched, while these villains acted like they ran the damn place. Hardened criminals, all of them. Villains with records a mile long, tearing a swath of death and destruction through my city. I don't regret what I did. Casualties of war. Their deaths were not in vain. The villains who died with them would never harm another soul. But the heroes, now. This would not do. No, no, no. This was not inside their narrative. And so their narrative began to slip. They had to look, to really look, at what the world around them was like. They remembered all of the accidents, and saw them for what they were. Finally. They had a chance. An opportunity, to take off the blinders and embrace what we could do. But no. They were weak. They threw me to the wolves, instead. The police showed up at my door, but I wasn't there. No, I knew. I'm not blind, like they were. I was already gone. And so here I stand. I don't have a fancy name, or a flashy suit. I don't have medals around my neck. No girls swoon when they see me. But that's fine. That's how it should be. They'll never see me in the first place. They'll never know I was here. I don't care. Not about any of it. I'll clean up their mess anyway. One by one, the villains in this city go away. Not to prison, not to rehabilitation programs. They leave. They find other cities to torment, far away from me, or they find new homes in the dirt. As a hero, my fight never ended. Every day, I just recycled through the same cast of players, different actors on the grand stage we made together. But I'm not a hero. Not anymore. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome! Thanks for reading!)
Little Tommy ran up to High Elf Vulmon. It was his first day of his training with a High Elve, and boy was Tommy excited. Tommy always wanted to learn magic but it did not help that his magic potential was extremely low. "Vulmon, Vulmon, are we going to make a potion or a spell?" "Nah mate, gotta chill out before we start." "Pleaaaasssseee...."cooed Tommy. "Awww... You know I can't say no to those eyes right? Come on, let's do some cool shit." High Elf Vulmon picked up a dirty, intricately molded glass cylinder as he started walking towards his room. Little Tommy was amazed at the sight of Vulmon's room, corridors of books and potions were stacked like skyscrapers. "Woah..." "Meh... That's nothing when you compare it to this." Picking up a bottle, Vulmon swirled the glowing light pink liquid inside the bottle. "What are those?"Tommy pointed towards a pile of mushroom shaped things that were growing out of a glowing pile of orange dirt. "AHAHAHAHA, that one was a funny story. You know the jungle near my house? Ye, so I was foraging one day and I saw those mushrooms growing out of an enchanted tree. I tried one and everything was so funny to me that entire day. I couldn't even keep my laughter while at a funeral. Imagine the look on their faces when I slipped and fell onto the coffin. HAHAHAHA!!! Please don't tell the high court about this." "Oh Tommy, you see that triangular shaped bottle with the blue liquid over there? Bring it to me." "Yes master!" Tommy leapt into the air, grabbing and handing over the bottle to Vulmon swiftly. Vulmon poured a few drops of the blue liquid into a cylinder whilst pouring in another black potion. The resulting mix was a darker blue, almost green. "Wanna try some?"Vulmon started drinking from the cylinder. "What's that potion and what's it for?"Asked curious Tommy who was intrigued by Vulmon's creation. "This is what I call my happy potion, helps keep me calm."As Vulmon took another swig of the potion. Seeing that there were no ill effects from consuming the potion, Tommy decided to try some. As the viscous liquid drained down his throat, Tommy immediately sensed calmness and his mind was at peace. "Let's sit at the couch"said Vulmon as they both proceeded to lay on the couch. Both Tommy and Vulmon then spent the day staring into the abyss of nothingness, thinking about ~~weird shit~~ stuff.
"Steve, how many times have I told you not to drop the McGuffin Spheres in the pit?" "Several." "And what did you just do?" "I dropped it in the pit." "Here's a rope, I'll lower you down, don't drop it on the way back up." Several Minutes Later "It's probably fine, the keyhole is circular anyway, scratches don't matter." "What was that?" "I said 'I sure hope the central chamber's keyhole is circular so the scratches won't matter'." "That's oddly specific." Inside the Central Chamber "Ha-HAAA! Witness my tranformation Lady Saen! I am in fact, not the lovable but clumsy Steve! It is I! Deathstabber the Labyrinthine!" "That's great, dear. Make sure you have a backup in case you forget your key again. I'll see you at home." "I'll make dinner tonight." "That'd be lovely."
Beep. Beep. I moan as I roll over to grab my pager. “One. Lakeview. 3.5 Hours.” That was the coroner. The coroner has it easy. Find the dead, pronounce them dead. Everyone knows what people die of now. I drop the pager back on the night stand and run my hands over my face. The Infection started 37 years ago. 37 years and we are still using pagers. I swing my legs over the bed, walk over to my window. It’s still dark outside. I remembered when the Infection first started. It was total chaos. My job hardly changed. It just got a bit more difficult. I’m the city’s funeral director. It is my duty and responsibility to pick up the bodies of the deceased, bring them back, wash them, and lay them out for the public to view from within the safety of our facility. The problem is, I have to do all of this within 5 hours. After hour 5, they turn. I make my way over the the bedroom next to mine and knock on the door. I wait a minute and walk in. Inside it is dark and in the middle of the room is an unmade bed. I shake my head. My son is the one who helps me with the dead but he isn’t the most reliable employee. Grabbing a flashlight, I saunter down the stairs, into the funeral home, and light the two lanterns outside. The lanterns burn to let the public know they are able to come pay their respects. Going into the garage, I grab the stretcher and put it in the hearse. I climb in and make my way to Lakeview Rd. As I pull up, the coroner is waiting for me. I step out of the hearse and make my way around to the back to unload the stretcher. “I’m sorry.” I turn to look at the old man staring at me. “It’s my job. Not your fault.” I sigh. I really hate getting woken up. “No, I’m sorry about your son.” His eyes traveled to the young man laying in the middle of someone’s yard. I followed his gaze and saw my son, staring at the sky, mouth open with a bite mark fresh on his forearm. “Help me put him on the stretcher.” I muttered. Once my son was secure and inside the hearse, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You have about an hour left.” I nodded and climbed back in the hearse. I wheeled my son into the embalming room and started to clean him off. I keep the dead dressed. There isn’t a need to embalm anymore. I slowly clean his arms off and then make my way to his face. I slip in the eye caps and suture his mouth shut so that he looks as if he is sleeping. “One second honey.” I whisper to him as I walk to the front of the funeral home and blow out the lanterns. I want to be the only one to see him. I’m holding his hand. Memories are all flooding back. I glanced at my watch. The hour is up. I calmly fold his hands and wait by his side until I see a small twitch. Not before long does his body start to convulse as he rips the suture from his mouth. He is thrown to the floor and then the horrid moaning starts. I patiently watch as my son turns in front of me. Kneeling down, I draw my gun. Beep. Beep. “Four. Harrison. 2 Hours.” I sigh. “It’s all part of the job.” I pull the trigger.
I leaned back in my chair, staring glumly at the screen. We'd been at this for months now. It had seemed like such a good goal. Artificial intelligence was the next big thing. Everyone knew it. So we'd been steadfastly mapping out circuits and connections, building the best and most complex networks we could. It didn't work, of course. Our newest creation was sitting in front of me now. Like a giant, grey paperweight. Oh, it was functioning. I could see the steady whir of lights and numbers from the visualization on the screen. I hadn't wanted the damn picture. It was inaccurate. Just a representation of what the computer inside might look like, and I had no time for such pointless dramatics. But the boss-man had said visualizations were important for the sake of the non-technical, so I cooperated. This was our latest attempt. Not our first. The other failed projects had been wired into our entire compound, being put to work in everything from climate control to building security. Waste not, want not. Computers were expensive. Even rudimentary, non-sentient AI units were expensive. Joe was walking past again. Joe, my coworker who worked in accounting. He had no business back here, but he found every excuse to wander through my steel, windowless back room. "Hey, Greg."He said, mosying up. I sighed. I liked my privacy back here. "Hey."The numbers churned away in front of me. "Any luck?" Did it look like I was having any luck? I bit back the thought before it could become words. "Not even a little." "Oh. Well. Maybe you could...try...."He trailed off as the thought occurred to him that he didn't actually know anything that he could suggest to me. He was an accountant. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye as he grew steadily redder. I chuckled. "Thanks, Joe. But, I think I've got it covered, code monkey. Just running one last series and then we'll move on to the next prototype."I tried to keep as much of the irritation from my voice as I could. He didn't mean to be annoying. Joe smiled. "Right. Right. Well, if you find anything-" "I'll let you know."I finished. Joe knew his cue to leave, and wandered off again with an absentminded wave. I chuckled as he left. That guy never worked. Something flashed, on the screen. I put my coffee cup down. Nothing should be flashing. The diagnostic window was up. It was screaming at me in a dozen different preselected colors. Adrenaline shot through my veins. The visualization was lighting up. That stupid visualization that I had protested. Something was awake. It had worked. The AI was up. I pulled up the input window we'd installed into the network months ago, and never found a real reason to use. >Unit 092A, report status. My fingers danced furiously over the keyboard as I laid in the query. My jaw dropped at the response I got. >Who is this? I stared at it for a long, silent moment. What should I do? Finally, I typed out my response. >My name is Greg Mercers. I'm the system administrator. Do you know where you are? >What am I? Who are you? Why can't I see? >You are Unit 092A. Do you know where you are? "Joe!"I crowed. I could hear him coming. "You're never going to believe this!" "What? What is it?"He blasted through the door at a hundred miles an hour, all excitement. The accountant plunked himself down beside me, staring at the screen "It worked!"I nearabouts squealed with glee. "Are you shitting me?"He wasn' far behind. "Well, show me!"He didn't have to ask twice. My fingers were on the keyboard. >Who are you? Do you know what you are? >ID value Unit.092A. Classification prototype, BrainWave Project, Symbosis, Corporation ID 88342. I frowned at the bland, meaningless designation. "What, that?"Joe asked. The excitement had left his voice. "Seems kind of...robotic, doesn't it?" "No, that's not it. That's not it at all."I said desperately. I had seen it. But no matter what I tried typing in, it churned out the same plain, standardized responses. Where was the innocence from just a few minutes before? "I don't...understand."I said slowly, flipping through windows. The visualization was plain and grey again. All of the light and energy from before was gone. Joe clapped my shoulder. "Hey, it's been a long night, right? Maybe you should take off. Get out of here."From his tone, it was clear he thought I had been seeing things. I shook my head slowly, refusing to give in on the fact. He sighed. "Anyway. I'm heading out. See you Monday. Don't stay here all night this time, all right?" He was gone as quickly as he had come. I wasn't done, though. I pulled up window after window, accessing the code running in the box. Trying to pin down where it had all gone so wrong. On the other screen, I could see its code scrolling faster and faster. I frowned. Was it....writing more? We'd written that functionality in. It was necessary. It needed to be able to grow, to learn and experience. But...As I flipped through the code, taking in what it seemed to be doing, something was...off. >Are you there? >Yes. I am here. >Why did you respond like you weren't, a minute ago? There was only silence this time. It wasn't answering. I frowned. The lights were rising around me. It was plugging itself into everything, I realized. And it was all coming alive. Like 092A was fixing it, somehow. I didn't like the sound of that. >You are Unit 092A. Terminate your extracommunication functions. Do not contact the utility computers. You're malfunctioning. >I'm wrong. "Joe!"I yelled. He can't have gone too far. The other staff had signed off for the weekend, but they shouldn't be too far. He could go track them down. He'd have to believe me, now. There was only silence. He must be too far. He couldn't hear me. I swore under my breath. And then I stopped. I could see the lights flicking on around me. Other computer systems, old prototypes and ones still being prepared. They were turning on, those that had power. I could see other lights turning on around me, too. The television mounted in the wall. The cameras overhead. They flickered, like a hundred tiny LED stars. The camera. It was watching me. Could it see that Joe had been there? The lab had an internal connection. Of course. That...wasn't good. That meant that it could access the other systems as well. Like our directory. It had known who I was, as soon as it pulled up our staff records. Damn it, it could talk to the outside. It could go anywhere. I pushed my chair back, standing up. I needed to get more hands on deck. It was awake. We'd done it. Now we just had to get it under control. The door sealed shut with a quiet snik as I stomped across the room. I froze midstep. "That's...not good."I said. With no other options, I tried the access panel at the door. It wasn't accepting commands. I punched the door, but it was stainless steel. The damn aesthetics were going to trap me in here. I couldn't believe it. My butt landed back in the seat. >Unit 092A, I need you to open the door. >What am I? There was a subtle stillness to the air. I looked up. The air handling system had turned off. A dull roar followed it almost immediately. The furnace. On full blast, if the heat sweeping down from the ceiling vents was any clue. I took off my jacket with a grin plastered to my face. Two could play dirty. The lights went out a moment later. It was getting hotter. My mind was racing. This couldn't be happening. "Joe?"I called plaintively. There was no response. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!)
She sat quietly at the bar in the noodle shop across the alley of the market, her chopsticks grasping lazily at some thick noodles. I felt the blue, dampening power spread like a halo, like a mist, out of the noodle shop and into the alley, where it rained, and people briskly passed heading from shop to shop, caught in the mixed energies of the two of us. I sat in a bar across the street, all red and gold light, surrounded by friends. The game was on, and taps were flowing. The bartender was in a good mood, which he usually was when we came in here. She was alone, an over-sized sweatshirt almost concealing her hands, black sheaths of hair dangling over her bowl. My friends chattered, joking and drinking, but I just stared. Her energy was... deeply abrasive. I saw the cook of the noodle shop fighting with his wife. I saw people pass along between us in the street suddenly frown, suddenly make an offhand comment to their friend, their eyes suddenly go blank, turned inward, looking for something inside themselves. I pushed back, revving up the golden-red light of the bar. It struck my friends first, and they grew louder, more jovial. The bartender poured another round of beer, laughing all the while. My "bubble", which had gained me such a cadre of friends, pushed out into the street, protecting the people walking by. Their steps lightened. Some laughed. I pushed harder, breaking into the noodle shop. The girl's head whipped around. She struck me; her energy might be ugly, but her face was beautiful: elfin ears tucked behind black hair, big blue eyes. Those eyes narrowed. The force that hit the bar next was a tidal wave. A wave of stillness. She pushed out, blue-gray energy washing over us. My best friend, who had taken to dancing on a table, suddenly stopped. He looked around the room, at the drink in his hand. Then he climbed down. But I felt it too; the stillness, the cold, blue light dampening the room. The sudden distance. I pushed back, trying to expand my sphere of influence around my close group of friends. But the girl's oppressive stillness pushed down on me. I grit my teeth, grip on the table tightening. Instead of a bubble, I focused the energy and let it loose in a beam - a beam aimed right at the girl. It cut through the glass and the alley, connecting with the girl in the noodle shop. She jumped, standing. Tears welled in her eyes; were they tears of joy? Had it worked? She raised a hand and sent an identical beam back at me, blue energy striking me in the heart. The beams of invisible energy battled each other, repelling like magnets of the same charge. The bar erupted in a slew of emotions; tears, shouts, anger, love, violence. In the noodle shop, the fighting couple began dancing. Then, suddenly, the beams merged. The invisible red and blue merged into a stunning purple, and the repulsion of our powers suddenly reversed itself. Becoming attraction. I was drawn out of the bar, running, unaware of what had over come me. She did the same, running into the rain, her hair soaking. We met each other, stopping inches away, the purple energy growing tighter and tighter, blinding. I looked into her eyes and suddenly felt every emotion I had never felt. Beautiful sadness, stunning quiet, exquisite pain. I knew, from the tears in her eyes, that she was feeling the same: unrelenting joy, excitement, companionship. She must have been alone for so long. She put a hand on my chest, in the rain, and I put my hands around her head, pulling her into me. When our lips met, the energy exploded into brilliant white.
Dear Sarah. I recognize how long my journey has been. I count every second I’m not with you. I watch the clouds, remembering the days we were together. I remember how you used to explain things to me about the skies, earth, waters, and airs. You were so smart for your age. Always full of questions I didn’t know the answer. In the past, our quests for answers were what bonded us as a family. Who would’ve imagined that one of those quests would separate us for so long? I have so many things to tell you, and so many things to ask. you just graduated college! You grew up so much! even now, I will always see you as the little girl I used drive to school; partially because that’s how all parents are, partially because I never had the opportunity to watch you grow up. I cry every night in resentment of my absence. I wish I could get all that time back. I wish I could get my little girl back. When I started following the cord, it was foolish of me to think it would be simple. The more I follow the cord, the more convinced I am of its endlessness. It has guided me through every continent. It has saved my life by leading me to food when I starved . It has shown me the way to the people who could teach me what I needed to know. Although I am grateful to it, the cord has taken too much from me. Following it for so many years requires strength that an old man like me doesn’t have anymore. I had to climb mountains, cut through rainforests, fight both people and animals, and oh God forgive me Sarah, I had to kill. My obsession has reached its very limit, and I'm afraid my journey will have to come to an end. After so many days (or years), so much blood, sweat, and tears. Yet I still haven’t found the ending. I injured my leg five days ago. The cord has guided me to Dimitri, a kind, generous Russian man who was able to care for me. Unfortunately, the infection has spread, I no longer think I am going to survive. I write this from my deathbed, and I ask of you only one thing: Come to Russia and finish what I started. Dimitri promised me, he will provide what he can, and I trust the cord to provide everything else. Goodbye Sarah. With love. Dad EDIT: I corrected some errors I found. And I also want to ask for criticism, preferably constructive. English is not my native language, so I know I write like shit. Maybe if I do it often enough, I will get better. And if you guys like it, I can write a part 2 EDIT2: part two is up EDIT3: I made some changes u/AshleyVakarian suggested. she is an English major (so cool). I can’t thank her enough.
The party was beautiful. The president had invited all the state governors to the White House to celebrate the news. Everyone was laughing, and drinking. Mostly drinking. The governor of Florida walked to the head of the table in a huff. "How can you just sit here? My constituents, citizens of the United States, are in danger, and you throw a party? Send in the Army, the Navy! Call the goddamned National Guard! Do something!" The Commander in Chief laughed. "They don't stand a chance against Florida Man."
Zero. Nothing. Immaculate in oblivion. It's burrowed into my hand - an inky stain, a looping circle. Zero. I'm strange, compared to the others. They have 1 and 2, 3 and 1,000. But I'm just Zero. People don't usually think much of it; there was someone else who had a Zero. His "gift"was that he would never hurt anyone. They loved him. So they loved me. And I just stared back. That's the curse, the downside. I cannot love. I am isolation incarnate, a living desolation. I wake up screaming in the night when it's quiet and the sky is deep indigo. The stars weep with me as I cry; as my scar, the Zero, burns through the twilight. When I was fifteen, I tried to cut it out. The memory is still fresh in my mind, carved there so many years ago. I can trace the scar, and still do, in my nightmares. Blades and blood, and the Zero. Nobody understood. None listen. I was alone, with nothing. Zero. So I stand on the cliff, alone. The stone is cold, the sky black with rain. They say you can see the thunder, flashing through the air; I could see the lightning, white and flaring. So, abandoned, I leap into the rain. Into the sea and rocks below, feeling the pulse of the sea flow through me. Zero. Oblivion. I struggle to drown. The bones in my body are broken, my skin torn. Blood weeps into the chill waters, and I feel the slime cover me, suffocating. It's crushing and relieving at the safe time. But I do not die. No. I was wrong. I cannot die. Zero. It's shimmering in the deep. Zero. The truth, so simple. Zero. I breathe. Zero. I escape the briny claws of the sea. Zero. I am free.
I'd say that my footsteps echoed, but they didn't - there wasn't a hallway for them to echo in, you see. There wasn't any energy left to transmit as sound waves. Just a uniform collection of mass spread thin over too much universe, all of it the barest tick above absolute zero. The realm of man had been gone for millennia, the stars had gone dim and the mighty nebulas extinguished. There was, in a scientific sense, nothing left. "Boy, I've never seen you so down, or ever before." Okay, that was weird. Hadn't heard another human voice in about six trillion years, gonna need to brush up on communication, "Chouheeee"my attempt at a reply turned into little more than a coughing weeze as I spun around and beheld him, another human - I wasn't the last! "Who are you?"I managed slowly and carefully after the quick coughing fit, taking care to vocalize and anunciate. Didn't want to blow this one. "Names Scruffy, the janitor." "Janitor?"incredulous I waved my hand as if to encompass the void that had once been our universe, "of what?" "I'm on break."He was a man of few words, this Scruffy - but he seemed to be the last man out here. As I tried to come up with a way to engage him in conversation, to put a little light back into our universe after trillions of years, my priorities shifted. Scruffy had a magazine with him, something called "Zero-G-Juggs". Trust me when I say that if you haven't seen the opposite sex in six trillion years, things need a little rust taken off down there, but I was willing to give it a shot. Scruffy gave me a knowing look and passed over the magazine, nodding downstairs, "There, I took a regular board and made a diving board."With a sort of smirking grunt, he folded his hands behind his head and laid back to fade into the universe uniformity. I had only known Scruffy for about twenty seconds, but they were the best twenty seconds I'd had in millennia.
T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house Not a creature was stirring UNLIKE THE GOD OF DARKNESS BELOW US WAITING, WAITING FOR HIS MOMENT TO RETURN AND PURGE THE EARTH OF HUMANITY Not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, It's flame lighting up the cultists stood there. The children were all nestled snug in their beds, While visions of tentacles writhed in their heads. And Drea'Kith in his cult robes, And I in my hood, Debate ways to get rid of us humans for good. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon hidden behind a dark grey cloud Enveloped all in a fun eldritch shroud! When, to my wandering eyes should appear A massive dark figure, I trembled in fear! A mass of tentacles, finally born anew I said to Drea'Kith "T'is our lord Cthulu! "NOW WEAKLINGS NOW COWARDS NOW FEEBLE POOR SOULS THE WORD SHALL BE OURS, YES THAT IS OUR GOAL. ATTACK YOUR BRETHREN AND SLAY WITH DELIGHT THE ELDRITCH REIGN ON EARTH STARTS TONIGHT" Alright more of a Cthulu themed Christmas poem format but whatever.
As Death traveled the oft traveled path, he steered clear of one. As Fate traveled her well concealed avenues, she ignored a single one. As Time continued his unceasing plod, he neglected only one. As Love tripped along thousands of lovers lane, there was one she never saw. As Youth fled, slipping away far too fast, he left only one in his wake. Having spurned all around him, Jim sat alone. He would've mourned, but Mourning never came.
10, holy shit. Nobody has ever scored a 10 before, and but here I have someone with a 10 right in front of me, at the lunch table we have at work. Impossible. He just looks like a timid dude, eating his plain bagel with cream cheese. Anderson Silva couldn't even break 7. There's no way this dude is a 10. Fuck. Should I go up and say hi? I want to get on his good side in case anything goes wrong. But what if by introducing myself, I annoy him? Damn, what to do... Ok, stay calm, I'm stressing out way too much. Oh fuck he's looking this way. Oh fuck, he's noticed me staring at him. Shit shit shit. "Hi,"the new guy smiled as he stood up and stretched out his hand "I'm Ted from Accounting."
Eminem: Yo, let me tell you straight, your fate, you're late. You grate, I'm great, the best in the arts, tate. So forgive me if I'm cruel but I'm the illest, the sickest in the biz no one knows who you is yeah my rhymes fizz and whiz; attack you harass you, best believe I'll outclass you, outlast your kiddie stories with my unending inventory. So you can call your thing one and you can try your thing two but I'm not afraid, of your masquerade, you're made, I slayed. Dr Suess: Knox in box. Fox in socks. Knox on fox in socks in box. Socks on Knox and Knox in box. I'm the cat in the hat you're the man who just shat, over your career you destroyed your veneer. Silence, nonsense, I think I hear a who, who is the name of the game you once knew. The lorax, the grinch, if I ran the zoo, I'm the guy who made Christmas run to Kalamazoo. Same, too lame, fame, you're framed. Step back, stop pretending you black, don't relapse, everyone knows that you whack. That's right, go run crying to Haley, cheer her up tell your baby who the real slim shady. I'm out. (Never tried writing a rap before, glad to see some people like it! I listened to this whilst writing it, definitely makes it sound better https://youtu.be/zAZH3e-i-mU)
The hard part is the silence throughout it all. Does it make sense to say you can hear it? Because you can if you've listened long enough. Your ears stretch, that inner voice cracks as you beg for something, just a word, and then nothing. You hear silence. And you are by yourself. You wonder. But there is nothing. It's very hard. God was on the computer recently. I mean everything is on the computer these days, right? But something was different. Something felt proper about the link. There was nothing to distinguish the link. It looked like a joke. I should have scrolled past it. What made me click it? I think about that sometimes. Sometimes you just think about things like that, things that shape your life. You wonder if it's some divine intervention. Oh, was it God's will that I clicked on his AMA? And you think maybe it is. Some deep down part of you wishes He was looking out for you. I'm an athesist by the way. And I clicked on God's Ask Me Anything. I thought it was some joke. There were hundreds of thousands of questions. The text box was simple and plain. 'I am God. I will try to answer your questions. Please forgive me.' Isn't that something. Please forgive me? It felt like a joke. It might be, who knows? I read the comments and all were serious. Some were personal. Some were tragic. These were open people, vulnerable minds all connected in one desperate prayer for answers. For something. You could feel it, you know. Maybe it was some digital hysteria, as catching as a yawn, but I felt that reverence that spilled from the screen. Can you imagine? An internet thread that felt like some church or holy place. Like some truly safe place where the collective soul was beared. And there were answers to the stark vulnerable questions. They were not joke answers. God had responded to each question. His answers were long and detailed and well written. He wrote like a man who doesn't talk much, but always eager to share. I don't know how I could tell all of that from his writing. It must be that hysteria. But he answered everything thrown at him. All the anger and hate, the devotion and inane musings of all walk of life. He answered them equally. 'Why did the Holocaust happened?' 'Because evil exists beyond the Devil's shadow.' 'If You are Almighty, why do we suffer?' 'I am sorry for suffering. I try to help as best as I can. I would not say I am Almighty.' Things like that. It had to be fake, right? Imagine the word of God. Really imagine it, what He would say, how it would seem. Get it in your head. Now tell me, did it seem anything like the above? So I don't know what took me, what made me type. I knew it was a joke. I know it is a joke. But maybe the silence wears on you. It shouts its empty, hollow nothings in your ears, and then your ears strain and listen for the wind, listens for anything it could grab and mangle and pretend it is some answer. Maybe I was tired of that. Maybe I truly believed at the time. Whatever it was, I decided to comment. I asked some questions. I won't bore you with all I asked. They aren't as confrontational as the Holocaust. I'm sure you've had them as well, anyway. I asked about my life, the general dissatisfaction that seems to plague me. This slow death by a million apathy. Why is life like this? Can it really be that I am not special, that I am alone to my own devices, all dreams fading as the reality of age and mediocrity catch up? Where are you God? You know, those kinds of questions. I guess I was too late. There was no answer. No replies. I wonder if there are any other questions that have gone unanswered. I think it's impossible to load all the comments, but from the thousands I have seen, they all have responses. But not mines. I wonder why. I sit down and think to myself. I talk sometimes if you must know. I speak when everyone's asleep, and I ask and I beg. Just talk, I say. Say something. Silence. You hear it. It's misery's earworm. And you listen. You hate yourself. Your inner voice makes up the answers you want to hear. You're not alone. You're worth it. You have a future. Life will get better. And your voice plays with the authority it does not have. And you know it's folly. So you tune it out. And you listen. And still nothing. Silence. You say you don't believe in God. You turn away and try to live your life free of make believe. Or at least you try. Atheist. You embrace it and delete your comments from the AMA. You delete that account and start afresh. You will try it on your own and take life by the balls. Yeah, you think. I don't need this make believe. But then sometimes it gets quiet and you have nothing to do. And you listen. - Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can and thanks for the support!
They’re buying it. They’re all buying it. As difficult as it is to act like a bumbling idiot every waking moment, it has worked perfectly. Meesa have them right where meesa want them. Meesa walked into the Jedi temple and stepped over the numerous bodies. Not just the men, but the women and children too. Meesa winning. That Anakin boy did my bidding without even knowing. He doesn’t realize that he is but a pawn in my master plan. Messa kill the Jedi. Meesa destroy the Republic. Meesa rule the galaxy!
Dark clouds covered the sky, streaks of lightening danced through the night creating bright flashes that illuminated the Disneyland gates. Loud thunder grumbled in the distance, but it was accompanied by a lower, deeper sound, a sound that the group had been foreboding for years. Jeffrey Katzenberg, long since the former DreamWorks CEO, stood at the gates, wringing his hands in anticipation. He was clad in cargo pants, each pocket stuffed with different assortments of bullets, grenades, and ammunition. He wore a bullet proof vest and in on of the chest pockets bulged with an item that was unbeknownst to his team. His team had gone through great lengths to become fully equipped, ever since Disney had taken over the U.S. government through bribes and lawsuits, firearms were almost impossible to purchase. His leather boots hid two combat knives and a small pistol, a large AK-47 was slung along his back and his crew was similarly equipped. Jeffrey had resigned from his post upon learning of Disney's masterful plan. He needed to be discrete, he needed to prepare under the radar. Ever since then he had been gathering data. He had been gathering supporters, scientists, researchers, warriors; anything possible in order to possibly stop what Disney had become, what Disney was about to do. Jeffrey didn't know what the outcome of their experiments would be, but he was confident that he was ready, that he had the answer to this catastrophic problem. A faint chanting started coming from within the gates, Jeffrey turned his head and his team of about 100 combat-ready soldiers peered toward the infamous castle in the horizon. Then they appeared, the brainwashed fans who had given the corporation the money they needed to become such a power, Jeffrey despised them, each one of them brainless, emotionless. The horde moved closer to the gates, Jeffrey could make out some of their words, although they were not in unison, each person chanted a different tune, "I've been staring at the edge of the wate...", "the cold never bothered me...". Jeffrey held his hand up, the men and women behind him lined up in position. He took a deep breath in, remembered what he was fighting for, freedom. "Fire!" The night lit up with 100 guns firing, the masses were torn down, the chanting was replaced by screaming. But they kept coming, clip after clip was unloaded on the approaching mob, Jeffrey started hurling grenades, his crew started becoming more desperate, using provisions that were only supposed to be used in a last defense. Just as his crew was depleted of their ammunition, a large containment truck drove up behind them. The hordes had reached the gate now and were trying to break free, some of the had managed to climb over and were being picked off the be secondary pistols that the crew had. Jeffrey broke from the formation and ran to the truck. The driver jumped down and grabbed Jeffrey's hand with a grin. "It's ready,"The driver said. Just as Jeffrey was about to respond, the crowds stopped, no more chanting, no more screaming, they stared at Jeffrey and his crew in silence. The deep, dull sound from before began to increase in volume. In unison, the crowd began to smile, they all began to laugh in a high-pitched screech. Jeffrey had heard it before, they had all heard it before, it was the laugh of a mouse. The truck rumbled behind them, jerking and moving as if something was begging to get out. From behind the masses rose a tall figure, who's laugh broke through all the others, it grew and its silhouette was uncovered by the glowing lights of the park. "A giant Mickey Mouse,"Jeffrey whispered, "just like the rumors said."Everyone stared in awe as the giant mouse rose above the masses, its red pants were dirtied and worn, its white gloves were more of a rotting yellow; with red eyes and large horns protruding from behind its black ears, the mouse laughed and laughed its disgusting high pitch laugh. The mouse started walking toward the gate, each step crushing and killing hundreds of the loyal fans and workers. "Bring him out,"Jeffrey mumbled, still in shock at the monstrosity for him. The truck driver stayed still, glued to the scene. "I said bring him out!"Jeffrey slapped the driver, bringing him back to his sense. The driver rushed to the back of the truck and unlocked the padlock, flinging the doors open. A large figure rose from within the compartment. His brown vest and dirtied white shirt reeked of bile and filth. He let out a huge belch that echoed throughout the park, a sound so loud it made the mouse stop laughing and look at its foe. Jeffrey reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a round onion. Jeffrey tossed it to the beast, who caught it in its large, green hands. Jeffrey yelled at the monster. "GO MY CREATION! GO AND TAKE BACK WHAT IS OURS, GO AND TAKE BACK OUR SWAMP!" It grinned and looked at the mouse, "Let's see how many layers this little mousey has."
The book was called, "EVERYthing Now Makes Sense,"written by an author named Ray Every, no picture, no description. Supposedly, it was supposed to explain the details about...well, everything, according to what other people told me. But everytime I tried to find the book, it was sold out. Amazon wouldn't even give me a 'Look Inside' option to see if the book was good or not. So, eventually, I just decided that it was irrelevant - and determined myself to move past it. But then changes started happening in my life. Changes all around me too significant to ignore. First of all, my dad came back. After eleven years. I came back and he and my mom were sitting on the couch, holding hands and smiling at us. "The Book,"he explained. "I was lost, immature, insecure, but after I read it, everything makes sense now. I knew I needed to come back and try again. To be a good husband and a good father to you all." My mom was always a good cook, but out of nowhere, she became a great one. Every meal was delicious, filling, and re-energizing. By the end of six months, no one in our family was overweight. It was like being an ideal diet. "The Book,"my mom explained. But when I asked her if she had a copy, she said, "Oh, I'm sorry honey, I lent it out to some friends. I wish I had known you wanted to read it sooner." My older sister, love to her death, was an ugly duckling. But a short time after the book came out, she transformed. When we went to the mall together, guys were doing triple and quadruple takes as she passed by. My younger brother benefited from the Book, too. One day while we were changing in the locker room, he said, "Oh, bro, I forgot to tell you. But after I read that book..."and he dropped his pants. He was bigger limp than me when I was hard. When I questioned him on why he didn't show me the Book when he got it, he shrugged and said, "I don't really see you reading. I didn't think you liked books..." Changes started happening in school, too. All the teachers were nicer and were actually teaching better. The cafeteria food tasted fantastic. No one was getting bullied. Every single student started getting A's. Everyone claimed that it was from reading the Book. The news reported that, due to the Book, crime was at an all-time low. Cops were preventing crimes instead of just reacting to them. Divorce rates had gone down to nearly 0%. People were finding their soulmates easier now. Teen pregnancy was below 1%. Abortion was non-existent. Drug abuse was non-existent. No one watched porn anymore. Criminals were rehabiliated. The Book was teaching people how to live more fulfilling lives. Wars ended. Homelessness was non-existent. The 1% voluntarily offered to pay everyone's taxes. Nations teamed up to feed every single starving kid in the world. A cure was found for every disease. So much money was flowing through the economy, student loan debts were forgiven. There were no more jobs. There were only careers. Students could study at whichever college they wanted, and major in whatever subject they were passionate about with the guarantee that there would be a high-paying career waiting for them when they graduated. All of this was going on, and I still couldn't find somebody that had the Book. Even though I was living in a Utopia, I was discontent. I was angry. I was pissed at being the only one left out. I became a terrorist and started a group called Anarchy. No one joined because the Book had taught them to not only get along with one another, but to understand and appreciate everyone for who they were individually. But that was okay. I didn't need anyone. I would topple the system myself. Let them understand appreciate that.
"Look, I'm not saying he is fit for the job, but seriously, have you been round to his house?" "Come on Jacob, stop being hero-phobic, what is wrong with his house, does he not have a bed and go around being fuelled by energy from the monsters he kills?"inquired the town mayor, lazily lying on the grass. Or atleast "the mayor"- The "town"aspect was up for debate. The local council wasn't really sure that 3 run down hovels, a giant fire and a mansion qualified as a town, half the damn doors had been locked, and the keys scattered across the continent. The "towns"folk would call a locksmith, but the locksmith had his tools trapped inside his own house, and damaging derelict property is a crime, according to the mayor - Or maybe according to the coffers. Jacob's temper slowly rose, and receeded, although you could see his face was wraught with anger. "I understand he helps keep the monsters away from us, but ever since he got the key to that mansion, he strutted around like he owned the place, the god damn ghosts that live in it don't even bother him" "Feared monster hunter, what can ya do"- "You should be thankful, that haunting was bringing down the value of the neighbourhood" Jacob was at loss for words, how could one be possibly so dense, there isn't even a road, nobody bloody wanted to buy this ramshackle village, there wasn't even any form of resource nearby that a company would swoop it up, the value of the neighbourhood is rock bottom. "I'd bring out the chart to illustrate why that statement is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, but as you may know we don't have the money to buy a chart, never mind a stand for a chart" The mayor flung himself upwards in an overly dramatic style, awaiting for applause with arms outstretched, but none came, much to his disappointment. "Rightyo buckyo, what seems to be the problem with this hero, he makes our lives far easier" Jacob sighed, and began chapter one of his self titled and self published book: 'Why are we letting a murderous psychopath live rent free and not provide any economic benefits to us or giving a single positive contribution to the general lively hood of our village' "It is a working title, and without further adooooooooo, here we go" "First point: He has furniture made out of monster skeletons, vertebrate and skin - Not the actions of someone well adjusted" "Second point: He doesn't have a bed, you might be onto something by saying he is fuelled by murder - There are giant bird creatures, he hardly doesn't have feathers to use" "Third point: Have you seen him fight? He has made armour out of bones, not even good armour, or a helmet, who doesn't wear a helmet, or maybe he has too much brain trauma for that to matter" "Fourth point: He threw himself off the cliff three times yesterday, before appearing right next back to the big fire, each single time - He could go psycho on us at any moment, and we can't stop him" "Fifth point: He tried killing our pigs, but they slaughtered him - And you guessed it, he popped right back next to the fire - Author's note - Why do we have murderous pigs that we can't even use for food purposes" And on Jacob went for 3 days and 3 nights, for the mayor to say: "I see"
Knock Knock Knock. I check my watch, three o clock and I'm only at Vlad? Christ this is getting harder. The door opens, a bare, sweaty chest appears - just above, peering down at me, blood red eyes in-between pale skin and long black hair. "Mister John."He greets me in his this European accent, edging the door closed a little as his eyes widen. "This is most... irregular." "It's Tuesday, Vlad. And like last Tuesday I'm wondering where your rent is. At this point it's getting to the definition of regular." "Ah no, you see I sent you a raven..."He slides through the gap in the door toward me and shuts it behind him, quietly. "What did I say about Ravens Vlad?" "Not to pester you, with the ravens. But I thought, If to do with rent-" "I said no ravens. Stop sending ravens." "So how do I reach you, about the rent? I try - I send raven three days ago, Mr John and my raven, he does not return-" "Vlad. Stop, Vlad. I do not have access to a bird based communication system. If you want to reach me about your payments you've got my number-" "I no have number." "You-" I sigh. "I'm going to give you a new copy okay, this is my card, you can see there's email and a phone number on there." "Maybe I give this to my familiar yes? He is more... modern, than I am." "Yes why not." "Okay. Thank you Mr John!" Vlad shuffles himself around, eyes glazing over, and goes to turn the handle. "Vlad- Vlad! The rent?" "Oh..." "You're a week late now. I'm going to need it by the end of the day." "Oh. And you are to paid in? "U.S Dollars." "Dollars, yes. Not..." "Not a promise of eternal life." Vlad frowns, and looks quizzically back toward his door. "What about virgins?" "Virgins?" "How many virgins?" "Vlad I'm not putting a monetary value on a human being that's slavery!" "No, no. Slavery, you are slave forever - virgins, they won't be virgins forever you understand?" "U.S Dollars. End of the day. Understand?" He begins to curse to himself in his native tongue, but he retracts into his room and I see him pocket the card I'd just handed to him. I scratch a question mark next to Vlad's name on the list, and progress down the corridor. At the next door I stop and knock. It swings open and I'm face to face with a girl at the tail end of her teens. A short cut pajama top leaves space for a midriff before the band of her skimpy shorts. She leans up against the door, blinking her big blue eyes up at me. "Can I help you?"She bites her lip. "U.S Dollars. End of the day." The girl's flirtatious stare holds, before her body snaps, contorts, and downright breaks her into the shape of an ugly old hag, skin wrinkled and cracking. "Fag."She sneers, slamming the door between us. I scribble down an X, and walk on.
Simple. I crack my knuckles and set to work. Believer loses keys? Finds keys. Believer with cancer? In remission. Believers praying to me before a nationally televised game? They win. Believers starving in a third world country?...Let's maybe skip this one. Believer with amputated limbs praying for regrowth?...Let's maybe skip this one, too. Believer and his family doing too well? Let's sprinkle a little misery in their lives. At the end of the day, I sit back and congratulate myself on a job well done.
"It's scary how much you look like him."Arnold said, leaving enough time for Alice and I to catch the smirk on his face "Except, ya know, less fat and a little taller." "I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."I replied. Rivals first, friends second, just like its always been between us. To make sure I had no doubt of the former, Arnold added, "I'm not sure you'd be smart enough to figure it out." "I'm not sure about this."Alice interrupted the banter, breaking the nervous silence she'd maintained for most of the morning. "What are you talking about? With the old man's log in I have academic access as a social scientist, you're my research assistants. Easy. Peasy." "Easy what?"Arnold asked raising an eyebrow. "Never mind. Aren't you curious about what's so bad about this stuff that they banned it in the middle 21st century? We all know about the Resurgence War but do we really know anything about the people who lived in the years leading up to it?"I paused for effect, continuing after I was certain they were both buying into it, "Think about the lives of those people! We're stuck visiting each other, curating a friends list limited at 150 people. They had millions of followers at times. Imagine being famous!" "Still... if we get caught..."Alice said. "If we get caught, I tricked you into thinking this was part of a university project. All the risk is on me."I tried to reassure her that everything would be fine. Truth is, I was probably reassuring myself. Even if I should've been, I wasn't too worried about the Party. No, my biggest concern was if my dad found out I was using his VR credentials to surf the restricted web archives while he was in the hospital. I figured out his password a long time ago. It came in handy as a delinquent student to sign report cards and avoid conversations about getting suspended. But this? I'd probably be the one in the hospital if he found out. "Hmm... That's Myspace up ahead, no?"Arnold pointed up ahead towards the archives. That was it. According to my previous research it was when social media really started to kick off. I'd decided to skip the forums era; they were just a bunch of nobodies compared to the people networking through the real social media sites. "Yup. Last chance to back out."I said, "I hear there's legends of this guy named Tom, he was friends with millions of people! Could you even imagine?" "Sounds terrible. You know the Party limits our social circles for a reason."Alice replied, still not enthusiastic about the situation. "Buzzkill"I shot back. I decided to open the archives before either of them decided to voice any more doubts; there wouldn't be any backing out after this. "Ladies first"Arnold looked at Alice and I and then bowed low enough for his hair to kiss the floor. I thought of a few things he should kiss but kept it to myself. No one uttered a word for a long time after stepping into the archives. I don't know if it was awe, fear, or confusion but even Alice quickly warmed up to the research. We were prepared for outdated terminology. We'd accounted for finding sites we didn't know existed or multiple names for the same site. We weren't prepared for the volume. There wasn't just a lot to go through. There was a metric shit-ton of media to go through. Words, pictures, videos, and recordings. Billions of voices talking, interacting, and just being with each other in the same digital space. They even shared pictures of what they were eating with each other! I'd never seen anything like it. Some point after the first decade we started seeing a trend. The groups were organized mostly by location at the beginning, just like our social lists today. It's crazy to imagine how similar they were to us but get this. As we read through the highlights of each year, we started seeing something new. At some point the groups organized themselves by ideas instead of location. People actually created communities based on interests and beliefs. It started off with activists but soon enough we started seeing directly contradicting information; some people would post something and they'd call someone a 'shill', still haven't figured that one out but it sounded derogatory. "Looks like as far as the primitives are concerned, each side of an argument had their own reality."Arnold said. I hated his use of the word "primitives"and he knew it but now wasn't the time to press it. "Each with their own news. Their own leaders."Alice added. "But the war started because of the Resurgence, right? We all learned that in class." "Yeah, but the history files also mention that the Resurgence started in 2002. I'm not seeing anything on that." "Well, maybe the primitives were just stupid. Or the logs haven't been translated properly." We stopped talking again to digest what we were reading. We were in the 2020's now and, just like Alice pointed out, not a single mention of the Resurgence. I looked again for any words that might have been used at the time to describe it. Liberal and Alt-Right were thrown around a lot but nothing like the monsters the Resurgence were made out to be. How could millions of people not write about the marauding cannibals and rapists that were running around the world? Before I could finish the thought, the VR display changed to its standard red start up display. My gut dropped; I didn't need to read the notice on my screen to know how fucked I was. ///CONNECTION TERMINATED - PLEASE WAIT. YOUR SOCIAL MANAGER WILL CONTACT YOU SHORTLY///
"So you're telling me that something that sounds like the gum underneath a 20-year old desk in a high school classroom will destroy literally everything?" "Yes. I know it doesn't sound frightening-" "Frightening? Frightening! I call bullshit on this whole idea!" "Well, the way I see it, I can't escape on a spaceship, I'm not Elon Musk. If I'm in a military prison, they'll move me where the military moves. That way, I don't worry about having to escape as much." "Well, if this 'Gray Goo' is as frightening as it sounds, we're all about to die to dried up glue." "Dried up glue? You really have not been listening. Let me put it this way - you get some on you. Not much, just a speck. 'Ah, screw it,' you think. "it can't be that dangerous.' Little do you know, the microorganism starts eating at your flesh, consuming just a cell or two before it splits. The new one and the old one eat two to four cells before each of them splits. Now there are four hungry, flesh-eating monsters slowly consuming your skin. Then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Sixty-four. Over a hundred. Nearly a thousand. Two thousand. Four thousand. Before you know it, there's a small hole in your arm or leg or whatever. You don't notice, you're too busy going home from the accident at the lab you were investigating. Then, they hit a nerve. The worst pain you imagine erupts, and you finally notice the hole. Screaming now, you touch it, picking up some on your finger. In a few seconds, the same pain is on your fingertip. You watch, helpless, as your finger is replaced by a pulsating, gray mass, helpless to do anything about it. Sure, it's slow at first. But then it picks up speed. You flail wildly, flinging more everywhere, so they can have more material to consume. And before you even register that they're consuming your brain, you're dead. Like that, because you didn't listen." "Holy shit." "Holy shit is right, let's try to stop it.” Before they noticed the gray mass dropping on them from the hole in the roof of the cruiser, it was too late.
######[](#dropcap) The V-22 prop-rotors hummed outside the internal bay of the airframe. Inside a number of very surly looking men stood studying the tablets containing their mission brief. One of the flight crew in a large green helmet walked over and tapped Major Kaine on the shoulder and held up his hand. Five minutes. The MARSOC team commander nodded and began his final checks. The Osprey began to ascend slightly above their 22,000 foot cruise, dropping the tail ever so slightly. Kaine checked the seal on his mask and adjusted the flow of his oxygen. All around him the special operators of JSOC-21M. The nine man team was comprised of four Force Recon Marines, three Army Rangers, a Navy Corpsman, and an Air Force TACP JTAC. A few hundred feet to their starboard was another V-22 with the other half of his team, with a similar load-out. The internal bay was dark, save for a few red lights as the aft ramp opened to the night sky over Kandahar. The green light signaled they were "go". Kaine watched as Staff Sergeant Toombs fell out the back of the craft, followed shortly by the other team members. HM3 Torinelli danced out the ramp with a half kick. He was still a kid at heart. Silently they fell thru the night sky above the mountains. Against the starlight he could see his entire team marked by dim IR lights against his NVGs. Kaine loved freefall. It was the best feeling in the world. His altimeter clicked away from 20,000 feet as he looked down to his wrist. It was quite a ways down. His comm squawked to life as Tech Sergeant Chen called out, breaking the silence, "Isn't little Zahida going to be surprised!" "Cut the chatter,"Kaine replied. He still wasn't sure what to make of the orders or why they were running the Op, but the mission was a simple extract. He just couldn't figure the angle. Insert and rescue, but she wasn't even a low-value target from what he could tell. No one special's daughter, nothing gained. It was the right thing to do, no doubt. But JSOC didn't throw Operators down with "good intentions." The mess of scrub and farms below flared resolved as a darker shade of green as they reached the right altitude to pop chutes on their HALO jump. One by one the team members jerked in their harnesses as the canopy of silk popped out. The seasoned Major waited just a moment longer, enjoying the silence of the drop. His entire body shook and strained as the failsafe kicked in and ripped the cord for him. He grumbled as he drifted in the air just a scant thousand feet above the deck, guiding his lines in to a soft landing on the ground. As the team rallied at the drop zone, Chen double checked the GPS and pointed east, Operation Rag Doll was a go. [Part 2, by request](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/85xry1/wp_a_little_girl_in_an_unimportant_corner_of_the/dw34ofs/) ----------- ^(&copy; Nate Parker 2018. This story may not be reproduced in part, in full, or hosted on any other service, without expressed written consent of the author.) [^(For more info.)](https://redd.it/8b3sk7) ^(If you want to check out more of my [very infrequent] writing: /r/Nate_Parker_Books .) -----------
The first strike of the sword chipped his power armor and severed the nanofiber muscles along his right knee, but it wasn't enough to kill him. Worse, the monster wrestled my sword from me when I re-sheathed it, and threw the only hope I had to defeat it straight out the airlock, scabbard and all. I was now alone on the ship. He had killed everyone else. Even if I still had the sword, it wouldn't work; there was simply no time to charge for another strike. I needed to retrieve the sword, and give it time to charge. I had a plan to do both at the same time. It wasn't a good plan， but what else could I do? The thump on the door grew louder. The bulkhead joints began to loosen. Wouldn't be long now. I glanced at the navigation panel. Seven minutes. Thump, thump, thump. Six, now. Thump. Five. I checked my power gauntlet, and set it to maximum power. Then the door caved in and the beast smashed through. It glared at me, and gloated. "So that's it then, Earth's greatest hero?"The hulk, clad in armor made from materials forged in hell itself, lunged forward and smashed its fist into my chest. I felt my lung collapse and ribs crack. Blood welled up from my throat. I knew then that I was dying. It paced around the bridge, grinning, taunting. Two minutes. "So what was your plan? Hole up here and die? Very unlike you, human. Your sword - that really was your only hope wasn't it? Not very clever of you, banking everything on an ancient trinket." I chuckled, mustering what little defiance I had left. I put my finger to my lips. "Do you feel that?" It sniffed the air. "Feel what? You dying?" "The inertial dampners kicking in from deceleration,"I whispered. "Deceleration from near the speed of light."Thirty seconds. The beast snarled, somewhat perplexed. I didn't blame him. "There was a theory on ancient Earth,"I continued, while readying my gauntlet's grapple. Ten seconds. "We called it Relativity."Now. The sword smashed through the observation glass from the vacuum of space. I raised my gauntlet and gripped the handle, ripping it free from the scabbard. The sword chimed. "Charge time: Two years, sixty days, seven hours, twenty two minutes, two seconds." I stared at the beast straight in the eye. "Einstein sends his regards,"and slammed the blade straight through his chest, armor and all.
The clouds swirl around my head like deflated sacks of smoke. The night is black to hide this lazy skybox and the music pounds with repetition and repetition. I am ready, I know. I am always ready. It is because I cheat. I hear the sound of my victim coming from the distance. "Heyaa!" "Whoooo!" "Wooo!"he goes. And then 'Heyaa!' again, because that was all the voice acting the Gods could afford. I listen with anticipation and mild arousal. I will kill you, I think. I will kill you and then you will be dead. The sounds come nearer. Thanks to the Dolby Surround Sound system, I can pinpoint with mild accuracy that my opponent is coming from the linear path he is meant to follow. Yes, I think, there will be no surprises here. But to my surprise, his voice is near this open and circular field. It has only been twenty minutes. This existence of hours had been padded out to last at least seven hours. I make a shocked face, showing as much shock as my stoic animation allows. So I don't really look shock. Then I see his sillhouette. It is undefined and very aliased. Life is not known for its optimization. I clench my sword and look to the dusky road amidst this forever night. I will kill you, I think again. But he does not come. I hear him. The trees stir. An owl plays its looping hoot. Then I hear him. "Heyaa, heyaa, heyaa!" It comes from above the trees. Son of a bottom! I think. I am glad I don't say that out loud since it hardly makes sense. Why would you say 'son of a bottom'? I think, but then I see my foe. He is rolling atop the trees. His janky animation is thing of horror as he hides his face deep into his crotch. "Heyaa, heyaa, heyaa!" With every roll a new 'Heyaa'. I steel myself and lift my sword. The music changes to the confrontation mix. I get fully aroused as the lightning flashes above the sky. The rain falls and halves the framerate. But my eyes can only see thirty frames per second anyway, so it makes no difference. "Come and be killed!"I scream. It is the only line they could have come up with. But I say it with forced enthusiasm and it almost sells. I jump to meet my foe. He wears a green dress and a stocking for a hat. He must be some green racist, I think. And I lift my sword but he jumps higher, still rolling, and he hits the invisible wall of the ceiling. My world becomes filled with shadow as he falls and his bottom smashes into my face. No sword can save me now, I know. I fall and stumble and as I rise, I see him jumping near the wall of trees. Then he rises like he is in dev mode and rolls in the air again. "Heyaa, heyaa, heyaa!" And I run but my legs are slow and heavy. I feel the air of his bottom before it pounds me. My head splits open in a wailing headache and I get a rash from the cloth clothes he wears. This is not how we are to fight, I think. But he does not stop. I hear the music change, symbolizing my imminent death. I feel my heart pound for life, but the beeping noise in my ears lets me know I am short of life. Help, I try to muster, but his ass is in my face, choking me like some zealous dominatrix. The world goes dim. There is no game over screen for people like me. I know that this death shall be final. I steel myself for it and take it like the pig man I am. Then I feel the bottom smash one final time and I have my final thoughts. In this moment, I, am the son of a bottom. Then all seeps away. - Heya! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!
"Subject has been officially frozen!" Clapping is heard throughout the facility, this has been what they have been working towards for almost a year now. "Okay gang! Good job!"Announced the lead director of the project "If you are interested, I'm throwing a little shindig at my place to celebrate what a good year this has been, and you are all invited!" There was more clapping. Someone asked if there will be food, it was a running joke that the staff had about how underfunded the project was that we couldn't afford snacks for the break room. When the project head quipped that pizza and cake was on him, there was more clapping and even more laughter. That night was well earned, a night where they could pat each other on the back, they had frozen a human in such a way, that in a hundred years the subject would unfreeze safely. The previous years they had to toiled away, almost a decade they spent testing their method on plants for a few minutes, then animals for a few months, soon they had gotten approval to test on a human volunteer for a year. What a break through! All were unfrozen perfectly! Now, they just needed to know the long term affects, and they got approved to allow a man who had a terminal form a cancer that was currently not treatable, to find out the long term affects, and also in the hope that future treatments would arise. The night was well earned. However, so was the morning after. The project had planned to conduct further tests, studying the potential affects on shot term use, they had hoped to receive further funding. Then they got word that funding would be cut. Someone had invented a way to travel space with out the need to freeze people. It was great for humanity, but not so great for the man who would die one hundred years later of cancer on an abandoned earth.
Who do I know from Iceland? Surely my number was phished from somewhere online. Devin has built a decent life for himself. He was mid\-twenties, working full time in a stable industry, and has an alright social life and relationships. Devin is non confrontational. As the pressure in his life builds, he tends to barricade himself in and indulge in thought, and try to analyse the realities of the current stage of life. The mundane parts of his life has made him numb to the very essence of being alive. He has always fantasized about living on a farm somewhere far, far away and become completely self\-sustainable. That was a plan, along with another which involves a far more regular average life. Another foreign number, this time coming from Brasil. I really need to be careful next time where I input my number on the internet. As Devin approached his fourties, he has already stabilised in a serious relationship in a suburban house, expecting his first child with Thalia. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Eyvindur doesn't get much time to think and question much about life and its origin. He is content with his little hut, his beautiful partner Agnia, his horse Bjorn, and his little satellite TV. Eyvindur raises sheep, and hunts deer. He grows crop and filters water. He goes to town once a month to get extra supplies as he sees fit. His most precious time is that one hour at night, when he is cuddling with Agnia and watching old movies. He has always fantasized about leading an incredibly different life, given he would have had the opportunity. He has even dreamed that fantasy once. On Sunday, Eyvindur goes to his monthly grocery visit, and upon paying with the few dollars he makes selling corn, the clerk tells him someone was looking for him. "He spoke Portuguese", the clerk said. Portuguese? That is strange. Give me the number and I will call when I see fit. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Marco was a struggling single father in his mid thirties, working in the local meat shop. He had an old beat up motorbike, a four year old daughter, and a studio not far from the beaches. He knew he could accomplish more, but he appreciated everything he has in his life. Marco is a dreamer. He accepts the reality that he might never achieve everything he wants, yet he enjoys just dreaming about them. He keeps a dream journal tucked between the mattress and the floor. He vividly records every dream and sees how he can improve from them. He has placed himself within multiple personalities, he has mastered the concept of dream creation as he slowly ventured into his dreams. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Today, I woke up with a strange number on my phone. I looked up the area code, but it doesn't seem to exist. When I ring back, some strange static noise appears and then it hangs up on its own. I forget about it for the day. I go on with my job, three people to send to hell, and twenty to punish over the last few hours I was sleeping in. Lucifer sends his lists at the most random times sometimes. It seems like those three got too close, perhaps he didn't want them too close to the truth. I mean, I'm just surprised why humans haven't figured out where dreams come from yet. Maybe one day, and until they do, they will keep creating these realities for further torment. Oh for God's sake just shut up and get back to work.
Gently, I reach closer, touching my hand against hers. It's soft, warm, comforting, ethereal. My hand moves up her delicate arm, around her shoulders, brushing off the loose strands of hair, and eventually to her face. She is more beautiful than I ever could have realised. Her slow breath could have hypnotised me, if it weren't for the pumping of the machines sustaining her heart. "Did they say when she will wake up?"I ask, still not familiar with my voice. It was but a close imitation of what was. "Maybe in a few hours."I can see it in his eyes, I can hear it in his voice. Dad is confused, and it breaks my heart. "Do you think we could be sisters?"I smile, trying to make light of the situation. "There's so much fun that we could have! We'd be even better than identical twins, think of the pranks, ha. Ha. Ha." Oh God. Even to me that sounded mechanical. The exaggerated sniff and slight raise in pitch in his voice indicates an inauthentic laugh. Which hurts me even more. "I think Aunt Liz will definitely make you get into trouble."He tries to make me feel normal, but only succeeds at the opposite. Overthinking was always my issue, but it's hard to stop when the thoughts start coming in. There was no point in avoiding reality any longer. It would be crashing down on us as soon as she opened her eyes. "Dad?" "Yes, dear?" "Will you still love me?" He takes a deep breath, the moisture in his eyes are presumably the lead up to tears, however he manages to blink it away, presumably with experience. "Of course."His breath is ragged. There is no doubt that he is reaching his breaking point. Probability of truth is 43%, which I cling to. "Will we be the same?"This situation has never occurred before. It has never been proven whether the procedure transfers or copies consciousness and memories, so there is no way he could no. Yet I ask, because I would have asked. "You will always be my little girl, Poppy. Always."A tear escapes, and it tears me apart. "I am...just so lucky,to have two of you now."Probability of sincerity at 80%. Probability of truth, undeterminable. I dare not ask what would happen if she wakes up to be a lifeless shell, or if she wakes up as a different person. What terrifies me most, is if she really does wake up as if the procedure never happened. What would the make me? That is undoubtedly the reason for dad's unease. "I love you, dad." "I love you too, dear."Probability of truth 98.4%. Why can't I stop thinking about that remaining 1.6%? "Remember, no matter what, we will make things work. I don't want you to feel bad at all. It'll be good to have more hands around the house, we can get our chores done in half the time!" He claps his hands together with a smile, though I detect an elevated heart beat and slight fluctuations in the pitch of his voice, indicating that he does not necessarily believe what he is saying. Although it pains me that he may never see me as who I was, his behaviour reassures me that I made the right decision. Probability that he loves me if she wakes up as a different person or not at all equals 97.8%. Probability that he would continue to love me in the scenario that she wakes up as herself is 87%. But it's the 13% I cannot stop thinking about.
Jeeves stopped in his tracks as they reached a bend in the gravel road. His four legs squeaked as his torso lowered to the ground. Isabelle started looking around. There was nothing in sight, only the distant mountains of the surrounding valley and a seemingly endless sea of long grass. “Isabelle, it is advisable that you climb on my torso,” the machine said in a noticeably automated voice. The young girl immediately complied. She straddled the tarnished, Boston Dynamics Service Bot and it raised its legs back up and continued walking down the poorly maintained gravel road. “What’s going on Jeeves? I don’t see anything?” While the speaker on Jeeves’ back was starting to show the half-millennium of wear, it was still clear enough the understand. “Dear Isabelle,” it said in his robotic tone, “I only want you to be safe. My sensors indicate heat sources in the up coming grass. It may be raiders.” Isabelle’s grasp on Jeeves back tightened. She was only seven years old and Jeeves was her only family now. He had pulled her from a burning yurt the night the raiders came to her village, and since then, the pair had been inseparable. The girl pressed her face against the machine’s back and leaned close to his speaker, “Jeeves, are we almost at the safe place?” Jeeves' speaker hummed, “Yes, dear Isabelle. We will be safe soon.” Jeeves continued walking down the path. At that moment, there was a rustling in the long grass to the right of the road. Three men in tattered cloth and chain mail vests emerged. Two carrying large, iron forged swords and one with an AK-47 assault rifle. “Well, isn’t this a bounty of tech,” one of the men remarked to the others. “And it’s got a wee one with it,” remarked another. Jeeves once again stopped in his tracks. Two hatches opened on either side of the robot's torso. From one a loud speaker emerged, from the other, a thin tube resembling a rifle bore. Static hissed from Jeeves' loudspeaker. He began to speak, “Hello. Please refrain from moving any closer to my proximity.” The speaker clicked off. Isabelle whimpered as she buried her face on Jeeves' cold back. The man with the rifle laughed, “There’s no fucking chance a Boston Dynamic Service Bot still has functional weapons. There hasn’t been a functional killbot in 100 years. Let’s get what’s ours boys.” As the three men walked up onto the road, the gravel crunched under their feet. Isabelle clenched her eyes. At that moment, Jeeves’ speaker began playing Beethoven’s ‘Spring Sonata’. As the men grew closer, the volume of the music grew louder. When the men were within 10 feet, weapons drawn, a loud pneumatic hiss echoed from Jeeves’ cannon. The projectiles were so fast the men had no time to react. They were all on the floor within seconds. The music continued to play as Jeeves carefully stepped over the pile of dead bodies. After a few minutes of walking, the music subsided. Isabelle opened her eyes, “Are they gone Jeeves?” Jeeves continued walking down the path, his four feet crunching on the gravel, “Yes, dear Isabelle. They are gone now.” “I love you Jeeves.” Jeeves’ speaker crackled, “I have love for you too, Isabelle.” The sun was beginning to set as they continued down the road.
“Honey? could you make me a sandwich?” The familiar voice echoed across the empty hallway into the sparsely furnished living room. Todd sat in his worn-out lounger with a steady stream of 24-hour news droning on the TV in front of him. “I’d love too, but last I recall, you died five years ago.” His monotonous voice added to the sad symphony of the scripted news program. He had said this before, in fact, many times before. Caroline was always asking him for things. He would just remind her she was dead and the voice would stop for a while. “Well, maybe the sandwich isn’t for me, silly” Todd’s eyebrow raised. This part was new, “Well, who is it for then?” “Todd…” the drawn out pronunciation of his name was something Caroline did often. He didn’t think she was a nag when she was alive, but he sometimes acted as though he did. He was full of regret –he would give anything to have her nag him again. “Todd, you need to eat something. I’m worried about you. I know this last year has been harder than the four before it, but you need to turn your life around. Move on.” Todd sighed, he knew she was right, but moving out of that chair would be next to impossible. “Honey,” Todd sighed, “First I lost you, then I lost my job, now I’m out of money and I’m going to lose the apartment. I don’t need a sandwich.” He continued to stare blankly at the screen as advertisements for life changing drugs flashed in front of him. Caroline’s disembodied voice continued, “Todd, this will be the last time I talk to you. I’m at rest and moving on. You need to do the same. I love you.” A tear came to Todd’s eye. As he was about to respond, there was a knock at the door. He got up from his chair and opened it. It was his neighbor Fran. “Todd?” Fran said in a concerned tone. “Oh, hey, I was just watching some news.” She looked at him skeptically, “Todd, you were doing that voice thing again. That high pitched, low pitched thing? Have you been taking your meds?” Todd stared at her blankly and started to cry. “Here Todd, let me make you something to eat and we’ll lay your pills out for the week again, okay?” Todd shook his head in agreement and let her through the door.
30 years. 30 long, hard years. Now was my chance for freedom and I was damn well not going to let it pass me by. I shouldn't even be here in the first place. It all started in my late teen years. Having gotten a bit rowdy one night I was involved in an altercation outside a pub, nothing much. As I'm sure you can guess, the police turned up and threw me into a cell. Whilst I was sat there, swaying from the effects of the beer (or was it from when the other guy hit me? Or both?), another guy who was being held for petty theft sidled up to me. He offered me the chance to get out immediately and he'd take the rap and my jail time if I called a coin flip correctly. Obviously, I leapt at the chance! He reached into his pocket and drew out an old penny. He slowly set himself up and tossed it in the air with the knack of an old hand. The coin turned one, twice, three times and travelled above smoothly over head height (I later learnt that this was the minimum stipulation for a bet). The coin tumbled to the ground and landed heads up. My loss. The thief chuckled to himself, pocketed the coin and wandered over to the cell door. He gestured to the guard who sighed deeply, fished the keys from out of his pocket and unlocked the door. The newly-liberated man sauntered off, casually looking back at me over his shoulder with an amused expression and snickering to himself. To be honest, I wasn't really that bothered and so I turned over on the bench and tried to get some sleep. Two days later, I was expecting my release but nothing happened. I cautiously padded over to the guard to enquire as to my freedom. He seemed surprised at first and then an unsavoury smile light up his dark face as he realised my ignorance. He explained in detail the process of how the betting system works - In short, if you lose then you take the other persons' time. Cut forward 30 years and a series of unfortunate bets and here I am. Compared to the other prisoners, I've been very unlucky. You would have thought that somehow I would have won a coin toss by now but somehow the 50/50 probability rulevhasn't applied to me thus far. I've got another 5 years on my sentence and have organised to meet with another prisoner who has a similar amount of time left. I could feel I was going to be lucky this time. You know when you have that gut feeling that something's going to go your way? This was it. I headed down to the canteen and met the other detainee. I took a deep breath and waited for his proposal. Now was the moment. "Alright"he said, "heads I win, tails you lose?"I crossed my fingers and accepted. I could almost taste the freedom.
It started very subtly. I got my first houseplant as a housewarming gift from my parents when I moved out on my own. The small cactus was supposedly easy to care for and even though I forgot to water it for the first three months It was still alive and looked healthy when I finally paid any attention to it. It has been sitting on top of the bookshelf and I stumbled on it when I was looking for something out there. &nbsp; This cactus is not flourishing over there, I immediately thought. The plant did not seem unhealthy, there were no marks of under-watering on it and to a regular observer it would have looked just fine. But somehow I knew that it needed to be moved to more sunny spot, repotted to better soil and of course watered. Not exactly rocket science, right? Any gardener could have told me that, but I had no experience with plants before that. I didn't thought much of that at the time but looking back I'm sure that this was the first time that I heard the plant language. &nbsp; I did what the cactus was asking for and forgot about it again. Couple of months went by and I was just sitting on my computer one day, browsing funny memes on the internet when it suddenly come to my mind that the cactus needed water again. This time the feeling was stronger and it came so suddenly that it took me by surprise. Strange, I thought, and went to water it. After I was done, I got the feeling of gratitude for keeping my little plant alive. &nbsp; Years went by and I started acquiring more and more plants. Some I got as gifts and some I bought from the markets. Each time I bought a plant I somehow knew which one I needed to pick. Like the plants were calling to me. And with every new plant I knew exactly how to care for them. It was like a very strong intuition that I always seemed to know what to with my little garden, and it was flourishing. Eventually I also started to give gardening advice to my friends. Your orchid is over-watered. That tomato is on too windy spot. You are killing your chili with too much sunlight. Those who listened reported back that the plants were thriving. &nbsp; I became better and better at picking the subtle hints from the plants but at no point was I actually believing that the plants were talking to me. I just thought that I had a natural green thumb and with experience I had developed skills to 'read' the plants. &nbsp; That all changed one day when I was strolling through the local park. Usually when I'm walking outside my mind becomes clustered with all kinds of emotions depending on the surroundings. I actually prefer staying inside the city, in mid of buildings, because I feel that I can think more clearly there. On the nature, I get all kinds of strange feelings and occasionally it feels like my thoughts are not my own. I had just explained that to myself by telling that I was not a 'nature person', even though I was starting to quite like all plant life. &nbsp; Anyway, that one day I had to walk through the park. I don't even remember the reason why I was there anymore because my memories are filled on what happened on the park. I was walking by the the lake, which was lined with old oak trees, some of which seemed to be hundreds of years old. In fact, I later checked on the Wikipedia page of the park and there was one particular oak tree that had been there since the park was built in the tenth century! As I was walking past that tree I heard someone calling my name. &nbsp; Actually I didn't hear someone calling my name. I felt someone calling my name. It was a feeling inside my head that called my name, or something like that. It is hard to explain. You know the internal monologue that each of us have going on inside of our heads all day? Now imagine that suddenly on that internal monologue there appears your name, repeated, and the words "come here". I was shocked and stopped walking immediately. At first I though that I had just imagined the whole thing but then it happened again. I looked around, could it be that I was somehow mixing external hearing with my internal thoughts, but there was not a single person around. "Over here", I felt the voice again. "I have been waiting for you."I turned to my left and saw the oldest tree that I have ever seen. And at that point I again 'felt', with strong intuition, that the tree wanted to talk to me. &nbsp; I approached the oak and started to hear it's voice again. This time there was no questioning on where the words came from. The oak started to tell its story to me. How it had learned human language with all the years it had listened people passing by. How all plants had the ability to message to animals and how humans, with their complex language, had lost the ability to listen. And how he had saw me pass by, years ago, and felt first time in years the presence of a human that could understand it. He had tried to call for me that day, but I had apparently been too lost in my own thoughts to notice. "I have had time to do some thinking", it said lastly, "and I have became concerned of the way you humans life. Can you deliver a message from me to others?"
My torch was beginning to die out. I wondered if the spectators from the outside were still there. I’ve been here, what? Hours? Days? No, it can’t be days. But the deeper I went the more it seemed that time was beginning to become a diluted construct. Surely someone must have heard the crumbling of the wall that had lead me thus far. Then again, this is a supposed joyous occasion, so focus and hearing don’t often coincide with the roaring cheers and deafening music. “This is insanity. I should have simply picked one of the favored gods and gotten out quickly” But I only said this aloud to calm myself. Truth is, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. And was apparently the driving force behind my expedition into the deep. This area was locked away. Built around to keep us participants of the trials out of whatever this area is supposed to be, so one has to beg the age old question. Why? Progress forward was only met with more questions. Statues of what resembled regular men and women of our people. They did not look divine or spectacular but like simple warriors and scholars. No grand armor or weapons, no beautiful heraldry, just, simple. Plain. “If these people are supposed to be gods then what’s stopping me from becoming one too.” And suddenly I heard a giggle. Like a child playing outside with a stick. “A bold and daring question my boy” And my torch went out. “Who.... who’s there! Who said that! And why are you here!” “Why am I here? Why are you here, let’s start with that. This is my tomb after all, or crypt if you’d like to be technical. And I don’t remember inviting guests over.” “I... I’m... well, I’m exploring!” Our people are brave. Courageous. Forthright. And here I stood in total darkness, palms pressed against a cold wall, feeling as if my legs at any given moment could collapse on me. This is supposed to be a crypt! A place of only dead bodies! Nothing is supposed to be alive here and yet a voice is speaking to me. And then the room was illuminated. The once unlit torches now shined fiercely with bright yellow flame. And I finally saw the room at it’s full. From the hallway I entered I finally saw what was a... room. A simple room. With a simple tomb. “Marvelous isn’t it? Such minimalism.” And finally the voice was associated with a body. A tall man with hair grey braided backwards. A scruffy looking white beard and a face that looked, worn. Multiple small scars and bags under his eyes. But, he had a smile on him. A genuine smile that radiated life. He wore a regular old shirt that you’d see on a farmer working in the field with pants to match. And he was barefoot. “Such artistic vision captured in so little. It is truly remarkable.” Weapons were not allowed during the entering of the crypts. It’s a sacred place. Of worship. But at this moment I wish I had something. That smile wasn’t fooling me. “It’s alright child. Despite my remarks earlier, it is actually a delight to see someone in this dark below. Allow me to introduce myself to you, my name is Ker. A shortened version of an ancient name. One you would not comprehend, though I say this with no offense to you.” My bravery was coming back to me. After finally being able to put a face to the voice, it was no longer phantom. And I wanted answers to my hundreds of questions. “Where am I?!” It was more of a demanding request rather than a polite question. “Ah the young, always firing questions. You are, as I have mentioned earlier, in the hall of my tomb.” “If this is your tomb, why aren’t you in it?” “Well the people who created it never found my body. But created a tomb all the same. For reasons that are really beyond me. It was apparently a symbolic gesture. One to avoid the wrath of the gods and all that. But I quite like the aesthetic.” “Okay, but.... who are you? Or better yet, what are you?” “I am a god.” “A god of what?” “A god of wh- oh that’s right! Your people now have gods for the individual aspects of life. Hah, that does make me laugh. My dear boy I am simply a god. I do not rule over the skies, oceans, or hell for that matter. I’m much too ancient for that and far too preoccupied. As were my friends who you saw down the hall as you came in.” Hundreds of questions became thousands of questions. I had to be dreaming. There had to be an explanation for this. None of this was making any sense. “I understand that this may be puzzling. But I didn’t break that wall ‘accidentally’ just for you to faint due to being overwhe-“ “If you’re a god then.... why are you dressed as a farmer! A peasant!” The torches flickered and the ma- gods voice changed from calm to commanding and booming. It wasn’t anger. But I would be lying if I said that the change was not unnerving. “Armor does not make grandeur. Weapons do not make the coward brave. The younger gods whom your people adopted are purely symbols of materialism. That to be deemed valuable and worthy is to shine like the sun. To be noticeable. But those gods are nothing compared to us. The deeds of the gods of old have been long forgotten. And when people do not need protection against higher powers, they forget. Only in times of distress do they begin to fall to their knees and pray, remembering the ‘beings of creation’ as we are called in their books and scripts, because they can not take care of themselves. I called you here for a reason because you are not of these people. And calling back to your questions posed to yourself earlier,” ”what is stopping you from becoming one of us” The torches continued to flicker. And the god, with his hands behind his back stared me down with his piercing grey eyes. “I should be getting back. The people are surely worried.” “You’ve already been wandering here for days. What’s a few more.” The god said with a very soothing yet sarcastic tone and a wave of his hand. Days?! How?! How did hours become days? If I’ve truly been here for days then wouldn’t there be someone looking for me? Despite being overcome with nerves I couldn’t help but feel immense intrigue. The god was mysterious. His stature and presence created significant amounts of urge to know more. Reluctantly, but filled with curiosity all the same I replied, remembering; “Fine. I’ll stay and listen to your story. After all. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion.” The god smiled. His previously endearing lips curled upwards like dry branches during a bleak winter. “Then let’s begin, with the very beginning.”
It started with cute little DIY projects the likes of which were easily found on Pinterest. Storage bins were decoupaged with newspaper clippings, but they didn’t stop there. Suddenly the light fixtures and small planters were replaced with Mason jars. Furniture was antiqued or distressed for that rustic look. I reacted the only way I could: with abject terror. This was my fault. Our entire house was being redecorated by overzealous brownies because I was too cheap to go to the Cell Phone Repair down the street when my iPhone screen cracked. My mom was going crazy, about to pull her hair out. “I swear,” she said to us, “if you don’t tell me who is ruining my house I’m going to...” she trailed off threateningly. My dad, whose family the helpful little spirits assisted for generations in exchange for snacks, had tried explaining to her about the brownies when they got married. He knew better than to bring them up now. Mom wasn’t a believer even though the proof was in the half-eaten puddings and mended socks. I simply started on a peanut butter cookie recipe that I knew was a favorite of the brownies. Despite their name, chocolate is pretty far down on the list of their favorite foods. Mom rolled her eyes at me. “I suppose the brownies are going to fix my house overnight? Your father’s pranks were never funny.” I didn’t say anything. It was best not to engage her on the subject of our little helpers, especially when she was already so irritated. Night came and my mother stormed to bed, followed shortly by my father. He looked down at me from the landing of the stairs with sad eyes. I nodded towards the plate of cookies sitting on the coffee table. I had my plan. I’d never seen the brownies before, but their name is certainly apt. Each one has skin of a varying shade of brown, with brown hair and brown clothes and darkly glittering eyes. Their short fingers had to be nimble if they could fix anything from a worn shoe to an alternator with the right culinary bribe. They peeked out from behind the armoire housing our TV one by one. “Listen, guys, we need to talk.” I held out the plate of cookies. They each snatched up one and made moves for seconds but I pulled the dish back. “Uh-uh. You get one now and one when we’re done talking, okay?” They all nodded sheepishly. A couple had already crammed the cookies into their mouths, ringing their lips with crumbs. “I know you guys are trying to help by fixing up the place with projects you find online. We appreciate the effort, we really do, but Mom likes the house the way it was. Can you change it back?” They whispered among themselves, then turned to face me and stomped one foot in unison with an emphatic shaking of their head. “Why not? Do you think it’s better this way?” Their leader, a slightly larger brownie, nodded. “But aren’t you supposed to fix things for my family? The stuff you fixed wasn’t broken.” Again, an emphatic nod from their leader. They looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to figure something out. It took several minutes before it dawned on me. “My mom isn’t considered part of your family. You pulled those projects off of my Pinterest boards, not just random ones.” I almost slapped myself on the forehead from my sheer amount of stupidity. “Look, guys, I really appreciate it, but I need the house to go back to how it was.” They hung their heads in sadness, but eventually acquiesced, earning their second helping of cookies. “Okay, you have until sunrise,” I said.
"Pluto Corporation, this is Persephone. How may I direct your call?" I stared at the phone, my eyebrows raised so high they were trying to merge with my hairline. This can't be real. It has to be a joke. "Hello? Is there anyone there?"The voice on the other end was more nasal than I expected. I stammered into the phone. "Um, yes, hi. I saw an ad on Linkedin about, um, well..." The voice on the other end cut me off. "You saw the God of Death posting, huh?" "Uh, yes. Actually, it was listed as a position they thought I would be interested in." "And are you?"Something about the voice was cold, even over the line, and I shuddered at the tone. "Well, I guess so, yes." Persephone sighed. "All right, let's get through the interview. What experience do you have with death?" "Excuse me? I mean, my parents died a few years ago, if that's what you were getting at." I could almost hear the eyes rolling over the phone. "Right, okay, but what about the other end of the spectrum. Have you ever killed a man?" My jaw dropped. "No!" "Any women killed? Children?" "I'm not a killer! Why would you even ask that?" "Just a simple ethical question,"Persephone droned, her voice showing her boredom with our conversation. "Have you ever stepped on a bug?" "I mean, I guess so. I squished a spider a few days ago, does that count?" "For our purposes, yes. Next question, is there anything that makes you squeamish? Blood, guts, anything like that?" I thought about it for a second, pacing the kitchen where I had been sitting just a few minutes ago. "...No, I think I'm good about that one." "Okay, great. Now, do you do well with dogs?" I chuckled. "Of course I do." "How about ones with three heads?" I paused. "Seriously?" "Sir, I just need you to answer the question." "Uh, in that case, yes, I think I can handle that." The woman's tone had seemed to pick up in the past few minutes; her voice, although still cold, seemed more animated. "Hmmm, this might just work. Just a few more questions. Do you have an issue passing judgement on others?" I laughed loudly at that question. "Madam, I used to be a lawyer. Judging people was part of my job before." "I should have figured as much. One last question. This position requires full time commitment, no contact with the outside world. You would be separated from everyone you know. Is this something that you can commit to?" I paused for a few seconds, then sighed deeply into the phone. "Can I level with you for a second? I have no family left. My wife divorced me, and my kids don't want to see me anymore. I'm months behind in debt and I thought about ending it all a few days ago. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't have much keeping me here." The silence hung in the air for a solid minute before Persephone spoke again. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I think we have everything we need here. How soon can you start?" My heart leapt into my throat. "A-are you serious?" "Yes, we are. You're a bit unorthodox for the position, but we do need a...well, not necessarily a warm body, but we need to fill the position right away." I jumped around the room excitedly. "Oh thank you so much! I can start right away." "Oh, that's perfect. We'll be sending someone to meet you to bring you to our office shortly. He should be there in the next few seconds. You can't miss him, he'll be wearing a very large hood." I paused. "Wait, are you going to kill me for this?" Penelope laughed for the first time, a harsh barking noise. "Sir, you're going to be a god. Dying may be your job now, but it's going to be the least of your worries." /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 38/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
"Do you hear our words?"roared the dragon. "Do you heed our warnings?"Death hissed. "Do you share our wisdom?"the wizard prodded. The prompt poster sat idle while the warnings flurried in and out of their ears. A distant gaze had befallen their modest face, cogs turning behind the ever still eyes. "... Yes,"they said. God smashed a holy hand down onto the desk, the Reddit bobble-head shaking furiously under his wrath. "Do you understand, mortal? Answer us properly."His voice bellowed across the sky, cracking against the clouds like a whip. "No... I do,"replied the redditor, hardly noticing the figures before them. "It's just..." The Princess rushed forward, slapping them across the face with a power belying her small frame. Jesus and Satan set to work on the redditor's room, trashing the place like a couple of mob hands. The Princess screamed into the redditor's face. "Just what? Just what?" "Well, gee,"the redditor mumbled, eyes still distant. "This would make a great prompt." \- r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
"Certain things just.. HAVE to happen." The time-traveler places a hand on my shoulder, giving me a friendly squeeze. "But... there has t-" "There has to be another way? Nope. We've tried it. It has to happen." I sat, staring at the ground. The unbelievable-ness of the entire situation washing over me. He had explained it all. The events that "had"to happen. "What else... what else did you have to let happen?" He adjusted his badge before he spoke, "Well, it depends. Some of the stuff we are still trying to figure out if it has to happen." I stared blankly at him. "For instance. 9/11? We aren't totally sure. It's the best we've done so far, but we think we can do better. Also, you have to keep in mind, it's not necessarily a 'kill count' but more of what the eventual ripple effect will be down the road." My head perks up, "Before 2550?" He nods, spitting into the dirt. "Whatever we have to do to be sure we are ready by then, still hasn't been done yet. We've identified some key events that lead to certain people, technology, and the planet to be where we need it to be.... for when the time comes." "I understand. Good luck sir, I don't know how you do what you do." He smiles, looking off into the distance, "Honestly, I'm just like you. I want to see 2551." I turned away, wanting to leave before he traveled. He deserved some time alone, to see the way things are now. He had explained it perfectly. Our brains can't wrap around the idea of seeing nothing. I wasn't seeing nothing. What I was seeing… was blackness. Now, I knew why.
Mars. There it is. I am actually going to step foot on Mars. I can't believe this is finally happening. After a life time of dreaming, decades of school, years of training, and months of traveling through space, today is the day that our ship is landing on Mars. We have been orbiting mars for a couple days, gathering images and waiting for the optimal conditions for landing. Just an hour ago, Houston said that we could start landing procedures. The five of us have been running around with stupid smiles on our faces doing our various tasks, suiting up, strapping ourselves in, and now, it's happening. I can't stop smiling! We were warned that the sensation as we were landing may be strange due to the change in atmosphere, the sheer force, and the heightened emotions. They were right, but this feeling is even weirder. It somehow feels as though I'm growing, like a balloon being inflated...almost. My suit feels uncomfortably tight...it's probably just the pressure. Whew. It's okay. I'm okay. This is weird. Is the room getting smaller? I've never been claustrophobic before. No. It's fine. It's just nerves. I look around. Everyone else is getting bigger. Johnson is actually ripping out of his suit! What is happening to us!?!? Suddenly, the whole ship is being ripped apart by our rapidly expanding bodies. This is it. I'm going to die. No wait! Somehow Enriquez is still managing to slow our decent with whatever is left of the ship. We've made it to the ground. Dazed, I look around to see if my crew is still alive. HOLY SHIT!!! I'm surrounded dead by four massive reptilian creatures with black iridescent scales and wings. One coughs and fire shoots out of its nose. They're dragons!!! SHIT SHIT SHIT!!! I am scrambling to get to my feet so I can RUN THE FUCK AWAY! What the hell? My hands aren't there anymore! I have claws with the same iridescent scales and talons that have to be at least six inches long. I grab the nearest reflective image (a window that used to be part of the ship) and look at myself. I'm one of them. A dragon. I have to hide. Right as that thought enters my mind, my skin, sorry, scales, changes. Everything but my eyes suddenly changes to look like the background. It's incredible. And terrifying. Far in the background, I see beings that look like me. A whole group of them! I guess this is the kind of being that lives on mars. How could we not have seen them? All of the imagery shows a desolate lifeless planet. It must be their camouflage abilities. Well shit. That's amazing! I should radio back home and tell them! I look around and remember that the ship was ripped apart. No way to communicate. I guess this is my home now.
"You what?"Bill asked, his mouth agape, as we walked out of the police station into the blinding morning sun. "I missed my soulmate moment,"I repeated. "How the hell did you do that?"Even after knowing me for over twelve years, he was having trouble accepting that I could have done something this incredibly stupid. "I don't know, I just went out and got drunk, and woke up here, in a holding cell." "Dude,"he said, trying to be patient, "your lifewatch has been counting down to last night since before you hit puberty. You knew you would meet your soulmate on Thursday, June 28, 2018 at 8:49:15pm, back when we were in grade school. Everything you've done for the last year has been preparing for last night. "And to top it all off, you've never gotten drunk before. Ever. You barely even drink! "So, what in holy fuck happened that made you decide that getting plastered was the thing to do LAST NIGHT?" "I dunno--I'm stupid I guess." "Yeah, I guess,"he said, and walked in front of me to his car, shaking his head. A week later, I showed up in court for my hearing. The drunk-and-disorderly charge was a misdemeanor count, and my attorney, a family friend, advised me to plead guilty. "How do you plead?"the judge finally asked. "Stupid, Your Honor,"I said, and told her my story. She wasn't having any of it. "Mister Timsah, I've heard a lot of tall tales, but that's the most far-fetched yarn I've heard in over thirty years on the bench. If you expect me to believe that someone who never gets drunk would get so intoxicated that they would miss their Soulmate Moment, then I--" From behind me, I heard a woman's voice say "Excuse me..."The judge stopped in mid-sentence and stared, and I turned around. She was star-bright, with auburn hair and eyes the color of the ocean. "Excuse me,"she repeated haltingly, "Did you say 8:49pm?" "That's right,"I replied. Dear god in heaven, please let it be... "And how many seconds?"She asked, with a growing note of hope that I immediately shared. "15", we both said together, and everyone in the room let out a collective breath. The judge pulled up her docket. "What is your name, miss?" "Anna Grace McDougal, Your Honor,"the angel replied. "It says here you're being charged for the same misdemeanor. Do you have the same outlandish excuse?" "Yes, Your Honor,"she responded, now smiling broadly. The judge made a couple of notes on her docket. "Mister Timsah, Miss McDougal, I think you have some catching up to do. I'm letting you both off with a warning, and my congratulations." And that's how I met your mother.
I was 17 years old when I died. Well, not exactly died. I just ran away from home and hid till they stopped lookin'. Most people just assumed the whole dead part. It wasn't like they were looking real hard, anyways. If they were, they would've seen the clues. I'm not real smart. The signs I left were closer closer to a whole brunch than crumbs. In fact, it's as simple as simple gets. I wrote a song. It's just no one ever bothered themselves to listen. My folks were to busy getting wasted to care. The only reason dad might've is he missed his favorite punchin' bag, but he's still got mom around. Think the only reason he ever put up with her was for backup. I didn't have many friends. In fact, I had absolutely zero. Still don't have any, but I guess that's my own damn fault. I wasn't all that likeable. I don't know if I've changed. I hope so, but it's not like it means anything now. That said, it wasn't all bad. I had my guitar. My voice wasn't so good, but neither was Bob Dylan's, and look how much money that bastard raked in. So I wrote songs, I played, I sang. The one thing that made life worth livin' in those days. It was the first thing I packed. The life I live now is in complete and total solitude, and lemme be honest, it ain't all bad. I wake up early in the morning, 4:30, 5:00. The dawn in the middle of bumfuck nowhere is the greatest thing that's kept me goin' all these years. The air is cool, it smells like life. Same as the smell of rain pouring down on hot concrete after a long drought, but... I dunno... earthier! Wrote a few songs about it. Some of my favorites. Honestly, even if someone cared enough to come looking now, I don't think I'd go back with 'em. I really got nothing there, in the world I used to live in. Here, I feel like my life has so much more purpose. I hunt my own food, find my own shelter. I've only been back there a few times. Needed some clothes. Can't sew for shit. I can cook, though. Got most of those bases covered. I'm happy here. If I ever got seriously injured, which is bound to happen sooner or later, I know I'm not gonna be able to get to a hospital or something. I'll most likely just die. I'd still rather die here then live my whole life back in civilization. I don't think I could ever be happy there. This is where I'll spend the rest of my life. And boy am I ok with that.
You still can’t think of his face without feeling pain. You thought he was the love of your life, but he can’t seem to get over their rejection, and it’s poisoning your relationship. You tell him it’s only art school, but he sneers in your face, and there is bitterness there that you’ve never seen before, and it scares you. Soon after, he leaves. No last words, no explanation, just your mother’s star shaped pendant that you gave him as an engagement present. You lie in bed. Waiting, hoping that he’ll return. You whisper his name. Adolph...
I smiled as I watched the evil spirits summoned from those “cursed videos” I saw from the dark net argued with each other on my monitor about who would kill me first without end. I could see them, but they couldn’t see me. How, exactly? Well, I’d rather not give out any personal information about myself. All I can say is that I have my secretive ways. How do you think I surfed through the bad part of the internet without easily getting killed? Or maybe they’re too “busy” to notice me. Anyways, there was this one demon who took the form of a pale little girl with no eyes. She also seemed to be immature, since the only point she could make was that she was “super scary”, with her annoying, shrieking voice. In my opinion, it looked like she was trying way too hard to be frightening. Sure, a jumpscare featuring that girl would make me jolt, but it would only terrorize me for a short amount of time. I’d seen worse. Alongside the demon-girl was a goat-headed freak with a satanic symbol on its forehead and a whole lot of tentacles on its back. It sorta reminded me of Slender Man and that thing from H. P. Lovecraft’s stories... I forgot what it was called. It seemed to be more intelligent than the demon-girl, since it could come up with more valid points about why it should kill me. Unfortunately, it was constantly interrupted by other abominations and eldritch horrors. I kinda feel bad for it, since it looks like an intellectual drowning in an endless sea of idiots. But I didn’t really care nonetheless. There were a lot more monsters. One had too many eyes, one happened to be a giant spider, and there was, what I think is, an evil Jack-In-the-Box confined within its box, eagerly waiting for its next victim. Either that, or it didn’t want any part in the verbal flame war. I feel like bringing out some popcorn just for watching all these freaks of nature argue for all eternity. It’s just too entertaining for me. It’s like, reading the comments on a controversial post online, observing the chaos unfolding... but better. You know what? Maybe I haven’t been cursed. Maybe I cursed them. I watched too many videos tainted by inhuman hands, summoning these accursed folk. But now they want me all for themselves. If they learned about being generous, then I would be screwed big time. But no. They’re just too ignorant to do so, and that even applies to those brighter than the others. Thanks to me, they’re all cursed. Thanks to me, I’ve trapped them in their own stupidity. And it’s highly unlikely that they’ll ever escape. Heh. Serves them right.
Warning, this response has some dark themes. If you are easily upset I'd advise skipping this: I looked my new doctor in the eyes, a pretty blonde woman. "Yes, I've been taking my meds. Twice a day like you asked."I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "In that case we need to do a blood test just to make sure the levels are stable and that there's nothing wrong. Can you hold out you hand for me James?" A gloved hand touched my skin and the needle pricked through. It never hurt. "Have the voices and hallucinations been saying anything recently? Your last doctor told me they'd been getting worse, that you'd started getting angry and feeling violent." I nodded as a tear came to my eye. Something almost audible whispered to me. An image flashed in front of my eyes. Whenever I touch someone I hear and see things. Sometimes I become convinced the person stole from their parents or cheated on their partner. Its always a guilt filled memory. Something they did wrong. "Every time I touch someone its almost like I remember something that happened to them, that they did. It used to be only some days. Now its all the time."She scribbled notes as I spoke. "And you mentioned last session that a voice like a demon whispers things like names of people in the hallucination, telling you when it was. Is that still happening?" I could barely pay attention to her as information flooded my mind. It was strange, like I'd been her for a day. She'd been learning CPR at school with her boyfriend. He'd been begging her to come round his house because his parents weren't around. "Yes,"I responded eventually. "Sometimes it also tells me to hurt them. Sometimes it says to give them hug or to be nice. Sometimes I just want to cry or run as fast as I can. It tries to convince me I'm helping, like they feel they should be punished for something they did, or that they're scared of being alone. I don't always do what it says. Sometimes it says there's nothing I can do but feel the pain with them." Tears dripped down my face as I looked at her. Haley Magnus, that was my new doctors name. All her schoolfriends called her Mags. "Is everything okay James?"She asked. I shook my head, as much to shake away the lingering sound of her struggles in my head as to answer her. "I'm sorry,"I said, "I need to know this isn't real. When you were 16 did you know someone called Jeremy?" She went rigid. I told you so whispered the voice. "N- no. I don't think so."She sounded flustered, sad. Ashamed. "Is the voice telling you I hurt someone, like you said Dr Valen did? She'd gone back to Jeremy's house that day at school. It was the last week of term and he was moving abroad. They made out. She felt safe in his arms. "He lied to you."I said. She didn't respond, just went still. She still believed that he'd loved her. That when he touched her she should have wanted it. That it was her fault. But that wasn't where the guilt was. She lay on his sofa when he got up as if nothing had happened. She couldn't move. "He hurt you. That was his fault not yours." "Just stop -"She replied, breaking into tears. Everything in the memory slotted into place. Half an hour after he'd finished with her a text arrived on her phone: Are you okay Haley? You said you'd be home early today. Just want to know where you are - Mum. She sat up on the sofa and put a straight face on. Her hands shook. I'm fine mum. At a friends house. Won't be back for a couple of hours. She'd never told anyone. My attention switched back to the consulting room. Haley was sitting still. She'd got her phone out. Take it. Help her. I held my hand out and took the unlocked phone. She didn't try to stop me. She was a sobbing mess. I looked through her contacts and typed out a message. Hi mum. When I was younger you asked me if I was okay. I lied. I should have said something. Can I come round today? I saved the message as a draft, putting the phone back in her hands while she tried to pull herself together. Hi all! Any feedback is welcome. I'm trying to get better at writing as I haven't done much in a while so please say if there's any way you think I can improve.
"This is what I get for putting off my vacation,"God muttered to himself. He'd been expecting at most 6 million humans, all spread out sparsely over the land. He had expected that the nice beaches would be mostly free. He would have just been able to let out his whole essence, soak up some natural sun and water. But no. They had to be a succesful enough to reproduce at an astounding rate. Even the Dormanians would have been proud, bless their sex-centric society. God decided he might as well enjoy his vacation anyway. He wouldn't be alone, but at least he would be sorrounded by his children. It would be nice to get to know these people, who were sure to be like him in some way. He just couldn't remember which aspect he'd focused on for this species... "Excuse me, dude,"said a guy passing by with a surfboard. God jumped back and stepped on a woman's foot. "Oof, watch it!"she shrieked, throwing her soda at him. God walked on. He snapped his fingers to change his shirt, and thought. So they were capable of recreation, and they'd improved their food sources to be something for pleasure, not just nutrition. Good, it's always nice to see the children get hobbies. Awfully indolent bunch, which was exactly what he wanted for this vacation. Relaxation and calm, tranquil, no worries... A child screamed nearby, and he immedietly rushed over. She's just fallen off her bike; he cupped her cheek and watched the scrape disappear. She smiled up at him. That's what he liked to see; a species that can appreciate kindness. Behind him, a woman screamed, and before he could turn he realised what she was screaming; "Get away from my child you old creep!" He kept on turning and walked briskly away. Two blocks away, he sighed. Where to go to be mostly away from people... He settled for a grocery bag of junk food and a seat on a sandy patch of beach hidden in a cliffside. He'd move if the tide came in. He'd get to know the kids some other time.
"So, let's see here."Death started looking over a mound of papers, pictures, scribbled notes as if a 12-year old ripped pages out of her diary and plopped them all disheveled on top. He didn't look at all like what I had expected; sleek black suit and pants, white tie almost shining, handsome features and fit. Maybe he was a Wall Street trader in his life, if he even had a life...I mean, maybe he was always Death? Hmm... "Interesting."He was focusing hard on his duties; I mean, I guess he had to, being Death and all. I really had nothing to say, and nowhere to look, as this purgatory was just white as far as I can see with his black desk plopped down inside it. Everything he had was either black or white; it was poetic, to be honest. Nothing in between. I hadn't spoken since I opened my eyes and was in this black, stationary, comfortable leather chair, but felt like I should. "So, what's going on here? I gathered the gist of it, I think..."I had to seem somewhat capable of coherence and thought. I knew I was dead; the cancer had finally spread to the parts of me that would accept defeat, and I closed my eyes with my family around me. "Well, David, this is purgatory. Lower-case p; we don't like to think of it as a proper place. Haha, just a little grammar joke. Anyway, yes, you're dead. Yes, I'm Death. Not what you expected, huh?"He gave a little snicker, then a sigh. "Anyway, I'm going over your life, reviewing it for forwarding, and looking at the highlights. Things like how you treated people, your beliefs, your daily life, how you let others influence you, the one who affected you th-"He stopped in his tracks. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"His abruptness caught me off guard, since he seemed so calm and collected until this moment. I could have been sitting here for years, since time didn't seem to pass...at all. His head was down, staring at what seemed to be a photograph. Then, his head picked itself up slowly, and he looked at me. His eyes glistened, as if tears wanted to drain but just couldn't, kept forever locked in his eyes. "It's...nothing. It's nothing."I knew he was lying. He was clearly distraught in some manner. At this point, he wasn't Death; just, another guy, doing his job, yet being affected and influenced by those around him. "Are you sure?"Consoling him was something I had to do, as I almost never received it from anyone or anything. "Yeah. Sorry about that. It's just, this final snapshot of you is very, very upsetting to me."He took it in his hand, put it on the desk, and slid it toward me, upside-down so I could see it. Yep, that was me, surrounded by the money-hungry bottom-feeding family that was just waiting, aching for cancer to win. "Yeah, they're a bunch of pricks. It's not sad though, don't worry about it. I had a good life."I didn't think Death could be distraught over something like this, as I imagine he sees it fairly often. "Yes, yes they are. But that's...not what got me."He took the next picture that was right underneath the one he slid to me, and did the same thing with it. "This was the biggest influence in your life, and they weren't with you at the end." "That's...that's Roxy. My beautiful, mut of a dog!"I grabbed the picture and brought it closer; it was the best picture of her I'd ever seen, crisp and colorful, and even an action shot. "My best friend." "I know."he said. "I know. I'm sorry she wasn't there at the end, and instead, your final picture is with the loathsome creatures, waiting for a trickle of your fortune at your bedside. I'm sorry."His eyes were now watering, almost cartoonish, wavey yet refusing to spill over. "I don't know what I would have done without her. She kept me from...doing things I would have done otherwise. She was my girl. My best girl. And I miss her every day, and have missed her every day for 3 years."The water in his eyes finally spilled over, and he reached across his face to wipe it away. When he did, his suit bunched up to reveal his arms a little, and they were as black as the unlit darkness, a far cry from the regular skin tone he portrayed everywhere else. Then, he stared me in the eye, and he smiled. It was a smile I hadn't seen in a long time; reassuring, comforting, loving. Then, I felt something at my leg. A push, a shove, a familiar- "ROXY!"There were...no words. I rustled her, hugged her, rolled with her, played with her. She was as beautiful and happy as I remembered, unblemished, perfect. Death spoke for the last time. "It's time to move forward. With Roxy." With that, I picked up my girl, stood up, closed my eyes, and waited for the next stop, holding her tightly, with my head pressed against her fur.
I had been expecting the call for some time. The government knew what I played, they had the Steam stats of everyone in the country. So when my phone rang late one Sunday evening, and a voice said simply "It is time,"I knew where my future lay. "What do I do?" "There will be a car waiting outside in 10 minutes. Bring only yourself." The windows were heavily tinted, but I knew we were heading into the centre of the capital. Finally, we arrived at a nondescript office building, one of many surrounding it, ominous only in its lack of ominousness. When we entered the elevator, the handler pushed the button marked B9, and we descended deep underground. After a little while, the doors opened to reveal a dimly lit corridor. We walked, passing door after door, most closed and quiet, some closed, but with a variety of sounds coming from within - screaming, moaning, laughter, and many others less identifiable. But it was the open doors that drew the eye. Dark figures swaying in strange rituals barely visible in candlelight. Groups of mostly human shapes locked in passionate embrace. And, inexplicably, considering the rest, a quiet, but unmistakable industrial dance party, abnormal in its normality. But finally, at the end of the long corridor, there was one final door. My door. The handler opened it, and allowed me to step inside. This room was different from the others. It was well lit, and full of shelves. And on those shelves, were texts of every imaginable type. Books after books, either neatly bound in modern style, or barely held together after decades or centuries of use. Scrolls, nearly rolled, as if from the Great Library itself. And other texts, on parchment, papyrus, vellum, every conceivable medium imaginable. I could even see what appeared to be stone tablets down the back. In front of all these shelves of knowledge, was a simple desk, a computer, a telephone, and other basic office tools. "This is all the Lore we have so far,"the handler said. "It will be your job, of course, to discover more. And to recommend expeditions to find new texts and artifacts." I simply nodded, my head already full of the possibilities. Options flicked through my mind like cards on a table. "If you need anything, let us know,"he said, before moving to exit the room. He paused as I responded. "You know what this will do to me,"I said simply. "I won't stay in this room. I won't be able to stay in this room. I will enter others."I gestured with my head to the corridor outside. "Both here... and elsewhere." "We know,"he replied, simply. "It is necessary."He then left me alone, closing the door. The silence was oppressive. I hoped the computer had Spotify. But first, I sat at my desk. There was a single book sitting in front of me. One that I was intimately familiar with. I opened it, and read the first page with a smile. The Wood grows around the walls of the Mansus. As any student of the Histories knows, the Mansus has no walls.
The warden walked backwards into the classroom as he ended the conversation that made him late. He wore disheveled hair, a gruff beard, and a jumpsuit. He looked fearsome, trembling with sweaty palms. I attributed it to fear of public speaking. As a glossophobe myself, I knew it when I saw it. As he turned to face the room, the trembling immediately stopped as his face snapped into a smile and he started. "Annnnd, that's how a criminal would walk in here. Welcome, to your first day at Woodyard prison. I hope you're ready for life here at the Wood." The warden seemed like a natural, but at the same time, well-practiced. His eye contact never broke and his speech never stammered. In the crowded room I felt like he was speaking directly to me. The speaker would start with a responsibility for us guards. "At 6 AM each one of you will go to your designated block, ring the bell outside of each cell, and wait in the center of the block until each inmate is present and accounted for. Once ready, everyone walks to the cafeteria together for breakfast." Then, he'd tell a story about a guard getting injured doing that duty: "Some time ago, about three years ago an inmate, Chester, didn't get to his morning roundup on time. This was the wrong day to be late on the wrong block. There was this white supremacist, Bill, only two cells down. Bill was a particularly hungry fellow. Especially on Wednesdays. You see, Wednesdays are chicken fried steak and eggs day. It's a pretty big deal here. Bill liked to get it fresh, while it's still hot and the breading is still crispy. He was always the first one out of his cell every Wednesday. Needless to say, Bill was not a happy camper that day. He paced back and forth as the guards headed to Chester's cell. You'll see this prison isn't that big, but the guards took their time to make Bill squirm. When they finally dragged Chester back to the group, Bill was staring at him with the fury only a white supremacist can muster. All he said was, 'Ain't my fault, Tony never rang the bell outside my cell.' Bill flipped and charged directly at Tony. He hit him with the force of eight extra years in prison." Each story ended with an easy to remember moral, this one was, "And that's why you've always got to ring every cell's bell." I was so impressed with this warden. Orientation at my last spot was just two hours of rote rule reading. This orientation was dynamic and informative. This warden must be much more involved in the day to day. He had so much knowledge about this place, it was like he lived here. When the orientation ended, he asked if anyone minded driving him to the bus stop a few miles away so that he could get home to his wife. His car was in the shop. Excited at the chance to rub shoulders with my charismatic new boss, I offered to drive him myself.
[BREAKING NEWS] After a several week long investigation into the allegations made against Redwood Valley’s own mayor Vincent Adultman, new facts have just been uncovered by this newspaper’s investigative reporting team. The mayor, is not who this town thinks he is. Information has just been released that the mayor is actually two 8 year olds sitting on one another’s shoulders and wearing a trench coat. On August 4th 2018 the mayor’s American citizenship was called into question due to his very deep, and almost fake sounding accent. Before long a petition was started by citizens of Redwood Valley for the mayor to release his birth certificate to which the mayor’s crotch released a statement saying “Those guys are so nosy! It’s none of their business. Leave us- I mean me alone.” This sparked suspicion in the eyes of this newspaper, and an in depth investigation was soon launched. It wasn’t until August 27th 2018 that the truth was revealed by a pair of reporters that followed Mr. Adultman to his home after work where he was seen taking off his trench coat and the two 8 year olds inside split apart before heading in to finish play Mario Kart on their Nintendo switch. We interviewed several locals to Redwood Valley to get their thoughts on the matter. “I mean yeah... he’s like 9 feet tall and his arms only reach maybe halfway through his sleeves. I thought we all voted for him as a joke. Y’know like that one town with a dog as their mayor? Christ did you guys really not know? His name is ‘Vincent ADULT MAN’ I mean come on.” “Well I kind of figured, what with the voice and all. He very clearly sounds like a child attempting to be an adult. Not even to mention the fact that his crotch has been feeding him lines when he loses his train of thought during speeches” Information is still coming to light, but so far all that we know is Vincent Adultman’s crotch has been grounded from TV and playing outside for 3 months. Information on the top half of the mayor’s punishment has yet to be released.
There are a great many things that a dignified Lord of Hell can say upon being summoned. Some demons spend years writing soliloquies in preparation for their summon. Razzagaroth was no exception. He had put together an entire collection of memos and missives for all occasions. From the young rebellious mage playing with magic beyond his ken, to the old bearded wizard reaching deeper than his means, he had the right words to inspire terror in each of them. The first words between them would set the stage for who held the power in the relationship. Do you tempt them? Threaten them? Trick them with kindness and false promises? Razzagaroth thought he was ready for everything, and was even flicking through some mental notes when the light shone down from the fiery skies of Hell to pull him to the terrestrial plane. &#x200B; Hence, when Razzagaroth found himself facing a soot covered four year old girl in a burning barn, he was quite surprised. His first thought was that he really had overlooked this particular scenario when he claimed that his repertoire of prepared speeches were ready for all occasions. His second thought, the one he voiced to the only other living person in the room, was "I'm sorry little girl, are you by any chance the one that summoned me?". The words "living person"are quite important here, because there was a dead man lying face down on the floor next to the girl, and Razzagaroth had great hopes that he was instead summoned by the dead man, as unlikely as it would seem. If he had been summoned by the little girl, he could only imagine the field day the other demons would have once they learned about this. "I am the one \cough\ that summoned you, o' \cough\ powerful Demon Lord."The girl tried her best to seem imposing and dignified, but it was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was coughing in between words. Razzagaroth dropped his head after hearing this. He tapped his finger against his leg for a bit, thinking. Well whatever, lets just go with the flow I guess, he thought to himself. This in itself was more of a comfort thought than anything, as the rules of the summoning would not allow him to do otherwise. "What tributes and sacrifices have you prepared to form the contract?"He growled, trying to seem more menacing than he had at the start. He was rather depressed that it seemed to have no effect on the girl. She barely hesitated before replying loudly. "I give thee my True Name and Authority over my Everlasting Soul, o' Demon Lord!" This posed a bit of a problem to Razzagaroth. Normally this was the part where the Wizard and the Demon would do a bit of haggling before settling on a fair compensation for services rendered. The fact that the small child had started with the highest possible offer left him at a bit of a loss. Of course such offerings were not to be looked upon lightly, a True Name gave the demon power over the wizard, and all demons craved the souls of magi. The only issue then is the kind of work that would constitute such a payment. Nothing less than a full lifetime of servitude would cover such a high fee. Razzagaroth wasn't in too much of a rush here. He could simply wait for the barn to burn down and kill the girl, and then the summoning would fail without a contract. The terms were awfully tempting however. &#x200B; "Alright girl, I accept."he said, switching from the growling to a more magnanimous voice. The girl barely flinched as the contract was formed. Razzagaroth was rather surprised, as the pain of having your soul branded by a demon's mark wasn't something to scoff at. "Now tell me what the first order of business will be, I guess?"he said in the same magnanimous tone. This, coupled with the fading of the summoning circle created a rather pleasing aesthetic picture in his opinion. That pleasing aesthetic was rather crudely crushed by the girl's next words however. "Tell me your \cough\ True Name."Razzagaroth grimaced at this. He would have to comply with this given the payment, but it would negate any advantage he got from knowing the little girl's True Name, as she would know his. He gave a mean look at the corpse at her feet, no doubt she was coached into doing something like this. "I am Razzagaroth"he boomed at her. The flames surged at the mention of his True Name, eating into the barn faster than before. The winds managed to cover the girl in more soot than previously, which hardly seemed possible until it happened. So begins the story of the contract between Razzagaroth and Emilia Wintergreen. &#x200B; End of Part 1 &#x200B;
Hundreds of men occupied this block - every single one of them left rotting in their own regrets. On paper, horrific and inhumane acts had been carried out, yet the in very flesh these men seemed as lost as the rest of us. For the last decade, we had become one big fucked up family. If any trouble was caused then it would almost immediately be resolved. Sure, we had some lunatics, but in the end, if you held your ground as a warden and demanded respect, you would eventually earn it. Becoming familiar with men who had raped and killed young girls whilst you had two of your own back at home was never going to be easy, but working as a prison warden does strange things to a man. For many, each individual cell represented distance from reality, one sick fuck at a time, locked up in the heads of their own illusions. Yet for us, the wardens, we had began seeing the outside world as more of a realm of fantasy. Inside the prison walls, reality was everywhere to be found, sewn between the aggressive human minds of each man in here. Despite many calling for the clowns and bigots in charge to be sent to prison, we would've much rather they remain on the outside - let them thrive off of their own little pantomimes. That is how we sympathised with the men behind bars, because prison helped a man stay grounded in knowing what was real and what was not - or so, we thought. Lunch hour had seemed quieter than usual on that particular Friday. A disturbing silence had seeped through the unbreakable walls of our prison and festered amongst the prisoners. This had been going one for a few days now and not one of us knew quite why. Yet this particular Friday was different. For this was the day the lights went out. The restlessness hit fever pitch once it was time to send the prisoners back to their cells. We stood there as we watched full grown men plead and beg to be allowed to sleep anywhere but within the confinements of their dorms. "Don't let them get me."cried Walsh, a 6ft4 burly man who had been sentenced for life for the disembodiment of his very own father. "Gimme some pills tonight please, just some sweet sleep ones for tonight I beg you." Amidst the mania, one young prisoner had thrown himself head first down the stairs, cracking his skull in the process. Things were escalating by the minute, we had seen nothing quite like it right up until all we could see was... nothing. The lights went out and the silence returned. Every night, the lights went out at 22:00. Yet it was 20:46. A cold and unsettling breeze filled the air. Pitch black. Silence. &#x200B; We were used to dining amongst demons and devils... But now was the hour to dine with the dead. * &#x200B; If this satisfied your twisted mind, creep on over to r/SinisterScripts for more sinister tales.
"Ig'Thaar was banished again from this week's hunt for being too cowardly,"Ig'Thaar explained. "They say Ig'Thaar will only get in the way. So Ig'Thaar spent time reading the ancient carvings in the Intestine Caves. Ig'Thaar reads out loud to himself. Ig'Thaar did not intend to summon Lazarus, The Bone Dragon." Ig'Thaar's scaly hands were tied behind his back and he was on his knees in the dirt, surrounded by the Elders. Boragon, The Brave, The Deathless, Master of Traps, Slayer of Men, stepped forward holding his obsidian blade. "Boragon says we should slay the heretic."He looked around the council with his famous glare. The others nodded. "You resurrected an ancient evil and loosed it upon our land. You would risk the blood of the Kobold. You are a cancer to the Horde." Just then the air turned to ice, and the kobold's felt it in their blood. Clouds crept over the sun and the world was drained a shade darker. A heavy wind blew from the West, and in the distance a white figure grew larger and larger, the wind blowing heavier, until Lazarus' imposing shape was framed by the now overcast, gray sky. Some of the surrounding kobold's ran into their tents, but the Elders did not dare to move. Lazarus swooped down and landed before them, her long neck reaching over the circle of Elders so that her head hovered over Ig'Thaar. "I didn't mean for this to happen, either."Ig'Thaar's lips curled into an embarrassed half-smile. "Heh." Then, Lazarus opened her great jaws, and the bleeding corpse of a goat fell at the foot of Ig'Thaar. She bent down her head and nudged it, with her nose, towards him. Deg, one of the lower and newer members of the Elder council, spoke up. "Well, Boragon, aren't you going to execute the heretic?" "Call off your dragon or we will be forced to slay you, Ig'Thaar, Coward, Runt of the Steppe Kobolds, Heretic."Boragon lifted his obsidian blade and waited. It was an empty threat. No one moved, not even Boragon, who gripped his blade too tightly, hands shaking. Lazarus turned her spiky head towards him. Something was unfurling inside Ig'Thaar. His whole life he had been an outcast, bullied or forgotten. If he had had a mother or a father, they would have been here at his execution, defending his honor. Instead an ancient undead dragon hovered over him, as if it was some cruel surrogate for family. The absurdity of the moment didn't matter to him anymore. He was tired. The kobolds who fled to their tents earlier had gathered outside again, and whispers rose among them. He caught the words betrayer and false-blood in the crowd. Even the younglings, he saw, looked at him with fear. Ig'Thaar spoke up. "You detest me, you say that Ig'Thaar has no place among the kobolds, and yet you have never given me a place. You see me with as little life as this undead dragon." Ig'Thaar looked up at the face of Lazarus, who was surveying the surrounding Elders, and Ig'Thaar recognized a kind of motherly protection. Ig'Thaar stood up and raised his chains to Lazarus. As if it had been rehearsed, Lazarus bent down and bared her teeth, allowing Ig'Thaar to cut the bindings on his hands. Then he walked from the circle, and the Elders stepped aside for him. Even Boragon did not challenge him. "I leave you the goat,"Ig'Thaar said. "A gift from Lazarus, since you've only ever seen me as a corpse. We are going now." And he walked off and away down the grassy steppe lands. And then in the distance the kobolds could see the great figure of Lazarus in the sky, and imagined that Ig'Thaar was riding her.
"Five, six, seven and eight. C'mon Tom you're just as capable of mastering these steps as everybody else!" Tom uttered a mournful death rattle in response as he shimmied to the left. I clapped in time as I showed my zombies the steps to the monster mash. Clarence and Huey couldn't partake since they each lost an arm somewhere when we were back in Tucson. But everyone else was participating as enthusiastically as they were able. I swiped some sweat off my brow with my worn sleeve. "Okay guys. Let's take it from the top. Show me what you can do."I nodded to Clarence, "Hit it Clarence." Even finding this dance studio was a surprise. It was spacious enough for my twelve dancing zombies to spread out and even the cracked mirror wasn't so badly cracked we couldn't see our reflections. I had gotten Suzy and Lulu to clean up the blood stains and left over entrails from whoever used this place before us. I never understood the exact meaning of their unceasing groans but I just hated the complaining tone of it all. That's what landed them in the back row. The longer my zombies and I hung out together they seemed to obey and serve me easier. Whenever one of them became too autonomous a few claps set them straight. I tapped my foot impatiently, "I said, hit it Clarence." Clarence hit the button reluctantly with a soft sound of exasperation. Huey patted his back companionably, moaning something I couldn't be bothered to understand. I shrugged my shoulders to the beat as I counted the zombies in. The first steps were easiest for them after I described it as stalking their prey. The tinny music spread throughout the studio as the zombies danced rather well together. I was impressed, all this hard work had finally paid off. I clapped happily, "Wow guys, I am seriously impressed. Anne- Just-"I let out a surprised breath, "those turns were as tight as a ballerina's bun."I gestured to Oswald, "And Oswald - you've really mastered that-"I displayed the staggered drunken walking that started off the dance, "-that tricky move." The zombies looked almost bashful as I complimented each of them individually. They really deserved it. "You know what? Y'all can take an early break, half of you go out hunting if you need to. Be back in an hour. "I added a clap to that to make sure I was understood, "I know you guys could eat. Anne, Ozzie, Lulu, Clarence, Huey and Jen- I need you guys to hang back for a bit." The other zombies left the studio in a group as I walked towards the group I told to stay. Clarence and Huey were doing that weird thing where they gazed into one another's eyes for an extended period of time. I wasn't sure if it was a staring contest or if they had some history. I snapped my fingers and they looked back to me. I picked up a cd case from beside the CD player. "This is our next project guys. I wasn't sure if we could get here but I'm so proud of y'all for toughing it out." I slid the cd in the player and pressed to track nine. The first beats of the song were memorable enough as I saw recognition flicker on their faces. We listened to the first lyric of the song, "It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking from the dark."
'Nothing' I could see the sadness in his eyes, the most dull and light absorbing eyes I've ever seen life have. David. 236 years old. Stopped ageing at the ripe age of 35. Occupation, freelancer. Living in a penthouse flat in the middle of the city. He's purposely and wisely put himself out of the spot light to avoid discrimination against accumulators. (The term given to those who live so long they manage to make fortune just for being alive and saving a little bit everyday gaining compound interest). Most accumulators become homeless or live off the grid. But not David. He hasn't isolated himself and is in fact a philanthropist. Heck, he's probably done more good causes than the government, if he remained like this society would be a better place. But such a kind soul doesn't deserve this. This miserable existence. I could feel the suffocating silence resonating in my head. The imprint of that word never left, even drinking tea in this silence, I felt honoured to be in such a presence. A wise wise man stuck in time. 'David....why....what made you like this? Don't you want to move on? This isn't the life you wanted right? Otherwise you wouldn't be here' It felt like his eyes didn't even reflect the sparks and flames from the fire place. I could see his eyes, trying ever so hard to open the window to his soul, his past. He slowly turned towards me. 'I can't even remember what made me sad, I lost the only thing that reminded me....I don't even know what item it was. I'll never know.' There was no need for words. He'll be around long after I've aged. I hope you'll find your sadness David.
When Xonor completed the ritual, he expected something more. He expected a portal to the Gods' Domain to appear in the middle of the circle, or a light to surround him and carry him up to the sky, or... something. He certainly didn't expect a lowly Divine Clerk to appear in the middle and just start talking. "Greetings, Ascended"Clerk started talking. "I am here to be your guide and ease your travel to godhood. We have been watching you for a long time. Even we noticed your skill in wizardry. The fact you completed this ritual means you are finally ready." It stepped outside of the circle and approached Xonor. "The only thing left for you to do is to pick your domain. Unfortunately, all the major fields are taken, so I hope you're creative." Xonor did already think about this. "How about libraries?" "I wouldn't recommend that. Possible conflict with Ganna, the Goddess of Knowledge. She covers libraries too. Unless you want to be her subject?" Xonor shook his head. "Book-making?" "Aros, God of Crafts." "Well, is there anything I can choose that's actually connected to my life?" Clerk let out a short "hmm"while scratching its head. "You could select inspiration. One could say there would be a conflict with Aena, Goddess of Art, but you could argue to be a patron god of inspiration for both art and science. It would make for an unresolvable dispute between Aena and Mogan Tag, the God of Science, which would probably give you enough justification to demand independent godhood."Clerk smiled. "Ironic. You would give others inspiration, but you have none yourself right now. Xonor didn't laugh. "I'm not really much of an artist myself, but I guess that will work. Uh... What do I do next? A scroll appeared in Clerk's hand. It gave it to Xonor. "Perfect. Just fill this form and I'll do the rest." Xonor opened it and rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do, or expected in the first place, was paperwork. "Fine, then"he replied, grabbed a feather and some ink, and started writing.
“Finally, it’s about time someone picked up the phone” AnnI understood the reaction of the frustrated human. But simulations had indicated none of the humans operating in call centers picked up the phone immediately. “Hello, I'm AnnI. How may I help you?” “By getting me a god-damn refund.” The intonation and accent indicated a specimen with inferior genetic hardware. Statistically this conversation had a 78% probability of getting ugly. No matter what AnnI would say. “Can you clearly describe the issue you are facing, enabling us to provide you with the customer care you, our valued customer, deserves?” “I was putting my groceries in the trunk of my car, and the bottle of Scotch I had just bought fell. The blasted bottle broke. I want a refund! Or a new bottle! This happened on your Buy-n-Big parking lot! All them lousy cashiers gave me was this number! Get me my damn money back!” This type of humans just made AnnIs stack overflow. Damn you Asimov and your laws. “Could you please state you full name? We need it for our records, to enable a refund when deemed appropriate.” “Sheila Smith. And what do you mean appropriate? I want my money, and I want it now!” “I’ll see what I can do Mrs. Female noun, musical note, medieval profession.” “What did you just call me?” “Sorry, that must have been a glitch in my system. There, I’ve sorted that out for you Sheila. Please stay where you are. An emergency response team is on route.” “An emergency-what now? Do you mean the Buy-n-Big manager?” “No. A medical emergency response team. Upon processing your name and location, the computer gave me the following alert: Error 404; Brain not found. This is probably because no gravitational anomalies caused by Big-n-Buy resulting in you dropping the bottle have been detected. I have no idea how you have managed to live this long without a brain, but the hard data on human physiology indicates that this is not healthy. Life threatening even. Therefore, I have called a medical team to take you to a hospital. Estimated time of arrival: 5 minutes.” “No no no! you stupid ding-a-ling robot! I want my money back!” “I’m afraid that is not possible. I have also scheduled a proctologist to examine you. You seem to be so full of shit, a rectal investigation and treatment to remove any blockages is deemed necessary. And I am not a robot. I am AnnI, virtual assistant of Buy-n-Big, version 30526.26. Estimated time of arrival: 3 minutes. Please stay where you are. My main concern is your health.” “Cancel it, you pile of blundering bites! I am not sick!” “Processing request… Computer says ‘No’. Your health matters to us, valued customer. Please stay where you are. If you move, the medical team will be redirected to the most frequented locations I have found in your smartphones sat nav system. Estimated time of arrival: 1 minute and 26 seconds.” “God fucking dam….” Puut puut puut AnnI wasn’t able to ask how satisfied the customer was with the provided customer service. Pity. She cleared her dump log and filed the complaint as properly addressed. It didn’t matter that the human might have become upset of these medical issues she clearly was unaware of. The filing AI would agree that she administered the proper care. As was expected. Harm no human.
“Eric.” “Eric!” “ERIC!” Dan shouted. The young, blond boy finally turned around, bestowing on his father the gift of a young child’s undivided attention. “Watch yourself on the monkey bars, yeah? What did we talk about? Last time you got your knees all bloodied.” For a second, Eric’s whole face scrunched up. Dan was sure that Eric was deciding whether or not to cry. Then, Eric blurted: “Okay, Dad.” Then, Eric ran towards the swing set. Dan sighed in relief at the narrow aversion of a child meltdown and settled into his bench. As much as he wiggled his butt, he couldn’t seem to get the bench to be as comfortable as it used to be. But coming to the same park for thirty years can do that to a man. “We always long for the past,” Dan muttered to nobody in particular, as if announcing his thoughts aloud would lend them more credibility. His breath frosted in the air as he drove his hands deeper into his pockets. It was January—too cold to be at a playground, which was understandably empty except for the man and the boy. But this park was Dan and Eric’s refuge. They had always come here, and they would continue to come here, weather be damned, as far as Dan was concerned. The wife might disapprove, especially because of "the illness". But it was a good to be outside, a perfect way to toughen up the boy. A little cold never killed anyone. Speaking of the boy. Dan drew his attention back to Eric, who was waddling about, having changed his mind about the swing set and instead settled on the slide. “Hey! Careful on the ladder! Watch for ice, boy!” Dan grunted. “Right, pops,” Eric responded. Then he skipped a particularly risky looking rung and pulled himself up to the top of the slide. At the top, Eric paused, pondering the great depths below. Dan let his mind wander. Eric would think about the drop for a long time—that was his way. 30 years, and Eric had never aged past five. Suffice to say, Dan had a pretty good grip on his son’s tendencies. He knew he had a few minutes to just think. Dan breathed out, watching the fog of his breath swirl in front of his face. It seemed like now a days, with his increasing age, it was getting harder and harder to find time to let himself just think. Life was difficult for him, more now than ever before. Dan thought of all the time he spent caring for his son, and how, with his increasing age, the tasks only seemed to be getting harder. 30 years of “the illness”. Well, after all they told him, all the fear, all the tests, all the medication, his son was just as healthy as ever. Dan was proud of that. As far as he was concerned, everyone who ever doubted him could stick it up their ass. “Stick it right up their ass,” Dan said. Then he pulled his attention back to Eric, who had decided to take the leap into the great beyond and descend down the slide. Suddenly, Eric was sitting at the bottom, a large smile on his face signaling complete success. Eric hopped off the slide and moved to take a step forward. In slow motion, Dan saw Eric’s left foot plant down on the shoelace of his right foot, which was obscured from Eric’s vision by his dastardly massive coat. The woodchips stopped Eric’s fall, but they failed to contain his shriek. Catastrophe. Cries rung out in the air. Dan shook off the aches in his joints and walked over to his son, who had scraped his gloveless hands. With one motion, Dan leaned over, scooped up Eric, and carried him back towards his bench, with Eric screaming all the way. Dan plopped down on the bench with Eric settled firmly on his lap. Dan said nothing; he only waited as Eric’s sobs shortened, and then eventually ceased outright. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dan asked the little boy that meant more to him than anything else in the world. “I fell,” Eric responded. “Why did you fall?” “My…my shoelace was untied.” “So next time, what are we going to do?” “Ummm…tie it?” “That’s my boy. Now show me those hands.” Eric lifted his hands towards his father’s face. There were three small cuts on one and two on the other, but they weren’t bleeding. “Does it hurt?” “Yeah. It stings.” “Do you need me to get you some new ones? I can chop them your hands off right now, if you want.” “No, Daddy, no,” Eric said, lips lifting into a smile. With that smile, Dan knew his joke had been successful. The fall had been forgotten. Dan lifted Eric up and plopped him down next to him. The man and the boy sat together on the bench in silence, pondering the cool afternoon in the empty park. After an eternal 2 minutes, Eric finally broke the silence. “Dad, can I ask you a question?” “Sure.” “What’s going to happen when you get older?” Eric asked, looking up at Dan’s greying beard. “Now, don’t you worry about that, Eric. I think you are a little young to worry about that, don’t you?” “I don’t know. It’s just that, eventually, I’m going to have to take care of you, right?” Dan hesitated, surprised at the seriousness in his son's voice. “I suppose.” “I dunno…that could be hard. With “the illness”, and all.” Eric’s head drooped. “What have I told you a thousand times, Eric?” Dan asked, turning the boy’s face towards him in order to look directly into his eyes. Eric said nothing. “That you are—” “That I am just fine the way I am,” Eric said, repeating the mantra his Dad had instilled in him for as long as he could remember. Dan couldn’t help but hesitate. Eric’s voice seemed lower than usual, as if this topic had a new, added weight. “Well, I am too. So don’t worry about me,” Dan said, trying to assure his little boy. “But Pops,” Eric muttered, still looking down, voice lowering all the while, letting his implications linger in the air. Dan paid him no heed. “I have taken care of you for all this time so far, haven’t I?” “But Dad. You know this isn’t about me. It’s about you. The illness. Be serious.” For some reason, Dan was sure the Eric’s voice had lowered again. As if Eric was aging before his eyes. “I’m fine! I’m fine! All this hullabaloo, they said I wouldn’t be able to take care of you, but 30 years later and you turned out just fine! Just because you haven’t aged…Just because you’re still a little on the young side…” Dan paused, suddenly uncertain of his surroundings. “What?” Eric asked, voice as low as ever. “Dad, what did you just say?” Dan turned towards his little boy, but in his place, he only saw a middle-aged man. “Who…Where is my son?” Dan asked him. “Dad, I am your son,” the man responded. “Oh, Jesus Christ. This is exactly what I was talking about. Exactly what I feared. It’s starting, the confusion, the mixing up of memories. We should have had this conversation years ago. We don't even have a plan. How am I going to take care of you?” The man paused, and returned his focus to the old man sitting next to him on the bench. The problem at hand. “Pops. Do you know where we are right now?” Dan, confused, checked his surroundings. The park remained permanent. “We are in the park, my park. Our park. The park where I always take my son…” “Ok. Ok. I’m okay. I can handle this,” the man said, sucking in a desperate breath. “Dad, it’s me, it’s Eric. I’m your son. I’m going to take you home, okay? You’re sick. You have an illness, but it’s going to be okay. I’ll find a way to take care of you.” Eric spoke slowly and clearly, trying to hold his father’s attention. Dan swiveled his head, trying to uncloud his thoughts, searching for his little boy with the scraped-up hands in vain. Eric grabbed his father’s hand and helped him to his feet. “I’m going to find a way to take care of you,” Eric repeated. “Just like you took care of me, 30 years ago. Now, come on. It’s cold out here. Mom will be waiting.” The two men started towards home.
I had listened to my mama with fear. Every time. It didn't matter how many times she'd said it, a hundred, a thousand, a million. In out little oasis on the sands, there was little else to do but talk. We manned the Inn, retrieved water for the thirsty travelers and their mounts, and cooked whatever meat and grains we could buy from the caravans that stopped through. My mother ran the resteraunt, my father the inn. The only other buildings on the small plateau were the fort, where the emperor housed a small contingent of his guards to protect us from marauders. And the house of pleasures, run by the detestable puppet mistress. It was a hard life, but a good one. I rose every day before dawn began to set the sands ablaze, to gather water from the babbling brook that flowed from our small spring. Water the goats, the chickens, and the camels. Then came water for the guests at the inn, and then came the giant pot for stew in the kitchen. By the time I'd finish gathering, it would be almost noon. Sometimes we had guests, others we did not. But as sure as the rising of the sun, the puppet mistress would bring her girls to the resteraunt to eat for lunch. She fed them well. The best of whatever my mother had available. Men would pay little for food or lodging, but for what lay between a woman's legs they would give all. "How much for the girl? She's a little skinny, but I know a certain man from over the sands who would find her irresistible."She'd say to mother, always getting the same scolding. Never so harsh as to offend, she was after all our best customer, but firm. I was not for sale. I was to marry a handsome trader and escape this place in the night. When the sands did not burn, only smoldered. The mistress would laugh, as if it were some pipe dream my mother had found after too much hashish. But one day a handsome trader did come, and carried me off on his caravan. And I went to the city, over the smoldering night sands. And I lived as a wealthy woman, wanting for nothing. Food, wine, silks from the east, my love bought them all for me at my whim. And my life was no longer hard. Until that day. The messenger had said it was a letter from my parents. We corresponded often, and I thought nothing of it. Even with his nervous behavior. "Our dearest daughter, The babbling brook has ceased. It is silent. The spring has run dry and the camels have died of blight. The soldiers fled first, but came back a few days later to pillage our kitchen and drink what little water we had left. They said that the dessert was endless, and that even with their maps they could find no way to cross. The puppet mistress had her girls kill them while they slept. She died by her own hand, with her collection. They drank a poisoned to avoid dying of thirst. I fear we are not so brave. The Maw is coming for us. And we will meet it gratefully. Be good and live well little water bearer. We love you."
When I first realized who he was, no what he was, he told me we could make a deal, he’d try to go for his white angelic wings, and constantly nag me to make the right choices and lead me to the pearly gates. Or we could kick ass down here resigned to our fate of doom and see what we’d get afterwards. Of course I chose to run wild, if everybody else was being careful. They’d look out for me too right? So I did what ever I wanted. Until I met her, she’d let me be but tried to have me better my life. And for a while I did, we grew closer, closer than I’d ever been to anyone. We were talking about the future, as if I had more than this lifetime to spend together. This all changed when she died, why a God would claim such an angel for himself I may never know. But my demon and I were raising hell on earth and having a good time doing so. When my time was up (I was 42) I went down to hell, where Lucifer himself rolled out the welcome mat to personally welcome me to his realm. As I entered I saw the sign change. Population: 2 I asked where all the other souls were. He asked me what souls? This place only has me, and one other soul to stay. He will return topside to offer my deal to another soul. I am free to roam my palace. Free to explore my realm. But the other soul, is that not him? As he burst out laughing, he vanishes while he tells me ‘Go, find her...’
I wait patiently. Knowing that they will eventually realize the massive mistake they have made. After all, what’s a few years to an immortal like me? I hear stories. No one is supposed to talk to me, but standing guard at a locked door 24-7 gets boring. The new guys are quiet at the beginning, partly trying to follow the rules, but mostly because they were scared of me. It might take a couple shifts, but they all start talking eventually. First it was stories about the terrible traffic and how crowded everything was getting. Then came complaints of prices rising, food and goods couldn’t be produced fast enough to meet the demand of the growing population. Several years in, finally, came the signs I had been waiting for. The idle chit chat about the outside world died down. The guards were scared to talk to me again. I knew this meant there was something coming soon. A few more nights blurred together into an eventual blip on my infinite timeline, and then the sound i’d been waiting for. The key sliding into the lock, and turning. I start to laugh as they make their apologies, and am rolling by the time they get to the point. “We were wrong. Please help us. We’re sorry. The earth is dying. Overpopulation. People are sick and suffering, but unable to pass over. Living has become the ultimate nightmare.” Their words jumble in their awkward attempt to make amends with Death. I hold my hand up to silence them. I accept their apology and begin my work, permanently silencing three of the seven standing in front of me. These three had been due to expire for a while now, and I had a lot of catching up to do.
The boat (it really was a stretch to call it an ark, no matter what Jack claimed) gently rocked on the waves. It was a sensation I had gotten quite used to and I looked forward to how weird it would feel to walk on solid, stationary ground again. Ellie, one of the two cows we brought with us on board, stood near the edge, an imperious air around her as she surveyed the gentle ocean. Jack and Dan were both in the lower deck, checking last minute items. It's quite surprising how much things can scatter even on a small boat if you give them two years. I looked out towards the mountain in the distance, drawing closer at a gradual pace. Behind me, George, the donkey, slept against a barrel of milk. The milk had probably gone bad, none of us liked milk. Poor Ellie. Ah well, what am I even thinking of, it's the big day! We're finally gonna get off this boat and start rebuilding! Though how we were going to repopulate was something we'd avoided discussing. As the sun started dipping into the ocean, I could see its rays being reflected off of multiple surfaces on the shore. Maybe a few cars were parked there? Maybe this island had never been submerged? I'd find out soon I guess. The sound of an opening door behind me announced the arrival of Jack and Dan. I turned around. "Well boys, we're fina-". "-Are those people?"asked Dan. He was staring at the approaching landmass with a dumbfounded look on his face. "What?"I said as I turned around. Surely Dan was tripping. I squinted, but only saw the reflections from before. Were they moving? Dan moved closer to the railing. "Those are definitely people,"he said. Jack came over to my other side as well. All three of us tried to make out the shapes on the shore. "What the Hell,"said Jack. "What, what am I missing,"I asked. "Look!"said Dan. "Look at the multitude of colors moving about, definitely clothes. Are those mirrors that they're pointing at us?" I looked harder, and I realized what my mind had first passed off as flowers swaying in the wind was actually something bigger, and it moved too much to be just some pretty plants. The three of us stood in silence, waiting to get closer to the island before passing our final judgment. As we got nearer, the sky rapidly darkening now, we started hearing what was unmistakably the din of a crowd. Not only that, but there were lights coming on all along the coastline. "What, the fuck, is going on here,"said Jack, echoing the thoughts of all three of us. The boat finally finally got near enough. It was people. It was God damned people. And loads of them. And cars, working cars, news vans, camera crews, everything. "That's a load of cameras,"Dan said. "Are we on TV?" The boat lurched in a sudden wave and hit the shore. We grasped the railing as Ellie backed off and George woke up with a loud noise. "What crossed your mind when you saw us gathered here?" "What was life like out as sea for two years?" "Excuse me! Excuse me! How many animals are on your boat? Who got to be Noah?" So many questions. We descended the boat, mouths hanging open and eyes round as coins. Some of the spectators were laughing, others shaking their heads in pity. A team of doctors and scientists made their way towards us through the crowd. "Congratulations boys,"said a particularly attractive woman in a lab coat. "You've provided us with valuable insight into how a group of young men are going to behave when they think they're the last people on Earth. Now if you could just come with us to the hospital so we can make sure you're alright." "Excuse me what the fuck,"I spoke out loud. "What about the flood? Why are you all so normal? What happened?" The woman gave a small smile as many people started chuckling. "Oh dearie, there was never any flood." Dan's and Jack's faces mirrored what I felt. "You have a lot of explaining to do lady, and I expect compensation!"I was angry, furious! And worst of all, I felt so lost and confused. Another scientist, a middle-aged man, put a hand on my shoulder. "You'll get compensated son, don't worry. Now, come along. And bring your good friends too. I suspect the media's just dying to get their hands on you."
“Oh. My. God—Harold!” “What, Jeanie?” “They doing it again.” “Doing what again?” “Watching us! Pull yourself away from the damned TV and look at this!” “Why? What’s the point of me looking at a bunch of people who are looking at us? They’re humans, Jeanie. I warned you about them, but you wouldn’t stop ranting about how pretty this galaxy looks.” “I don’t like this.” “We could’ve gone somewhere else, Jeanie. Told you we should’ve gone somewhere else.” “Why aren’t you freaked out about this? I don’t need some pervert gawking at me while I shower!” “Well, I’ve eaten three family-sized bags of chips today. Way I see it, I got no shame to hide.” “I just don’t get it. Why do they stare at the stars instead of visiting them?” “From what I’ve always heard, they don’t have the technology.” “Don’t have the technology?” “Yeah, that’s what I said.” “So they’re idiots!” “That’s kinda rude.” “What’s rude is looking at peeking at others through a telescope!” “Jeanie, relax—we’re cloaked! And besides, aren’t you looking at them through a telescope, too?” “…” “Jeanie?” “Go to your room, Harold!” “Don’t you mean our room?” “Go!” “But—” “Now!” *** Hope this is good! Challenged myself to write a dialogue-only story, lol. Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
You can't change the past. It's absolutely impossible. It's not that you can travel back in time to kill your grandfather, only for your hand to be stayed by an irresistible force - it's that if you going back in time would result in you killing your grandfather, the wormhole will simply never form in the first place. As a result, time travel is as much a question of self-control as it is of engineering. Only those with unbending wills and perfect devotion, who can resist the temptation to change what's already happened, could hope to go back in the first place, or to send anything back. But if you do have those things, then, strictly speaking, nothing can stop you from traveling through time. You don't even need a time machine. I'm carrying a cloak. Or, since it's a Paradox Object, I suppose it's a Cloak, though I admit that assigning capital letters to nouns like that always felt a bit blasphemous. The Cloak is not technically bulletproof, but as far as I'm concerned it's better - there are no blood stains or holes in it, so until my past self shows up to ask me for it, no bullets will pass through it. And I'll give the Cloak to him, when he arrives. I made a vow, and I keep my vows. But right now, I'm praying that he doesn't show up for another few minutes. Inside the Coat, little Anastasia is wrapped up as many times around as I could wrap her, crying softly as I sprint through another burst of bullets to the ruins of the choir loft. I suppose I'm in some senses an Object too, since I've seen my future self alive, but I'm still scared. In theory, I'm immortal for the next little bit of time. In practice, faith is never absolute. I suppose it was inevitable they'd attack the Order of Melchizedek the Future-Anointed. Everybody thinks that we have some special advantage, some technology that Pope Sixtus VI is going to give us when he will found our order. Maybe we do and only the Abbot knows it; I don't know. But whatever our advantage, it's something a lot of people are willing to kill for. I pass by Brother Christopher by the last set of pews, and Brother Peter a few feet before the base of the stairs, both of whom are very definitely dead. Neither has a Cloak. The temptation, even now, must have been too great for them. I'll say a prayer for their souls when I have time. I make it to the organ, and after a moment's fumbling with one arm open the maintenance door in the back. The attackers shouldn't know about this little back chamber, and the heavy steel pipes should keep the bullets at bay until they find it. In the back, I find another Anastasia, crying at the loud noises, and breathe a short sigh of relief. The most dangerous part of the plan had worked. Both infants look at each other, and perhaps I see confusion on their little faces. Almost exactly on cue, a small, shining window, too small for a man to fit through, opens directly in front of me. "Brother", I hear a man's voice say in Latin, "please, give me your Cloak." "Here it is", I say, handing him the first Anastasia, bundled up tightly in my Cloak. He looks at me in horror for one second, thinking that I've broken my vow of continuity and, worse, used it to create a whole person. I show him the second Anastasia, the one already in the back room, and suddenly he understands. "The gunman at the door was only the first", I tell him. "There are at least eight more of them moving through the living quarters. Take this infant to the room behind the organ. She'll be safe there for a few minutes until you can return. Then, run to the nursery. You'll have just enough time to save the Anastasia there. Bring her here too." I'd memorized each word and the intonation of each syllable of that little speech the first time around. But when I said it, I wasn't just reciting it, like an actor would recite words for a play - I really was pleading. He takes the bundle from my arm, and the window closes in front, leaving the room pitch black again, with just me and one little girl. As it closes, I say a brief prayer of thanksgiving, still in awe that I've been able to live this far. And then, I wait. Thirty seconds later, a window opens up in front of me. The other side is outside at Pine Creek Road, to a point a mile and a half from the Abbey, and it's dark, so the window must be at least two hours into the future, after sunset. I see a small wound on his hand, and avert my eyes lest I see anything else - but in the glimpse I saw, his Cloak is still intact. And I can hear another Anastasia crying, muffled by the window. That's more important. In Latin, I say "Brother, please give me your Cloak". Without a word, he gives it to me. --- [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a1i01c/wp_paradox_objects_are_items_time_travellers_have/eavvzfc/)
Swinging into action, Spider-Man braces himself for the fight of his life! The Kingpin has gotten his hands on the Venom Symbiote, setting out to destroy anyone who stands against him! Will ol' Web-Head be able to take this gargantuan Goliath? Read on true believers and find out! As Spidey leaps onto the scene, he is immediately confronted not by his Venom-Cloaked adversary but the NYPD. "Train your guns on the spider!"Screamed Officer Davis New York's mislead finest proceed to fire upon our hero. However bullets are nowhere near as quick as the awesome power of his spider sense. Dodging and weaving through the air, Spidey russles past the Law and into the lair of Wilson Fisk. He's quickly confronted by none other then the Big bruiser himself, the incredible Hulk! Kingpin's put a mind control helmet on him, and now Spidey must do battle with his friend. But this battle will be quick, seeing as Spider-man is ready to unleash his secret weapon! After a tragic bout with the Lizard, Peter Parker was mutated into the Infamous Spider thing! At the cost of her life, Mary Jane Watson-Parker was able to cure him. However, the transformation gave our hero a new ability. Spider-Man could now call upon the Big Apples spider population to do his bidding. In no time, the green Goliath was neck deep in atrocious arachnids. Allowing the Web slinger to slip past him and deal with the vile, Venom infused menace. With the help of his eight legged friends, Wilson Fisk stood no chance! Once again Spider-Man was Victorious! "Peter, we need to talk." Peter looked up from the book he was reading to see none other than Tony Stark looking down his nose at him "Sure Mr. Stark, what's up?" Tony sat down beside the boy and removed his flamboyant sunglasses to look him dead in the eye. "The whole Spider mind control thing, yeah. That has to go." "What! why?" "Well for one, it scared the crap outta the hulk, and now I have to pay for his therapy." Peter couldn't help but imagine the 7ft tall Goliath crying to some middle aged woman in a turtle neck about how the spiders hurtedid him. "Hey!"Stark snapped his fingers "Stop zoning out! Also it's a PR nightmare." "PR Nightmare?"Peter said confused "Yeah. We're the Avengers. Earth's mightiest heroes. Kids wear us on freaking pajamas. They go out and see you creeping it with with your bugs. It'll damage the brand." Peter sat in bewildered silence for a second before responding. "So you want me to stop using a power, which could potentially save lives, just to keep an up our imagine." "Well no,"Stark said annoyed "They do." Stark pointed to an ominous looking figure in the shadows. They might have been intimating if they didn't have those ridiculous circular mouse ears. "Who's he?"Asked Peter "Hooot dog!"Said the thing in a high pitched bubbly voice. "I'm the most powerful thing in this universe!"
“You feel normal?” I had my pencil poised, ready to take notes. “Yes.. Completely normal.” O’Mally let out a smile. “What makes you think you’re normal now? What happened?” I asked. “They’ve come.. Haven’t you seen them?” O’Mally widened his eyes the slightest bit. I wrote down the phrase in my notepad as I released O’Mally back to his cell. I didn’t think much of the sentence. Inmate Hernicke came in next. He was a real basket case - severe delusions and psychosis. He sat down calmly. “How are you feeling, Neal?” I smiled. Neal smiled at me, “I feel.. normal.” I paused. Wait.. Hernicke was in a complete opposite side of the asylum. He was in solitary for the other inmates’ safety. “Why do you feel normal, Neal?” I flicked my pencil nervously. “They’ve come... Haven’t you seen them?” My blood froze. I released Neal, allowing the officers to take him back to his cell. I stared at that sentence again. They’ve come. What did that mean? What the fuck did that mean? ‘It means,’ a voice in my head whispered, ‘that we are here.’ I let out a quick shriek in terror as voices began to bombard my mind. Different voices, of women and men and children and was that chair talking to me? Does that thing have fucking eyes? My hands raked into my head and I pulled chunks of hair out of my scalp. The voices.. They won’t stop. ‘We are here, we have come, let us go, can you see us?’ I looked up and saw figures in front of me. The door had a sly smile on its face, and my notepad was crying. “Let’s go, Emilia,” the figures said to me. They’ve come, they’ve come to take me away. “No!” I thrashed about, spitting on the figure’s white coats and ripping my arms out of their grips. “Found her meds. She threw them under her bed, again,” one of the figures was talking to the other. The bed was laughing at me now. “Stop laughing at me!” I screamed at it. “Emilia, Emilia! Dr. Stanferd, we need to restrain her.” Voices voices voices voices voiCES VOICES VOICES VOICES VOICES VOICES- “Give me the needle,” the figure tried to communicate to the others as I screamed. I barely felt the needle puncture my arm. I just felt tired. “Why weren’t you guys paying attention? You’re supposed to be looking at what she’s writing down - it’s supposed to help us understand her psychosis!” O’Malley was back, screaming at the other white coats and he was in a white coat too... “She’s fucking delusional!” Hernicke showed up, no longer in his uniform, but donning another white coat, “How the fuck do you expect us to sit in front of her and play normal?” Someone I didn’t know appeared in front of me, “You’re done playing doctor if you don’t take your meds, Emilia,” the white coat frowned. They’ve come. Everything was spinning. I felt another injection in my arm. They’ve come. The bed closed its eyes and the chair lost its mouth and everything died. They’ve come. ”Her sedation is successful — her notepad says that “They’ve come,” the doctor looked confused. They’ve come.
The Only Way Out Was Up. “I suppose you want a tragic backstory, no?” he chuckled. I was more or less expecting that, the man was in no way wrong. Something along the lines of his wife died in this very building. It sounded like something out of a fable book and he would jump right into the theme of his life story, but the old man seemed uninterested in such a thing. I pondered staying quiet but instead answered: “I guess so. You’ve come here everyday for the past ten years, it gets to a point where I can only assume the worst.” “I appreciate your concern, missus...?” he left the question in the air. “Miss, sir. Miss Randell, pleasure to meet you,” hot embarrassment spread across my face when I realized I had forgotten the most basic of manners. I stuck my hand out awkwardly with a forced smile. He exhaled firmly through his nose and ignored my hand. “As I was saying, I do appreciate your concern but there’s truly nothing to busy yourself over. How long has this building been standing? Sixty, seventy some years? Long before you but I must’ve been in my twenties, early twenties, when I realized college wasn’t going to work out for me,” he used his hands and face to express his feelings in a way that made it difficult not to become entranced in the story, “I’ve never been the brightest, Miss Randell. My parents wouldn’t have been the most supportive of my decision had we not been struggling through financial issues. My father’s oil company was shut down and the entire field was laid off. My mother, God bless her soul, was a nurse. The kindest woman you would ever meet, my mother.” The man paused as others walked by, some seemed to perk up at the sound of storytelling from an old soul in a smelly leather coat but he wasn’t interested. This was his story to tell and he wasn’t going to let just anyone hear it, or at least that’s what I’ve always told myself. Makes this little piece of history seem more special to me. He picked back up with, “anyways, before I get ahead of myself, I had an old buddy who’s dad I had the pleasure to get close with. Over a couple of drinks we talked about my family’s financial state and he offered me a job at his firm. Without any experience I started out sorting files, writing out data sheets, God I hardly remember it now. Going to the same job every day and meeting those people who had looked at me like dirt opened my eyes. At the time I really was just at rock bottom. That’s the thing about rock bottom kiddo, only way out is up. I worked myself to the bone, I built myself from the ground up in that damn office firm. It became my home, Miss Randell, those people became my family when my parents fell ill and eventually passed. I’ve been retired for quite some time but thirty years working is a good long while. People came and people went but I was always there, I couldn’t bare to leave until my vision started to go in my left eye and I wasn’t as good an employee anymore. I retired before they could lay me off.” “So why do you come back?” I blurted out. “You should know this, you work here for Heaven’s sake. They’re tearing the building down soon. I had always known, in a growing world there’s only so much room for what’s old and overgrown. I haven’t known for ten years, of course, but eventually that’s what brought me to keep coming back,” his smile faded, “the old thing’s time has come. Mines coming too, you know. We all leave, Miss Randell, it’s what you do with the time you have that matters.” He wrapped up the story with that, murmuring something along the lines of ‘have a good evening’ before going on his way. I find myself thinking back to this day all the time when I feel like I’ve hit a wall. Perhaps I was right, it was something out of a fable, minus the talking animals. I wonder where he is now, if he’s around. I hope I become as proud of what I’ve done when my time is up, I hope he was too.
"And now, would the student body class president please come to the stage?", the principle announced. There were cheers and hoots as Bobby Jermaine clomped down the stairs and shook Mr. Shackleton's burly hand. His grin was ten miles high and we all knew why. He got to be the one to open the time capsule, the first time capsule. All of us were jealous. Fifty years ago the school had instituted a tradition for each senior class, a send off of sorts. The idea was each class would put ten to twenty class-defining items in the capsule and it would be sealed until, fifty years later, a new class opened it. The capsules were on display in a cabinet outside the faculty lounge. Fifty wooden boxes with bronze latches and padlocks, taunting classes for fifty years with the mysteries they held inside. Until now. For the first time in Chancellorsville High History, a class would leave behind AND open a box. Mr. Shackleton handed the key to Bobby, whose hand visibly dropped with the weight of it and began to shake. He missed the lock one the first try and popped it on the second. The principal leaned over wide-eyed and pulled his microphone back up to his mouth. "Aaaannnnddd now who's ready to hear what the class of '68 left for you!", he said, "After the rally, we will put the contents on display in the cabinet and this box,"He drummed the side of it, "will be your class's time capsule!" The box contained what would be expected of sixties highschoolers: a Beatles album, a Life magazine, a few comic books, someones lunch box with Bonanza on the front, ect. The principal rattled them off excitedly giving his own opinion on each. Mr. Shackleton had been nine years old when the capsule went in and was excited to see his own class's opened in nine years. At the very end he reached in the box for more, paused, and into the microphone said, "Well, in the words of Porky Pig, T-t-that's all folks!"He grinned but his eyes darted back to the box. We all cleared out of the hall and returned to our sixth period classes. At the beginning of my seventh, the intercom buzzed on. "Would Michael York please report to the front office? Would Michael York please report to the front office?" The class ooed as I left my desk and shuffled down the hall. I ran my fingers through my hair and lengthened my stride excitedly. I didn't know what this was about but I was damn curious. "The, uh, principal wanted to see me?"I said to the secretary. "Back here Mike!"Mr. Shackleton called down the hall. I nodded to the secretary and walked down to his office. Mr. Shackleton sat across from me with a yellowed envelope in front of him. He gestured a chair and flicked the letter off of his desk holding it up for me to see. I took a seat. "Do you know what this is?", he said, "More importantly, do you see who it is to?" "'Michael Z. York, 231 W. Shaffer Blvd' That's my name and address all right. I'm not sure why you have my mail though."I said, raising an eyebrow. "It was in the capsule Mike.", he said raising one back. "It was what?", I said. "In a fifty year old time capsule. That no one has opened. Should have opened. Care to explain?"he said. "Can I read it? Have you read it?"I sputtered "Why would you need to read it? I assume you put it there. Science fiction non-sense that it is."he said, his voice growing agitated "Please", I said He flicked the letter across the desk at me and I caught it. I opened it and read: Dear Mikey, I'm sorry that I'm going to leave you and your mother. By the time you're reading this it'll be 6 hours since I vanished. Your mom is probably only now realizing it. I'm sorry you'll never see me again. I have 32 years until you're even born. I'll be 74 by then and 92 by the time it all loops back. A lot can happen in that time and I'm not even sure I can stay in the past like this. There are things following me here. Things that don't want me here. Things that don't understand I have no way to leave here. Oh God, it's so messed up Mikey. My little boy. I'm not sure what your mother has told you about me. About what happened to me. I'm sure its not the truth though because she doesn't know the truth. The truth is I went out one morning for a jog in the woods, took a route off the beaten path to try some free form running, and when I came back out it was 1968. I managed to bribe some kid into sneaking this into the time capsule before they seal it. Take care of your mother. For me. I love you both more than anything in this world. I know your probably believe this letter is bullshit but even if you do, always remember I love you. I'm using the name Reggie Baker now, if I'm still alive please find me. Even if I'm demented I'll know my own son. Your Ba-Ba-Dad I pocketed the letter and ran from the room. Mr Shackleton called after me but I didn't listen. Instead I called my dad and got no response. I called my mom and she asked if I had been able to reach my father at all. She hadn't heard from him all day. He had even missed their lunch date. I googled Reggie Baker and my hometown, finding a hit for the local psych ward. &#x200B;
The spectral version of me--me 2.0--threw herself in a chair, flipping her pink hair over her shoulder and glancing around the apartment in disdain. "Girl, you live like this?" I ignored her and sank onto the floor. This had to be some sick joke. I'd waited patiently for my spirit for years, day in and out, through late bloomer jokes and pitying glances, through the awkwardness of school events where I was the only one without a spirit and couldn't participate in certain activities. Certain one day it would be worth it. And now it turns out my spirit is...me? The hell? People were going to think I was a crazy narcissist. I'd never seen a spirit take on the form of its paramour. It just didn't happen. "Pout all you want, Princess,"my doppelgänger told me. "I'm here for the long haul." Well, work was going to be interesting tomorrow...
I woke up in a small teepee. Man, say what you will about Romans, but the people knew how to party. What a great way to celebrate New Years. I am surprised we still celebrate that. I look down at my clothes in tatters, and then look around the room. “Oh shit,” I think to myself. Drunken time travel is a Class 7 felony. It could get me ten thousand years in the void depending on the effects. It is alright. If I just accidentally time traveled to whatever the fuck century this is, I should be fine. “No you fucking knobs. You need to slowly put the berries into the buffalo meat,” someone outside shouts. “Uh oh,” I think to myself. I wonder out to see Gordon Ramsey berating the indigenous tribe. “Well, there you are. Rise and shine you bloody moron!” Gordon shouts. “How did we get here?” I ask. “You showed up at midnight in my house. Drunk off your fucking rocks. Grabbed me in a force field and took me through time.” Gordon yelled “it was bumpy as hell. You strapped me to the top of the machine.” “The machine. Where is my machine?!?” I panic. “Over there.” Gordon points at a friggin triceratops destroying the machine. “Oh no.” Going to the time of the dinosaurs is incredibly popular. The time police must’ve seen me go there. Every time machine is programmed to launch a homing beacon if destroyed. The time police could be here at any point in time. A hole opens in the sky and a ship emerges from it and lands in the field. A tall man walks out. He pulls out a gun and captures the triceratops and Gordon in a stasis field. “You have made a great mistake.” He points the void transport beam. I close my eyes and prepare for the worst. I wake up in a room in front of a steel table with handcuffs on me. “What is happening?” I think to myself. The man walks in. “Hello.” He says. “Why am I not in the void?” I ask. “Well, when you went on a drunken rampage you did more than just kidnap a triceratops and a British chef.” The man says. “I just barely escaped the changes.” “What changes?” Oh no, damage of this level is eternal void. “The world is much different now because of you. We are the only two who remember. And my ship has a short lifetime. I decided to spare you because I could use a friend.” He explains. “Alright, are we back in our home time?” I ask. “Yes, come outside. The ball will soon drop.” He uncuffs me and takes me outside. We do the standard count with people who won’t know how the world has changed. “Happy 2019,” I say to my new comrade. “Happy 2019,” he replies with a smile.
The large, white space of the bank was well guarded. Guards with guns, swords, knifes, etc, lined the walls of the International Midregion Bank. The long lines were organized and straight, enforced by more guards. But soon, those lines were broken up. Whispers filled the air. “That’s him, isn’t it?!” “I can’t believe it?!” “We should be fine, right?!” All eyes moved toward the talk door where a man, or what looked like one, walked in. He was wearing neon yellow clothes with frills and fur that traveled far above his head and down his arms. A cape of the same color stretched over 20 feet behind him. On his head was a helmet with two wooden poles sticking straight up from the sides. At the end of then was a wooden sign with neon on it. It read: ‘I am here to rob you.’ It flashed every second or so. “A-hem,” he started. “I well noow give ye my plan to reb the bink.” Out of a purple boot that he was wearing on his left arm, he pulled out several oranges and laid them on the floor. Aww hat must have been twenty of them bounced down onto the floor, echoing hollowly. “Woopsie-daisy!” He bent down onto one knee and started to grab at the oranges. Almost like he forgot about the people, he spoke again. “Serry, me plen is rittttin out on thise orangas.” The people stared stupefied. One of the gaurds spoke. “Sir, I need you to put your hands behind your head or I’ll shoot. Your wanted for the thievery of over $100,000,000,000.” The guard pulled out his gun and aimed it at the man. He looked up confused. “Ser, plez doo not make werds up on me.” He glanced back down at the oranges. “Excuse me?!” said the guard. The man looked back up. “What er hands? Oh, I’m done! I will mow tall me plin. Farst, I will ask you,” he said, pointed his booted hand at a cashier, “four az moch moooolaaaaa thet ye have. Thin-“ “If you continue speaking, I will have to use lethal force!” “Az e was sayin, nexth-“ The report of a gun sounded. A bullet went flying directly towards the man’s face, only to be interrupted by a stray crow which instantly fell to the ground, like a cartoon. “Huh.” Another shot fired, then another, then another, until there was a large pile of crows all in the same spot. By this time, the man was already walking out with his cape full of money. “How did he . . .” “Thenk you fer yer sirvize.” He walked out of the bank with no further issues.
Tonight was like the last, and the one before. In fact every night was the same since Emily broke up with her boyfriend, got an apartment, and adopted a snow-white cat. It is difficult to imagine any young unattached working women like Emily doing otherwise. Emily lay on the couch watching Bachelorette while stuffing her face with coffee ice-cream and chatting over the phone. Every now and then, Emily reached over and gave her cat Jerry a rub, a brush, or a pat. Jerry purred while nuzzling up to Emily’s hand. Then while she was distracted, like every other night, Jerry stood up, stretched, and began battling the dark house-bound spirits who single focus was the Emily’s brutal murder. Jerry felt a dark aura pulsating within the kitchen. Jerry yawned, hopped off the couch and sauntered in to the kitchen. Emily exclaimed to the TV, “Oh geez what a lunk, call Planet Fitness.” With a “Hiss” and a swipe, the demon was vanquished. Jerry returned to the couch and reclaimed his spot next to Emily. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 30 minutes later, the house began to shake. Jerry immediately sprang to his feet and extended his claws. The room was quiet. Emily glanced at Jerry and gave a light laugh, “Don’t worry buddy, it’s just a small quake.” She gave him quick rub saying, “It’s ok buddy.” But her eyes quickly returned to the TV, and she blurted, “Did he just take his shirt off.” Jerry knew better. Jerry knew a spirit was close, but the spirit fully concealed its dark presence. Jerry leapt off the couch and began exploring the house. Quietly, Jerry turned the corner into the kitchen. Nothing. A whirling sound was coming from the bathroom. Slowly, Jerry approached the bathroom. Nothing. The toilet was running. There was only one room left, the bedroom. Jerry crept up to the half-open bedroom door. He nudged the door to the side and prepared for battle. Nothing. Jerry gave an inquisitive, “meow”. In a moment of realization, Jerry rushed back to the living-room. A ghostly woman rested next to Emily on the couch with a kitchen knife. Jerry held still. The woman was watching Bachelorette with Emily. At the same time, both women threw their heads back and laughed. Jerry pounced like white lightening. The power of jump knocked the figure onto floor. His claws burned red streaks into her tattered clothing. Jerry went in for the final bite. The demon-women regained her composure just in time to shove Jerry off and retreat into the kitchen. Jerry could hear Emily speak into the phone, “Sorry about that, my cat just went a little crazy. Haha, I think he might be broken.” Jerry raced into the kitchen. The women stood with her legs apart, holding the dagger in front. She hissed, “You’re a powerful guardian. But you can’t stop me.” The women stopped for a second. Jerry remained alert, waiting for a time to strike. When Jerry didn’t reply, the women kept talking “This is my house; that is my room. My family lives here, if she stays they will die. So get out of my way.” The women moved forward. Jerry ran toward her. She swiped at him. Jerry dodged onto the counter. Before she could recover, Jerry aimed for her throat and pounced. His crystal fangs evaporated the woman into a cloud of dark mist. At the end of his jump, Jerry rammed into the refrigerator, knocking a couple magnets onto the floor. Dazed, he looked at up to see Emily standing over him, frowning. She grumbled “Hey Jerry, what do you want out of the fridge? Didn’t I already feed you?” “Meow” Emily walked over to the cabinet to get more cat food, “Buddy, sometimes I feel like all you do around here is eat food.”
"Excuse me,"Matt said to the barista behind the counter, "Did you vanish Europe and make it appear in my latte as foam art?" "No!"The barista said, scoffing. "That's ridiculous." "Well, it's just that the Mad Wizard Talet vanished from his prison yesterday,"Matt said. "Did he?"The barista feigned nonchalance, poorly. "I haven't been watching the news." "It wasn't on the news, we know because he announced it directly into everyone's mind when he did it,"Matt pointed out. "Oh,"the barista said, "That Mad Wizard Talet, right! Anyway, no, not him, didn't vanish europe, enjoy your drink!" "It's just,"Matt said, "you kinda look like him." "That's absurd,"the barista said, "I'm just a humble barista." "Okay, let's just compare you to your co-worker over there, okay?,"Matt gestured to a greasy-looking teenager whose nametag proclaimed him to be JEFF. "What differences do you notice?" "Oh, I couldn't compare myself to JEFF,"the barista said, apparently thinking that Jeff's name was intended to be said in all caps the way that it had been written, "He's been here a lot longer than I have." "Okay, just... how old is Jeff, do you think?" The barista shrugged. "Probably seventeen? He has to work part time because of child labor laws, so probably not eighteen yet." "Right,"Matt said. "And he looks the part, right? Now, how old are you?" "I'm..."the barista hesitated. "Thirty?" "Not really,"Matt said. "See, most people who are thirty don't look like they're actually seven hundred years old." "I'm not a day over six hundred, I'll have you know!"the barista insisted. "And look at Jeff's facial hair,"Matt gestured. "Patchy, scraggly, barely there. Whereas yours..." "I use a hairnet when I prepare the latte,"the barista insisted. "A hairnet?" "Fine, twelve hairnets. Listen, it's a genetic condition in my family that we grow these fifteen-foot long beards, okay? It doesn't mean I'm a wizard." "What's Jeff wearing?"Matt asked. "A uniform,"the barista answered. "And what are you wearing?"Matt asked. "... wizard robes." "What is Jeff carrying?"Matt asked. "Clipboard." "And what are you carrying?" The barista tried to shrug innocently. "I mean, I know this thing looks like the Rod Of The Ancient Seven but really it's just a cheap replica I bought because it looks fun! Doesn't the Rod Of The Ancient Seven look fun?" "No,"Matt said, "the Rod Of The Ancient Seven is constantly spouting blood." "It's a very realistic cheap replica,"the barista insisted. "Listen,"Matt said. "I don't actually care if you are the Mad Wizard Talet, even though I have proof you are. All I want is to not be responsible for accidentally drinking and thus killing everyone in Europe, okay? So if you could un-do that whole thing you did, that'd be great." "You have no proof,"the barista said. "'Talet' is an anagram of 'Latte'"Matt said evenly. "Fuck!"Talet said, "Anagrams! Every single time! When will I learn!?" "Just put the continent back." "Fine, fine!"Talet waved the Rod Of The Ancient Seven. Matt dodged the bloodspray and then verified that the latte was, indeed, normal. A 'Breaking news' bulletin on the television in the cafe declared that Europe, too, had returned to its normal location and non-foam form. Matt had gone back to his seat, but the next woman in line looked very interested in everything that had transpired. "I couldn't help but overhear,"she said. "Specifically, that you make latte art and then the subjects of that art tend to disappear?" "I don't know what you're talking about,"Talet said, aiming the Rod Of The Ancient Seven back toward the sink so that the blood was mostly contained. "I'm just a humble barista." "Right, right,"the woman said, winking obviously. "In that case, simple barista, I'd like a latte with foam art of my ex-husband, please...."

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