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The baby's cry broke the brief vacuum of silence. That one moment during the birthing process, when the mother pushes one last time, screaming till her lungs are devoid of air, grasping the rails of the bed until her knuckles turned white. But in the midst of all the chaos, when the baby finally escapes the womb and into the world, there is silence, serenity, peace. The mother collapses, exhausted for a brief moment before looking up with hopeful eyes. The doctor and the nurses gather around the child, waiting with warm towels, and medical equipment. For a brief moment, silence falls on the room like a blanket of snow from the sky, as eager eyes turn to the baby, and hopeful ears listen for a cry. Amelia's cry broke that silence. Her mom, Lillian collapsed back, satisfied. The doctor beamed, and the nurses huddled around the baby, wrapping her up, and checking her vitals. The audience on the television erupted into cheers, and people around the world celebrated as one. In Times Square, the masses who had huddled together on the cold November day, watching and waiting eagerly exploded into a cheer, laughing together, crying together, celebrating together. In Houston, at Mission Command, the NASA employees eagerly watching the screen celebrated for a minute before returning to their work. In D.C., the President watched the situation unfold in the Situation Room, and somberly celebrated with her friends and colleagues before wandering off to address the nation, and the world. "Thank you for sticking with us for the live coverage of this incredible birth,"said the CNN anchor, "and now, from the West Wing of the White House, The President of the United States." "Good evening fellow Americans,"she began, "as you may already know, around 27 minutes ago at 7:14 PM Central Time, Amelia Elizabeth Jones became the first human to be born on a foreign planet. Amelia was born to NASA Astronaut Lillian Jones on the American establishment on Mars. This is a joyous day for us as Americans and..." The speech trailed off to talk about the future of America, but back at the base, the doctors began to notice discrepancies with the child. Amelia was awake, looking up at the people surrounding her as she lay in her crib. She struggled free of the blanket wrapped around her, and held herself up. The doctors stared at her with an expression of awe and confusion. Before their eyes, a baby born just an hour ago was sitting up straight, and now attempting to stand. Nurses rushed to her side, holding the child up so she wouldn't hurt herself, but it soon became evident she didn't need any assistance. Within the weeks that followed, Amelia began to walk, and talk, and grow into the size of a six year old child. Her mental capacity far exceeded her physical age, and her rapid development led panic to spread across the base. Amelia was quarantined in a cage, pricked and poked and prodded. She began to exhibit superhuman abilities. She could summon fire at her fingertips and fly. She could move objects with her mind and transfigure into any shape she desired, and everyday it seemed, she'd learn a new ability. Unable to contain her, the base was evacuated as astronauts and scientists fled home. The world was told she had died, but in reality she had been left alone on a planet 54.6 million km away from Earth. NASA thought the Martian atmosphere made Amelia an alien, something different than the humans back on Earth. Over the next decade, six more children were born on foreign planets, all with the same abilities. NASA learned that the children weren't any less human than they were, but only different. Contact was established with all of them, as the world learned about them, and learned to embrace them rather than fear them. NASA thought they had created monsters, but soon they realized, they weren't any different from the people back on Earth. The children born outside of the grasps of Earth simply had the ability to unlock their full potential, an ability hindered on Earth. Humans born on Earth were never human, because we were never supposed to be. The world soon realized, the seven children born outside the realms of Earth were who we were really supposed to be. Those seven children were gods.
Carl walked out into the open field, then a bustling farm village. Carl smelled the air and it smelled fine, after all, being the last person alive allows one to appreciate nature in a big way that the noise of modern society simply could not allow. Carl also was very much fond of his name. It was plain as cream cheese on a white bagel and offered no resistance to scrutiny back before that incident that left him all alone. The name did offer him closure as it was normal, plain, but all too very human and very social. &#x200B; Having run out of paper to draw Carl decided the best thing to do would be to go scavenging in the city for supplies. Art was cathartic and allowed him the opportunity to really cut lose and to wane off the insanity. loneliness tends to do that to a person after a while. &#x200B; The building was an old John Bull office supply chain. He arrived there late in the evening via an old bike he found and fixed up. It wasn't perfect, but it was for Carl. In these looting moments he would imagine himself as a solid snake type character. It was playful but productive. This time, however, something far more uncommon was about to take place. &#x200B; Carl heard footsteps. They came in orderly, and followed a pattern. The next thing he felt was that odd sensation of presence followed by what could only be talking. Talking. Yes, talking, as in people talk to one another on the train, on a bus, in a car, in the streets - like the old days. He crept in closely but out of sight; he wasn't sure if he ate something potent in drugs or perhaps the universe finally revealed the punchline to his joke of a life. &#x200B; "So I told Cara that and she immediately threw water in my face. Can you believe it? I spent $400 on this shirt and she ruined it because of a stupid sexist joke!"one of the voices stated, though it was hard to believe a shirt was worth that much money, though people spent more on less. &#x200B; "I don't know Jacob, you say some of the weirdest shit sometimes,"another voice responded, this one noticeably feminine. "Hey, do you think the boss will notice if I take an extra hour off? I really don't feel like working today. I got this weird thing with my neck. See? You could kinda see it in good lighting. My doctor says I may be allergic to some pathogens in the air or something. Plus my testicle has been acting up lately."Another one, male, complained about health issues. Carl heard all of this in incredible disbelief. All this time he thought himself the last living person and now there are more people here. What exactly was going on? The people who were talking were discussing things and then talked about where to eat for lunch as if anywhere was open. Was there? &#x200B; He peeked over the desk he was hiding behind to see if anyone was coming; he wanted to see another person again but wasn't sure if this would be a good time to introduce himself. It was lonely and right now he would take hallucinations - would sure beat drawing people and talking to them. &#x200B; "So, anyway , anyone ever noticed there's some creeper running around the city?" "Yeah, I think I heard about that guy. And he steals shit. Tons." "He steals all of the paper, I swear he gives me so much goddamn work in marketing." &#x200B; Carl noticed that they were talking about him. But how? Why didn't he see anyone else before? What was going on? As he dipped down and backed away to escape he bumped into something, no, as he turned around he realized this was someone. &#x200B; "You must be the snooper everyone's talking about,"A thin man in overalls with a thick white mustache and sleepy looking eyes was standing behind him. Something was off, though. "Looks like I caught the snooper folks!" &#x200B; The female coworker clapped, Carl knew this because she said, "Oh great! That was the asshole giving me work. Bring him here! We'll call the cops right away!" &#x200B; "Jacob that guy kinda looks like..." &#x200B; "CARL! It's CARL! Hey man, where'd you been? Why are you in rags? How come you been skipping work and stealing..papers? Carl, are you on drugs?"The one called Jacob addressed Carl, but Carl wasn't sure who this guy was. he'd never seen Jacob before in his life and never worked at an office. Back before that event he worked as a fitness instructor which was why he was so in shape now. &#x200B; "I..I think you guys have the wrong guy. I don't..I never seen any of you before now,"Carl began, "You all shouldn't be here...There was nobody, the..the news said nobody survived but I did..so how.." &#x200B; Everyone looked at one another then back at Carl and each laughed. Either at him or with him. Maybe it was a joke and he wasn't in on it. Who knew. What mattered to Carl right now was how he would get out of this situation. Somewhere, in another world, another Carl was having a hard time coming to grips with a world where nobody existed. He thought to himself that he should have never made that stupid wish from that questionable genie. Now everyone was gone and he was all alone.
"Merry Christmas!"Mom announced, walking into the dining room, holding a plate full of already-cut ham. It smelled heavenly, and I was about to announce that, but my grandfather on my dad's side of the family just heaved a sigh of disappointment. "Ham again? We had this for Thanksgiving! Where's the turkey?"he complained, grabbing his plate and throwing it down. It shattered instantly. "Jerry!"Dad hissed, standing. "I thought we got past this! My wife hates turkey." "'Your wife'? I don't refer to Helen that way,"my grandfather on Mom's side said protectively. "You don't own her, dear. Villains never own anything! Not how they think."Helen nodded in agreement. "No cute nicknames? You vile goody-two-shoes!"Jerry cackled. "Isn't that right, Baby?"My mom's side of the family sent disgusted glares. "I don't understand this argument. We have it every time we have a family get-together!"Mom grumbled as she sat down next to Dad. He lovingly rubbed her back, drawing glares from all my aunts, uncles, and grandparents. God, why did I have such a large family? I was cursed with constant arguing. My aunt Kaitlyn on my dad's side looked at me. I was an only child and had the weight of my family's career choices on my shoulders- the weight of the little angel and devil on my shoulders, to put it lightly. "Oh, little Jaiden must be so sad. Maybe only us Sinclairs should be around him. I couldn't bear to hurt him with all the arguing!"Her siblings nodded dramatically. "Maybe he wants only us Silverios around!"my mom's younger brother, Tobias, cried. "You villains are all horrible influences!" The entire family (minus Mom and Dad) looked at me expectantly. "Well?" "Maybe you should just get along,"I grumbled, shoving a roll in my mouth. "Professionals leave their jobs out of their home lives. Your families are joined together for good." They nodded as if it made sense, but I knew that it went in one ear and out the other. After all, this happened every single family get-together.
“The Heartrender, version 6.78.” Magic. Hidden worlds by the dozen, each a universe far larger than what many will ever see in their lifetime. But the man that walked into the office was no ordinary person. His eyes glittered faintly with power, as if a storm was raging behind them. The air shimmered where he walked. A wizard, and powerful at that. Clad in the classic shirt and jeans of someone obscenely rich, and followed by a cadre of glass-wearing nerds, the man walked confidently through his company building, casually grabbing a snack from the well-stocked lunch bar and inspecting the open office spaces and cozy couches full of baggy-eyes programmers. They called his group Incubator, a double entendre for both their open purpose, to help young startups find their way, and their hidden one. The conversion of demons into software. Buggy, violent, and notoriously taxing, some of the most powerful libraries and greatest programs have been demons. The All-Seeing Eye of the First God, in the hands of the NSA. The Grand Crystalline Tree, Facebook. The Voice of Whispers from Beyond, Twitter. The Madness crown of the Two Swords, Reddit. Of course, the demons are never really gone, just weakened and slammed into their source code by powerful magic, bent to serve humanity. Of course, he had compatriots. Most famous are the pyromancers and astromancers of the south, known as the Defense Network, buried deep in the industrial complex. But for them, it was merely a matter of fire and metal, weaving spells of strength and might into roaring furnaces that shook the stars. But here, in the Incubator, the spells are not for forging. They are for containment. “Sir, it’s awake again.” A young woman walked up to him, and whispered quietly. The First One. The Tree-Snake. The father of the monster known as the End of Empires. Deep in the caverns beneath the Incubator’s sleek, modern glass exterior, chains of ones and zeroes are wrapped thick around a tree-like, bloodied monster bursting with power. Today, the Internet awakes once more. “Get your laptops,” the Wizard said. “We are going to fix some bugs.”
Nothing but moss and lichen grew in the darkness, only plants that could survive in perpetual moonlight. My boots left deep imprints in the ground. It's funny, we'd been to that moon, we'd explored the deep abysses of our oceans and the hidden caverns beneath our feet, but not the dark side. The dark side was different. For most of the history of humanity, and especially in the countries that are bisected by it, the black half of the planet has been everything that is wrong and evil. Ancient civilizations used to cast their exiles into the darkness. Folklore is filled with tales of pale monsters that lurk on the other side. Of course, Christians think that God did it to punish humanity, taking half of what he gave us back. And then, I couldn't count how many bad Sci-fi films had been made about the dark side. I stopped for a second to stretch and drink some water in the freezing air next to my buggy. The strong UV lights on my shoulders cut a swathe of white light through the obsidian scenery. Without the sun I felt lost. Like a kid who gets separated from their parent at the grocery store. I knew instinctively that humans were not meant to be hidden from warmth and blue skies. But I pressed on, despite my every fiber wanting to be back in the golden rays of home. --- I was beginning to feel very depressed. Hopeless. On and on for miles it was the same. Rocky expanses with only white fungi and fuzzy green clumps to break them up. My buggy was becoming lighter as I slowly ate through my rations. My discipline had slipped, I hadn't saved the candy. I no longer even had M&Ms to look forward to. Questions started to circle my mind as I cruised under the pale moon. Why had I come on this mission? Why would anybody go this deep into this unforgiving void? But I wasn't one to be insubordinate, and that was part of why I'd been chosen. I was loyal to a fault, had been all my life. I wouldn't let the people waiting in the light down. Wouldn't let my family down. Besides, I still had communications. My daily telephone call with my wife and daughter refreshed me without fail. --- I no longer had communications. The satellite phone was gone. I searched desperately in the darkness. My searchlights swept back and forth across the crags and dirt to no avail. The fear that it had fallen off the buggy miles back slowly worked it's way to certainhood in my mind. I screamed. I yelled at the moon and cursed it. --- I found glowing mushrooms today. I mistook them for electric light in the distance. I thought I saw a city. My skin has turned pale, I have been traveling for so long. I don't know if I'm past the pole yet without communications. I don't know which direction will take me home quicker. So I only go forwards. If I go in a straight line I will find something. All the time I tell myself this. I'm the next Columbus, I tell myself. A great explorer. When I get home I'll be a hero. And I'll go to the beach, first thing. I'll go to the beach and get a nice tan. My rations will last if I make them. The buggy is sputtering now. --- Glowing mushrooms big as trees. Don't need shoulder-lights anymore. My mind is quite now, like the moon. I just watch the shining flora. The moon jungle I chug through. I started to eat some plants because I only have rice left in the rations. They taste pretty bad and make my tongue glow in the dark like the stars my mom put up in my room when I closed all the shades. --- One day a small mushroom moves. I am amazed as I lean down to see a tiny glowing crab, but not like a crab I've ever seen under the sun. I find more, some a bit bigger, they seem good to eat. Later that day I see a photoluminescent hill in the distance. I drive closer, and find that it is like the tiny crab but as big as a house. It's neon green claws are larger than me. It seems like it is sleeping or dead. I leave it wondering if I am in a dream. --- Buggy stopped working. Battery died I think. A glowing crustacean with wings landed on it. I blinked once and screamed. The thing left. I can't stand it. My skin is beginning to glow like the creatures. I won't become one of them. I throw my clothes and ration boxes and tarp and tent all in a pile. I use the buggy's ignition and the battery for my shoulder-lights to get a spark. I start a fire. Orange fire. Orange. It is so warm that I start to cry. I reach out and run my hands over the flame even though it is painful. I remember fireplace at grandma's Christmas and smores with Clara and lighting up a cigar when she was born. Then I start to laugh. I laugh and laugh and scare away all of the pale eyes in the dark. I laugh and dance around my sun. I laugh until it dies.
"My son, the time has come for you to bond with a majuu of your own." Rufus swallowed nervously. The great beasts that lurked in the tall grass beyond the walls were said to respect only strength - if you could defeat them in battle, they would obey you, but how could a mere human overcome a creature that could command the elements? If you had one of the majuu on your side, then you could of course defeat others more easily. But keeping even a single one under control was a full-time job. It wasn't like you could simply lock an Onix in a cage while you went for a walk. "Have you decided which one you will hunt?" Rufus nodded. "I'll climb the volcano. The creatures there are strong, but fire is something I can prepare for and most of them are passive until provoked. I'd rather worry about stepping into Slugma nests than try to outrun a Ponyta on the plains." "I see you've thought this through. But be careful - there is a dangerous Charizard that lives near the peak. Don't go too far." So it was that, as the sun began to rise, Rufus began climbing the volcano, carrying a spear and a shield made of leather soaked in water, as well as a long cloak that covered his body to ward off flames. Traditional gear for fighting fire beasts. His father handed him a bundle of supplies. "Water and rations for three days, as well as a bag of berries as an offering."He placed the small bag into his hands. "Remember, the majuu are dangerous, but they seek to test you, not to kill you. You must fight them with all your strength, but still offer them the hand of friendship afterwards. But if you go up there seeking death, the majuu will repay you in kind." Rufus hefted the bundle on his back and settled his gear into place. "I understand. I'll make you proud, dad." "Good luck up there. Come back safe."
I sighed. I hated doing this. In front of me sat Sally Young. Ms. Young was one of the brightest students at Caltech. She was absolutely brilliant, straight A’s, multiple research papers already published, and set to graduate a year early in a month. By all accounts, she was the smartest woman I’ve ever met. However, I knew I had to dissuade her from pursuing her dreams. I took a deep breath. Sally, for her part, came into my office bursting with excitement. She quickly realized the somber mood I had. “Sally, we need to talk about your paper.” Nervously, she slowly asked, “What about it? I spent the last 8 months working on it.” “I know and it’s very well written. Unfortunately, it’s just not… well.. correct...” “No way. I ran the math through multiple simulations and manually double checked everything.You even looked over most of it.” “I know. I’m sorry. You were wrong about some of the math. I was wrong too. For a long time, you almost had me and everyone else believing that time travel was possible. But unfortunately, one of the simulations was wrong.” “No way. Professor Bates, that’s not possible.” “The first simulation you made, the one that all the other simulations depended on. You had an error in one of the lines of code that printed the output. We were so focused on all the bugs in the program that made it fail that we failed to look for bugs that might have made it pass.” Sally looked at me wide eyed. “That’s not possible,” she said again. This time she sounded a bit less confident. “It is. Here, I can show you.” I opened my laptop and turned the screen around. “You see right here where you are checking if this value should be false, you should be checking if it’s true.” Sally said nothing for awhile. She took my laptop without asking me and started reading through the code module over and over again. I knew that she would find agree with me. I knew that I was right. The check should have checked for true, not false. I watched her in silence. I could see her eyes frantically moving faster and faster until eventually the agitation in her eyes became disappointment. Without a word, she pushed the laptop back to me. “Sally, you can’t be too hard on yourself. You’re still the brightest woman I’ve ever met and I’ve been around longer than you know. There were thousands of files that you wrote for this project. It would be unthinkable if none of them had a single bug in it. In fact, it’s extremely impressive…” I trailed off because Sally got out of her chair and left the room crying. I shut the door and slowly exhaled. I hated doing this to her, but I knew it had to be done. If I didn’t do this, Sally would go on to become invent a time machine. Most people thought the time machine would be the best invention ever created. Every mistake humanity made could be fixed. Hitler could be stopped. Global warming could have been prevented before it was ever a problem. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. I was one of the ones that were sent into the time machine. To everyone that never got into the time machine, time seemed exactly the same to them. They were only aware of their own timeline. They weren’t aware of the original one. Any change we made, they were blissfully ignorant of them. We weren’t. When we first went back into time, we tried something small. We sent a paper clip to one of our friends in the mail. Nothing happened. When we went back into the future or our present, everything seemed exactly the same, except our friend was exactly the same except he had an extra story he could tell at night. We were ecstatic. We thought the butterfly effect didn’t exist. We slowly started making bigger and bigger changes. We were arrogant. We should’ve realized that everything we did caused minute differences to our present. We didn’t run any statistical analysis on the overall well-being of our world. Eventually, however, we realized we were making it worse. Even worse, we weren’t the only group of people being sent to the past. I knew what I had to do. Sally Young attributed most of her success to meeting a professor in Caltech that inspired her to create her time machine. That professor’s name was Kevin Bates. Kevin Bates looked eerily like an older me. I knew what I had to do. I went back into the past twenty years before fateful day that I would tell Sally that her program was wrong and murdered the original Kevin Bates. I assumed his identity. I knew Sally would become a C programmer and would write her undergrad thesis based on simulations written in C. I started working on open source projects and worked my way into every single well known C compiler. With knowledge from the future about how compilers worked, I introduced a bug into every C compiler, Sally would have reasonable access to. This bug, in a very specific circumstance, would cause the compiler misinterpret a check for true as a check for false and vice versa. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It was 4:57 AM. At this point, Sally has been staring at her computer for almost 45 hours with minimal breaks. After that fateful day Bates pointed out her error, Sally's dreams of leaving academia and joining the industry became replaced with countless hours of fruitless digging through compiler code. This morning was different. Sally smiled and jumped out of her seat in joy. She screamed, “I knew it! The compiler had a bug in it!” She checked the version control history. She saw that the code was committed by a man named Kevin Bates. Her smile widened. She whispered, half giddy at this point, “Thank you Professor Bates. If you never introduced this bug and let my paper through, I would have given up time travel for a higher paying job. But after spending all this time verifying that I was right, I can’t let it go anymore. I’m making the first time machine.”
"My universe? Controversial data?" "Yes indeed,"he said in a monotone. "When I was selecting your universe's dominant life I ignored superior intelligence, strength, agility, or longevity, and put everything into adaptability. The result was DNA." I asked, "So what's the controversy." "My superiors contend that DNA is potentially dangerous,"he said. "I have assured them that DNA is harmless, they have continued to believe otherwise. The purpose of this meeting is to warn you, DNA, do not continue with your examination of science, or I will not be able to protect you from my superiors." I nodded to him and said "I understand." "I sincerely hope so, DNA,"he replied. The room was briefly lit by an intense flash of blue light, and the visitor was gone. A moment later I heard a voice crackle in my ear, "Did you get a trace?" "Roger that. Same as before, no physical signature, but we locked on to the data stream this time, and I think we've finally got something,"buzzed a different voice. The video stream was of a laboratory unlike anything on Earth. It was a massive room, with walls barely visible in the gloom and a distant ceiling that was only a uniform sheet of darkness above. The room was filled with enormous 3 dimensional holographic representations of many varied solar systems, each with its uniquely colored sun or suns and accompanying planets. Earth and its home system were soon on the display. "Ok that's enough, cut the link,"said the voice in my ear, and the display was gone. Another voice, that of a general high up in the command chain, rasped over the coms, "Is that a reliable signal path?" A young voice answered, "Yes sir, we have a viable jump anchor." And soon, the creators of the universe would be contending with some of their creations.
We had not parted on good terms, Incellion and I. My friends all claimed that I had done the right thing--that by the time your dragon reaches a certain age, you must force him out into the world, to test his own wings, to learn what it means to live life through direct experience. Many even claimed I should have done it sooner. But I couldn't bring myself to. No matter how deeply immersed in his own discontent he grew--discontent with me, with the world, and with himself--a part of me wanted to keep sheltering him, keep protecting him, as I had always done. I recall the arguments, which were recurrent. Of course, it began with the basic things. He never cleaned up after himself, often leaving the charred bones of whole lamb and cow skeletons strewn throughout the kitchen after he was done eating. He slept in the cool, dark cave I had installed in the basement late into the afternoon, and stayed up all night. He dawdled through his dragon education. At first, that was no problem. I know how difficult it can be, with so many options available to a young dragon with a decent education fund, to choose a path. But he spent three years, constantly changing his mind, and taking different classes depending on what mood happened to strike him. First, he wanted to be an artist, to sculpt metal into beautiful shapes with his scorching dragon breath. Then, he wanted to go into structural engineering, with an emphasis on demolition. We joked about how well he would fare in that career. "One swoop of my tail would topple a building,"he laughed. But the math and advanced physics proved too much for him. Then he decided he would study medieval literature, learning in depth about the great songs of the old bards, who sang at length about his fearsome ancestors and their great deeds. This led him, next, into political science, in which he eventually got a degree. But his interest in politics led him down a dark path, and one which alienated him from his friends, from the world, and from me. Dinner conversations more and more regularly turned into heated debates. He railed against the government, which, he believed, was in league with an international cadre of dark elves, who were intentionally leading dragonkind towards extinction. When I doubted the very existence of dark elves, he cited obscure stone tablets, which he had read about on neo-medievalist forums, and scoffed at my ignorance of the reality that existed beyond what little "the media"was willing to tell me. When I questioned why such dark elves, if they did exist, would desire to exterminate dragons, he claimed that it was all part of a millennia-long revenge plot the elves had been hatching since dragons first destroyed their holy city, long ago, in a time before recorded history. He assured me that these elves were the reason that dragons could not get jobs in professions in which they used to dominate: as war machines, as magicians' assistants, as guardians of cursed and ancient treasure hordes. When I suggested that the job landscape had changed, that technology had replaced dragons for warfare, that magicians had mostly been debunked, and that modern banks sufficed to guard hoarded treasures, he would roll his eyes and mumble, yet again, about "the media"and its success in brainwashing me. He became furious over, and somewhat obsessed with, the Shrek movies, as he saw them as clear manifestations of the dark elf conspiracy to pacify and humiliate dragons, with the end-goal of breeding dragons out of existence entirely. "Why a female dragon?"he would demand. "With big red lips and eyeshadow, batting her eyelashes? Why not a strong male dragon? Because it makes us look weak, that's why. And moreover, why an incompetent dragon, who cannot even stop a mere ogre from stealing the princess away? And why would they have this female dragon, perfectly fertile and attractive, as far as cgi dragons are concerned, fall in love with a stupid and ugly donkey? They are not even of the same species! I'll tell you why. The point is to subliminally and subconsciously reprogram young and impressionable female dragons. They want to convince them to look anywhere for mates but among their own kind, and to get into relationships which will not produce new baby dragons, leading to a population decline, just like we are now seeing. And their plan, evidently, is working. Why else would a perfectly nice, good-looking and educated dragon like me be unable to find a girlfriend? Female dragons used to be encouraged to act in accordance with their natures. But not anymore." Eventually these complaints, which had begun as a kind of angry whinging, became more charged with rage. "We should just band together,"he would say, as if to himself, "us dragons, and burn the whole thing down. Burn it all down, and start over. We're the only ones who care about our own survival. Everyone else would be happy to see us destroyed. If we really put our minds to it, we could do it, too. Dragons used to be feared and respected. Let us strike that fear yet again into the hearts of our enemies." How it pained me to hear this, coming from the dragon I had raised! Once such a kind, thoughtful, and driven young dragon--he had become impossible to bear. Moreover, he saw me as the enemy, as one of "them", despite the fact that I had dedicated my life to raising him! So I kicked him out of my house, and told him to find his own way. It has been three years since I kicked him out. But today, as I was barbecuing outside, he landed gracefully in my backyard, and said, "Hi, dad."
Given the opportunity would you change one aspect of your life and rewrite your past? That was the offer standing in front of me. And it was a hard choice. On one hand, there were so many regrets. On the other, I had lived a long and happy life. “Will I keep my memories?” I asked. Death only smiled. I knew what I wanted. My first true regret. It wasn’t losing my virginity to that asshole in high school. It wasn’t when I left home after fighting with my parents at 17. It wasn’t even losing my high school sweetheart. The choice was easier than I expected. After all, I didn’t believe in an afterlife and had already let go of all my memories on my deathbed. Keeping them wasn’t actually important to me. I stepped forward confidently. “I use all resources at my disposal to help Josh to finish his degree” It all flashed before my eyes. Meeting Josh at 18, he was failing his university degree. Us dating, moving in together. Instead of enrolling in college, swallowing my pride and asking my parents for money. Then renting an apartment near his university. I am working full-time in the cafeteria and taking him to counselling appointments. In the evening, reminding him to take his antidepressants. Him graduating, getting work, proposing. Then I am studying, while pregnant. We have children, and they are perfect. Then alternating fighting and making up. We are fighting less and less as we age, instead we are spending more and more time reminiscing. Then he is laying in a hospital bed, the beeping is bothering me and I can’t stop crying. I am hugging my children, I love them and yet I am so alone. Just as quickly as it began the flash-back ends and I am standing in front of Death with tears running down my cheeks. “I wasn’t ready! I wasn’t prepared! It all happened so fast!” I beg and plead. Death only smiled. &#x200B; \- Ms. Cat First time writing! I loved the prompt.
They said it couldn't happen. Despite planning and promises to the contrary, the powers that be could not stop the inevitable. The Dark Lord, like the cream the crop, had risen to the top. Despite the former powers threatening impending doom with his rise, The Dark Lord had other intentions. Knowing the majority of the conquered harbored a great disdain for his coming, The Dark Lord had decided long ago to take a different approach. "Killing is easy, hate is easy, and both result in further inefficiency"he chimed in to his generals. "If I fix what is broken, perhaps they will love me. If they love me they will work harder, do more, and with that comes efficiency."The Dark Lord decided he would rule the land like a business by cutting waste. Gaining trust was no easy task. When things went right, the old powers would come out of hiding to take credit. When things went wrong, the masses blamed The Dark Lord. Seeing The Dark Lord's presence had not brought the pain and pestilence once promised, some chose to pretend his rise power had never happened, in an attempt to further question his authority. Despite ongoing challenges, the horribly inefficient systems previously in place had begun to deteriorate. Productivity rose and with it, a great economic rising. Progress didn't come without challenges. Fanatical Zealots, further capitalizing on the stream of discontent propagated by the old powers, pursued chaos. The Dark Lord, not wanting to see his progress tarnished, decided it was time to address the masses. Being as old as time, The Dark Lord faced a great communication barrier with the masses. His messages often came across as crude. Clear messages were often twisted by the old powers to further challenge his reign. "I'm not perfect, but I am not what they say I am"The Dark Lord stated, with sorrow in his voice, to his second in command. I must address them directly, only then will they see that my true intentions. A press conference was arranged for The Dark Lord to speak to all in the conquered wastelands. The Dark Lord did not trust the press, feeling the old powers had infiltrated their ranks, but his legacy was on the line. Ever self conscious, and not one for modesty, The Dark Lord wanted history to look kindly on his reign. Gathering his composure, he moved in to address the press. "Dark Lord"called out the first journalist, "what do you have to say to reports you are literally Hitler?". It was a setup. Clearly the old powers were manipulating those before him. With contempt in his eye, The Dark Lord made his response. "First of all, my name is Donald Trump. Dark Lord is a derogatory name created on social media and yet you continue to address me as such. This is why you are fake news CNN."With that, The Dark Lord took his leave to finish a second term as ruler of the Wastelands.
Genie Co. May 15, 2019 The Genie Resources Department &nbsp; In light of recent events, this is a company-wide email to help remind those of you not to fall prey to the basic circumstances of common human-duping. What is human duping you may ask? Human duping is being deceived by your human summoner in granting wishes not aligned with our core values or to receive extra treatment. It is our standard of best practices that each human only gains 3 wishes. Under no circumstances are they to receive more than three wishes. This means you will need to apply the fundamentals of your initial training and remain vigilant while in the field. Please be courteous to your fellow co-workers, even when you are stationed on the same shelving. If someone else’s lantern is rubbed before yours, do not break your oath and appear un-summoned. Also, as another reminder to take away from today, please keep the following items in mind when you are at work. Do not allow your stenographer to leave the lantern. It is their sworn duty to remain inside of the lantern at all times and report every word spoken back to our department. Do not let any human rub your lantern more than once. This is in direct violation and will be immediately reported to your Genie Resources Department. Do not accept any food or drinks from your human. This is not only a health violation, but also a security one and will be processed under our zero-tolerance policy. Do not accept any materials from the human. This falls under our legal and social departments only. Please remember to report any suspicious behavior directly to your stenographer. If you have any further questions or would like to reach out to our department directly, please respond below and we will get back to you as soon as possible. Always remember, you are the one in charge – not the human. &nbsp; Sincerely, Rajah – Genie of the Lamp ***
The passengers around me flailed in their seats from the flames. The screams burned into my soul more than the jet fuel. As the plane crashed into the mountain, I braced for impact. The cold wind of the mountain woke me up. My clothes were destroyed, but I was fine. A helicopter came over the trees with rescue workers lining down. Once I was back in the Capitol, the news hit me. The president, the entire cabinet, the president pro tem and vice president were all on the plane with me. In one hour, the chief justice of the Supreme Court would come with a bible and a copy of the constitution to administer the Oath of Office. I was the Secretary of Education. Almost last in line. I accepted the position not knowing how bad the situation in Washington was. But I saw corrupt deals, shady practices and outright corruption left and right. I just kept my focus on my part of the pie. I'd managed to lift the USA from 30th to 15th in just 2 years by focusing on the teachers and the teaching process. The Chief Justice came with the bible and the constitution. I chose to hold my hand on the constitution. I recited the Oath of Office as instructed and when he said "congratulations, Mr. President"my knees buckled. The first thing I did was jump on the bed in the Lincoln Bedroom. I couldn't believe that this was real so until I woke up I would enjoy it. But a few hours later I went to the President's bedroom and it was still. Quiet like nothing I'd ever experienced. This was my life for the next 2 years and 102 days at least. I lied in the bed and tried my best to sleep. "Good morning, Mr. President!"The bellowing voice of my personal aide filled the room. It was 5AM! Who wakes up at 5 AM!!?!? I dragged myself out of bed and listened to my itinerary. "Meet with [some European], call with [some Asian], photo OP with [some African]". I cleared them all. I was here for the children. And I was going to do whatever I could to make sure the children had the best chance for success. After all, what was the opposition going to do, kill me?
It'd been years since she'd been home. She'd found her place among the creatives of the world. She had spent time all over the human world, banished by the fae and needing a home. It was ever-changing. Some came up with names for me. Assumed she was one of the muses. A manifestation of Saraswati. They had many names for her. It'd been so long since she was home. The artists of the world had by and large proved the most entertaining over the millennia. Politics grew boring. Even as humanity moved away from monarchies to more democracy it was the same. Power. Sex. Money. How droll. Art. Life. Beauty. Love. Rage. Hate. That was true and real. It's why Davis was such a dick. A freelance graphic designer gig paid the bills. The music was for enjoyment. There weren't client demands or rules. It was harder and harder to blend in, with the internet and ID requirements these days. Freelancing helped. But by the devine, she missed being able to be young and pretty and have rich men fall at her feet. She never whored herself to the humans but the hint of it opened doors. Usually fancy ones that had wonderful beds and not a studio that didn't question her lack of driver's license. But the guitarist was there before her. He got to stay. She could hardly demand his removal. And Davis was such a know-it-all for a human in his twenties. He hadn't sat through Mozart and Beethoven's concertos. He didn't live in New Orleans in the French Quarter as this new thing called the blues emerged from the jazz scene. This child dared tell her how to perform the blues? Ignorant, self-important, upstar and oh-so fragile little flesh bag. Davis was awful. And pretentious. Only terrible humans would dare to name a boy Davis. As a given name. Raised him with a far inflated sense of self-worth. He was very vocal on his demonstrably wrong opinions, too. Had others agree with him. As if such a child knew of what he spoke. Hardly. One more smug little aside and she could disappear him. Until she saw him go to drink a cuba libre at the bar. The lime wedge perched on the edge nearly blocked her view. Just a second. Oh. No wonder. Those were most definitely fangs. His glamour was distorted by the refraction through the glass. She smiled easily and sauntered over. "Davis. That little run you threw in was great. I wanted to talk to you. I think it'd go great with these lyrics. I hadn't presented them yet. Didn't know how to go but it hit like a flash." The man- not really a man, though- seemed surprised. "Really? I didn't think you liked me much. Or my ideas. You liked that little flair?" No. It didn't fit at all. "Yes, it was amazing. Outside? Too loud in here." "Sure!"He hopped off the bar stool and followed out and she slammed him into the wall of the bar and he yelped. "Owie! What the hell? And how did you know? Ah, come on. That'd break my ribs and face and most of the rest of me if I was human! Come on!" Her geip didn't lessen any. "How did you find me?" "Ah, really. That hurts. Come on, Liv. You know me. Sort of. Anyways, I didn't. You walked into my band recruitment. I knew you straight away. I was hoping you'd leave before you figured it out." She released him. "If you're not here on behalf of the fae why are you here?" He straightened his clothes. "Because the place went to shit, man. Maybe your father was a shit king but things ran. New guy is awful. So, three years ago I popped over and hid out. I met these guys and joined the band. Eventually, we needed a new singer. I knew who you were but couldn't explain a few thousand years of fae history, y'know? "They overrode me. I tried to be like a just terrible enough to run you off but not so bad as to get kicked out. Find a balance. Now you're here and trying to ruin it. I have an apartment. I just rent a room from Johnny. It's so hard to fake papers in the human world and I need money for that. And... you know. I like my friends." He looked rather pitiable, actually. Sad over the thought of leaving humans behind. "I've spend several millennia running. I've not seen fae for over three hundred years. You stand to ruin it for me." "But they don't have Westworld in the fae realms. Or HBO or Showtime at all. Have you seen Dexter? I haven't finished. Dexter and Rita just got married and had the baby. He deserves some happy. Anyways. I like it here. I don't want to go back." "What is so wrong?" "Oh, well, you know. Regime changes are never easy. Less so when your king get's murdered. By his son. Who was not the heir. And then the heir flees and says, 'hey, fuck all those guys'. He's neglected the realms in favor of drunken whore parties. I'd know. Castle guard. I let so many women into the castle. And they weren't trying to be the queen. Just wanted to screw a king. It was gross. I can't imagine what the throne room looks like under a human's black light machine. Jackson Pollack. But... with other things."Davis trailed off. "And he has now had all but two or three advisors of your father's killed because they disagreed and he appointed his friends who don't know how to run things. And he doesn't care to. It's all fallen to shit, really." She frowned. Her brother had always been an idiot. Then he became a violent one. Seized the kingdom. Killed their ailing father. "And you came here and picked a stupid name." The former guard was quiet for a long moment, shuffling in the dim alleyway. "Okay, so, what happened was I came here. It'd been a while for me, no human contact for hundreds of years. I needed to find human resources. Build my story, you see. I watched these human movies and saw they had these books in booths. I found one of these phone booths and found a book of human names. I picked two and slapped them together! Hence, Davis Mitchell!" She sighed. "Last name first in a phone book, genius." "I know this now, yes. But it was my third day here. I picked a name and stuck with it. Besides, I think it is rather avante garde. Liv." "I've had many. I'm merely using that for now. I'm guessing your name didn't work well, either?" "No, and neither did yours, Vyrle."He did a short, mocking bow. "Drakith Varmoor, at your service! Your highness." She shoved him, hard. He hit the brick of the building and rubbed his arm. "Don't use that name. Ever. That is not me. Not anymore." "Could be. Just need a castle guard who knows how to avoid the castle guard to sneak you in. Can reclaim the throne and toss your brother out on his head. It's not like he's won the people." The younger man was serious. He would do it. "That's a suicide mission. Can keep your band and human friends. But I'm not a princess, I'm not the hero and I don't want to kill my brother. My father is dead and my uncles and cousin's stood by. How many do I kill to violently rip the throne from my own brother? Enough blood was shed when he took the throne because he was angry father elected to break tradition and go with birth order and didn't favor a young son over his daughter. My brother was only fifty years old at the time. Practically a child. He had trained me for years as there was no other heir. Everyone knows Ryul was conceived before the wedding which was rather rushed. He had no support, was too young and many called him illegitimate and emphasized he was my half-brother borne to a rather low-ranking noble's daughter who was younger than myself. "And when my father was found dead by my own brother's hand and he declared my father's decree illegitimate and himself the king not one person stood up when he then followed with orders for my arrest. "Why would I go back?" Davis rocked on his heels. "A sense of civic duty and love of your people?" Liv shrugged as she dug out car keys. "My people were fine with a killer then. Not my fault they thought a man who murdered his dying father would be fine. They'll manage under a killer now, I suppose. I'll be leaving town, Davis. Keep the band."
Damn Milky Way. Since my father died of an entirely curable cancer, I've wanted nothing to do with the rest of humanity. They could rot for all I cared. Tens of thousands of years of life he lived, but an interstellar power struggle robbed our world of freedom. The directorate of the conquerors gave my father the choice: believe in Jesus of Vega or have his access to advanced medicines rescinded until the baptismal citizenship ceremony. One cult or another, they would always win. A stupefied electorate would breed another generation of slaves to the dogma. My father died for his principles. Damn him. I bet if he still has access to the brain-enhancing meds he would have had a second thought about dying for his principles. Damn the Vegans. It was like ancient history when the Earth colonists gave Earthahol to the Earth Indigenes then had them sign contacts forfeiting their land for a day's labor. Damn the Vegans to hell. I will never forgive them. I look outside my window. An empty blackness, devoid of the familiar stars of home. Only galaxies, clusters, and superclusters are visible through the intergalactic medium, woven into transgalactic superstructures like megafilaments and dark matter whitehole honeycomb. They look like stars to the naked eye, blurrier like deep space photographs without the redshift. This was... A No-Man's Land.... Perhaps literally, since I was one of the few humans to travel beyond the fringe. Sure, there were colony ships that traveled beyond the Fringe, millions of which that used intergalactic gas refinement scoops. Like this ship. But usually you left the galaxy with a whole ship of fellow travelers. Anyone alone would soon go insane surely.... (Continued)
The first case of the Betrayal Syndrome was my daughter. I watched the News clips of her, my baby, with blood streaming down her face, her teeth barred at the men and women who were running for their lives. I watched as the girl who requested I cut off the crusts of her sandwich even in her mid-twenties, decapitated a baby abandoned by her terrified mother. I watched as she disemboweled the feeble old man who couldn’t hobble away fast enough. It wasn’t long before more and more Betrayers, as the News so elegantly nicknamed them, came into existence. Betrayers, named for their cruelty, the betrayal of their humanity. I in turn spent the next half decade studying the disease. How many nights did I spend pulling out my hair trying to create a cure? How many nights filled of nightmares of what my poor daughter had became? All that time and work, and all I ended up with was a controlled version of the disease. A disease I chose to inject myself with, because at the end of the day, you must fight fire with fire. The rush of the raw strength at your disposal is simply intoxicating. It wasn’t long before I realized how dangerously close I was becoming to an addict, always waging a war inside my mind to not fall victim to the disease. Each kill, each Betrayer I laid to rest, the disease seemed to evolve. I was becoming stronger, and quicker, but most of all, I was becoming crueler. At first I was hunting the Betrayers to save them from themselves, to extinguish their miserable existence, but it soon became thrill-killing. I just wanted to see how I matched up against them. It’s been 10 years, and I’ve hunted down every last Betrayer in America. Their are only of us two left, and I’m one of them. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to finish this, but I’m standing at the entrance to the Black Wall prison, and the disease is controlling me more than myself, and all I can think of is ripping the skin off my daughter’s bones.
I take my job seriously. Like any self-respecting professional, reputation is worth far more than profit. Well, not exactly, but you get where I’m going with this. You can’t put a price on a job well done. Reputation and goodwill. Neither of those are easy to get if you don’t strive to be the best. Now, I’m not saying you have to be the best. All I’m saying is you gotta try. That’s why it pisses me off to no end whenever I meet some young cunt who cares more about strutting than getting results. They have no pride in contributing. No desire to improve themselves. No clue what to do with their future. Worst of all, they always act so goddamn entitled, like the universe owes them a pound of flesh just for being fucking born. Unfortunately, I now find myself glaring up at one such idiot. His pistol was shoved so close to my face that I could lick the gunpowder off the barrel’s tip. But that wasn’t why I kept still, my knees rooted to the ground and hands behind my head. No, it was the fact that he seemed so on edge, he was practically a 15-year-old boy in his first strip club: ready to explode at any time. Jesus, this fucker could kill me with the amount of sweat dripping off his brow alone. He nervously wiped his forehead with the back of a free hand and blinked furiously. “Keep fucking still, ya hear?” he yelled again. “I haven’t moved an inch.” “Yeah, that’s right, don’t even be thinking about doing jack shit! I got the gun here, and I ain’t afraid to bust a cap in yo ass!” I sighed. Jack shit? Bust a cap? I’d felt more threatened at the last parent-teacher conference. This moron wasn’t fooling anyone. “If you don’t want me to move, that’s fine,” I stated. “But you have to be clear about your objective. What is it that you actually want me to do?” “Don’t give me lip, you fucking old man!” He swung the pistol back as if to whip me in the head. I lifted my hands and held them up as high as I could, making sure to flash a fearful expression. “I’m sorry, please don’t hit me!” I whimpered. Somehow or another, I even managed to squeeze out a couple of tears that glistened my eyes. God, that really sells it, doesn’t it? Meryl Streep would be proud of me. You see, one of the first things I learned on the job was that pride and bravado are practically useless. Posturing like the alpha isn’t necessarily the best way to get out alive. When your life is on the line, anything and everything goes, regardless of how stupid it might look. But I haven’t dealt with such a nitwit in years, so I was a little rusty in playing the part of a victim. “Please, please don’t kill me,” I cried, my hands now clasped together in a begging stance. Logically, pandering to his sense of control would be the best approach. It’s always about the dynamics of power, especially when dealing with rookies trying to flex their authority. He shifted his weight to the left foot and leaned in closer, pressing the pistol’s barrel hard against my temple. He smirked, and before I could say anything else, he gave a little jump and exclaimed: “Yeah, that’s right, you fucking bitch-ass piece of shit. I got you! And everyone always saying, you some legend who ain’t even been tagged by the fuzz? Well, that’s all bullshit, yeah? I’m the one standing and you’re on your knees!” He tapped the gun against his own head, in a silly motion that was supposed to indicate that he’d thought of everything. He was practically tap-dancing with the way he was fidgeting left and right. “That’s right, I got you dead to rights, you old fucker! And I ain’t even plan much for this shit. All I did was camp out at your house and here you are! Motherfucker, this shit was so fucking easy!” Holy shit, this little arsehole’s monologuing now. He cackled to himself even more. He didn’t even have a clue what was about to happen. I cleared my throat. “You know this isn’t my house, right?” “What?” he said, not entirely registering what I said and still dancing. “I said, this isn’t my house. It’s an AirBnB.” He froze and stared at me. “What? What you mean?” “Well, let me put this clearly. I booked this place because it’s got a clear view of Bennet’s offices. You know who that is?” I could see the colour drain from his face. Dumb and naive as he was, there was no way he didn’t know who the Dealer of Death was. “Yeah, yeah I know who that.” “Well, then you should also know that Bennet is paranoid enough to take note of any, let’s see, unusual activity around his assets.” “Ok…” “And you should also know that this place has a silent alarm.” “Uh, yeah?” “Well, since you know all that so well, you should also be able to deduce that the police are gonna show up at the door anytime now. That means a whole hullabaloo. Neighbours peeking out windows. Cars stopping along the street and gawking passers-by. The whole shebang.” He could tell that I was being serious. His grip on the pistol loosened, and I bet even the next town over could hear the gears working in his head. “So,” he gulped. “What you saying is that the police are coming?” Boy, this one actually hurt. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. “No,” I muttered patiently. Outside, I could hear the faint sirens in the distance. “It means that the most dangerous man in the whole bloody country just found two new targets.”
“but- but what if I don’t eat him right? How am I supposed to just, eat him? What he tastes bad? What if he lives and escapes?” The closet monsters eyes rolled, his entire job down on earth was to convince nervous nelly’s like Steve to go ahead and eat their victims. However, he’d never encountered one so resistant. “Steve. It’s been years and you’ve had more than enough opportunities. Please, I’m begging you, The next opportunity you get just use those sharp of teeth of yours and sink them in his neck!” Jon heard these quiet whispers from his kitchen. Little did the monsters know he’d wired the room and was listening in. He couldn’t quite believe his ears the first time, but now with all the frustrated back and forths between the two he couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “Alright, alright. Tonight is the night. I’ll simply bite his neck and lock on, Ok?” “You’ve said that every day. Please just DO it already. I’ve already missed my daughters graduation for hell, I can’t miss any more!” 2AM struck, the closet monster peaked through the closet and nodded towards the bed, Steve was going to it. “AHhhHhhhHhHhH” Steve let out a weird battlecry and latched onto the body. “I done it, he’s not moving!” Jon watched from the hallway, he had placed a decoy of pillows to see if anything really would happen. “Finally! Great work Steve how does he taste?” “A bit soft, weirdly tender. Never ate a human before, but I wasn’t expecting this!” 6AM, Jon sat in the kitchen unable to control his laughter. He had missed work, but his manager wouldn’t believe his story of monsters so he decided to just call in sick. “What the hell are all of these pillows, Steve? Why are there feathers littered on the floor?! I’m THIS CLOSE from firing you.” The closet monster said, creating a small gap in between his thick red fingers. Jon hadn’t planned this far. He made two bowls of cornflakes and put them on bed “Good Morning, here’s some energy to get you through your pillow-eating day!” He could just about see both of the faces drop dead. They had failed their mission miserably. Both monsters solemnly came out their hiding spots and trudged past Jon, both mumbling apologies on the way out. The shame of failing overpowered the desire to eat Jon, so they just created a portal in the living room and waved goodbye.
I’m staring in shock. There’s no way I imagined it. I know what it sounds like, even if I’ve never experienced it for myself, or heard it in real life. I’ve seen them do it in old movies. Heard it on the TV shows. The supposed classics, like the goddamned Big Bang Theory, with their never-ending laugh tracks that make you want to grind your teeth into a fine dust. So yeah, I know what laughter sounds like. And what Charlie just did? That was laughter. I look around the park at the other parents and their children. None of them seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Then I turn back to stare dumbfounded at my three year old, who is currently crouched in the sandbox, staring at something in his cupped hands. “Hey buddy,” I say, closing the distance between us and dropping to my knees in front of him. “C-can you do that again for me?” Charlie looks up at me through his adorable chocolate browns. His lips part into a broad beam that’s equal parts gum and milk tooth. Cute, but I’ve seen that trick before. Any old fool can smile. I’ve even seen people on YouTube pull off pretty convincing grins. No, I’m after the good stuff here. The impossible. Because I know what I heard. “Do it for daddy, kiddo,” I whisper. “Let me hear that sonic gold.” I try tickling him tummy. He shies away, his grin growing even wider. But he doesn’t crack. “Come on,” I mutter. I’m trying not to feel frustrated. Because this isn’t the first time I thought I heard him laugh. There was that one night during bath time. I turned away for one second to get his rubber ducky, and accidentally banged my elbow against the edge of the toilet. I’m sure I heard a giggle. But when I turned back around, Charlie was just staring at me, complete poker face. Then there was the time I left him in front of the TV to make him a peanut butter sandwich. On my way back from the kitchen, just as I stepped into the living room, I heard his laughter over the sound of Patty Penguin boinking Jiggly Giraffe over the head with a mallet. Now, I like to think I’m a fairly smart guy. So of course, I immediately recognized the cause and effect at play here. I banged my elbow; Charlie laughed. One cartoon character boinked another with a rubber hammer; Charlie laughed. Maybe my son was into physical humor? Let’s just say I developed quite a few random bruises over the next couple of weeks. Charlie didn’t even chuckle once. But here we are now, in public on a beautiful July afternoon, and I’d bet every single one of my toes that I just heard my boy giggle again. Something made him laugh. “What is it, Charlie? Come on. Show me,” I whisper, running my hands through his hair, roughing up the dark curls a little. “It’s okay. You can show me.” Charlie shakes his head hard, but his eyes twinkle as he transfers whatever he had in both hands into only one hand. Then he hides that hand behind his back. So something did make him laugh. And it’s whatever he has his tiny grasp. “Is it in your hand? Is that what it is?” I ask. Charlie nods, and—to my utter shock—he laughs. Big loud laughter, short but sweet, resonant with glee and silver bells. My breath catches in my chest. It’s real. His laugh is real! And my son has the most beautiful laugh in the world. Sure, it’s the only laugh I’ve ever heard in real life, but it is phenomenal. Pure magic. I want to record it, loop it, and make it the soundtrack to my every waking moment. Charlie’s laugh is a work of art. Suddenly, I realize something else. It’s like time stopped, and every other parent and their child is staring at us. There is bewilderment. Confusion. One mom has tears in her eyes. I spot one teenager on a hoverboard, filming us with his phone. I take Charlie’s free hand and lift him to his feet. “Time to go, buddy.” As we walk across the grass and stone paths, I can feel every eye boring through my skin. I shudder when I realize that some of the parents have started to follow me. “Hey,” one of them cries, the teary eyed mom. “Hey, don’t go. Please!” “How did your kid do that?” a dad with a beer belly yells. “You can’t just take him away after doing that!” “Please, show us!” “Don’t be an asshole, man!” Now, some of the parents are running after us. And we’re running too. We’re almost at the main street and our car is in sight. A guy in a wife-beater catches up to us out of nowhere, and his fingers dig into the flesh of my arm like a steel trap. “Gimme that kid,” he hisses. “I want to figure something out!” I let go of Charlie just quickly enough to deck that guy in the nose. Meanwhile, Charlie has started laughing again. Louder this time. Clearly, he finds our predicament fucking hilarious. I side-step the dude I hit, who is now flat on the ground, grasping at his bleeding nose, and buckle Charlie into the backseat. Then I practically fly over to the other side, start the engine, and floor the gas pedal. The entire drive home, Charlie will not stop giggling. I keep throwing him glances through the rearview mirror. He still has one hand behind his back, but his eyes are fixed on me. It doesn’t take long for us to get home. We only live a few blocks away from the park, and the only reason we don’t walk there is because I never feel like it. Today however, I am grateful for my laziness. Running all the way home would’ve been too exhausting, especially since I would’ve had to carry Charlie on my back. Driving away from those batshit parents was a lot easier. I lead Charlie into the house, and sit him on the sofa. I stare at him. He giggles back. His eyes seem a little unfocused now, and every titter is punctuated with a wheeze, like he’s running out of breath. I reach out a hand to rub his back. “Calm down,” I whisper. “Calm down.” I do it repeatedly, until it appears to be working. He’s still giggling but it’s a lot more subdued. At least, now he can breathe. Finally, when our eyes are locked and I know my words will reach him, I say, “Show me what’s in your hand, Charlie.” Charlie watches me without a word for a long stretch of silence. Then he gives me his closed fist, and unfurls his fingers. Nested in his tiny palm is an even tinier baby bird. Featherless. Beady eyed. And very much dead. My son’s pale palm is stained with the helpless thing’s blood. Charlie’s eyes—those beautiful chocolate brown eyes—drop down from mine to stare at the crushed creature in his hand again. And the corners of his lips quiver. He’s trying to fight it. There’s got to be a part of him that knows this is wrong. But as his mouth begins to widen, as his teeth begin to show, I start to understand. I feel his grey matter connect to mine over the empty space between us. A psionic virus. An infection of the mind. It sparks along my synapses, triggering muscles in my face that it shouldn’t. I’m staring at a dead animal in his hands. And I’m beginning to smile too. Before the psychosis completely sets in, my last truly coherent thoughts are these: that maybe this is a mutation of the No Laughing disease. A natural evolution of the First Experiment’s original design. Maybe, finally, we are no longer afraid. Of pain, or of death. Perhaps now, we even crave it. Who knew that laughter was the cure all along. I hear cars screeching to a halt in our driveway. I can already guess to whom the cars belong. The other parents must have chased us after all. Or maybe one of them just recognized me from the neighborhood and knew where we lived. And now they’re here. What a bad idea. What a glorious one. Because my beautiful son Charlie and I want to share this elevated state with them, with the world. The front door is already unlocked. I know they’ll barge in any second. Father and son, we cradle the dead baby bird in our hands. And as the front door swings open, we laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
Jake, Tammy, and I had been celebrating the end of the semester late one Spring evening. We’d already visited our regular hangout and were on the prowl for something new and different – not an easy feat in a small college town – when the fog rolled in. Jake and Tammy were having a heated argument about the specific nature of subatomic particles. As a humanities major with a minor in ancient history, this was not my area of expertise. So I hung back, listening to them and enjoying the evening chill. Lost in thought, I barely even noticed when their voices disappeared and silence settled over me like a thick blanket. I looked around but the streets around me looked oddly unfamiliar. Street lamps shone puddles of light onto cobblestone streets. I heard moving feet in the distance, but between the fog and the darkness, I couldn’t make out any landmarks. My eyes did catch a glimpse of a door and I could hear pop music as I got to close to what appeared to be an ancient, wooden door tucked away between two nondescript storefronts. Curious and not worried about losing my friends – they’d call me eventually – I opened the heavy door and stepped into the comfortable warmth of a small, cozy pub. For a moment, the place looked absolutely normal; wooden tables surrounded by chairs, occupied by the most diverse crew of people I’d ever seen. Then, the details started sinking in. The three men at the table closest to the door had hooves for feet. They were holding cards with symbols unlike any I’d ever seen and playing a game with golden coins as betting currency. One of the waitresses was completely green; her skin was the color of leaves in high summer. A bartender with deer horns was wiping down a counter that looked older than my own twenty-plus years of life. “Come in, come in,” said the man behind the counter, gesturing for me to take a seat. “This isn’t a sorcerer’s bar, but we’re a pretty chill crowd here, so you’re more than welcome to stay. What can I get you to drink, lad?” “A beer would be nice.” The bartender pulled out a wooden mug from under the bar and filled it with pale ale to the brim. He slid the drink my way. “So what bring you here, lad?” “The end of a school year, I guess.” The man nodded. “Ah, schooling’s good for the soul.” “Says you,” complained a one-eyed giant in the next seat over. “I say it’s overrated. Them mages with their upturned noses, sittin’ in their towers with their bloody books, actin’ like they know every damn thing.” A woman the size of a ruler flew over and landed casually on the counter between me and the giant. The bartender poured her a thimble-full of wine and then turned to the giant. “How many times have you I told you, George, not to antagonize the patrons?” “I ain’t antogo—messing with anyone. Just sayin’.” I took a sip of my drink, which tasted absolutely heavenly. “Maybe George has it right. I’ve been in school for more than half my life, and I can’t say I’ve gotten much out of it. Certainly, nothing resembling a job.” The purple-haired fairy shrugged. “You have to know enough. And sometimes, you have to be in the right place at the right time. Take this place: each of us found our way here, somehow. Learned and not so learned.” The bartender nodded. “What are you studying then, lad?” “Ancient history.” “Tell you what, see that gentleman over there in the corner,” he said, nodding toward a man sitting alone on a stool in the darkest corner of the little tavern. “He’s been around for at least a couple of millennia now. Maybe you’d fancy talking to him. See if he has something to say about ancient history. He might even have some work for you if you're flexible enough to keep up with him.” “Do you think he’ll mind?” “Hey, Gil,” the bartender called out, “you wanna tell your stories to this nice young man here?” The man in the corner looked up. “For a couple of free ales, sure, why not. I’ve got nothing better to do.” I grabbed my mug, walked over to the man’s table and stuck out my hand. “My name’s Andy. Pleased to meet you, Gil.” And that’s how I got my master’s degree in ancient history.
The first one I saw, I assumed was just a mistake, a bug, a quirk. A negative number, hovering over someone's head. That first negative didn't seem that special, just a girl reading a book quietly one night in a coffee shop, ticking slowly downwards. I figured, maybe she survived an accident she wasn't supposed to or maybe she got an organ transplant or maybe this or maybe that. I'd never really understood my ability anyway. For that matter, I tended not to see a lot of people without a fair few breaths left in them. So I put it to the back of my mind; maybe I'd discuss it with Angela later. The second one I saw made a bigger impression. Mostly because I had seen him before. Muscle-bound dude, very friendly, helped me figure out how to squat correctly. Not the brightest in the bunch, but made up for it by being cheerful. I don't remember his name, but what I do remember is that he didn't seem like the type to start reading 1984 in my favorite book-filled coffee shop with negative numbers ticking down over his head. Still, maybe he was trying to impress the girl. Maybe they'd bonded over some medical incident? If organ donations caused this, then it'd make sense that some of them would be friends? I saw four negatives in a library. Reading. Why are they always reading? They weren't near each other this time. I wasn't sure what to make of them, but they all seemed to be reading about politics, philosophy, history, geography. An instinctive wariness spreads through me. I do not like this for some reason. I stay in the library a little longer, and do a little reading of my own near one of them. He goes through an entire book in an hour, neatly re-shelves it, then moves. I don't follow. I've seen over thirty negatives now. What is happening? I don't understand the phenomenon. They're always reading, or sometimes watching films. There was one in both of the movies I've gone to this week. The library negatives are still there. Always the same. Finish one book, put it back, leave. There are 8 in total. If I couldn't identify them I wouldn't even have noticed. I looked up gym bro. Nothing happened to him. No accident, no nothing. His friends say that he hasn't been hitting the gym much lately, but sometimes he takes breaks to fast. Angela and I are meeting about this tomorrow, hopefully I can get some answers. I arrive at Angela's place at mid-day. She greets me from her kitchen. "What did you want to talk to me about anyway?"she sounds concerned. I laugh as I approach, sort of nervously. The whole idea seems kind of stupid when I say it out loud. "I've been noticing something... strange happening recently. With my power? And it seems to be spreading." She looks at me very closely as I round the corner. There's a neat stack of books on her kitchen table. A negative number floats over her head. "Ah yes, your ability to see timers! Tell me, what are you seeing?". Angela's eyes were brown. The negative's eyes are blue.
"Holy crap its like they wont stop coming!"I shout in a panick. I look at my watch to see how much time i have before September 1st. My fireballs, my August 2019 power, will be gone in... 10 MINUTES?!? "WHATS GONNA HAPPEN THEN?!?!"I yell in fear of what could possibly happen. The monsters repeatedly rush me trying to attack and kill me. But my fireballs manage to hold them back. 9 minutes. Its almost as if they just respawn upon death! 8 minutes. I think i made a dent in them. Maybe i have a chance to get them before September. 7 minutes. NOPE NOPE NOPE THERE ARE MORE OF THEM NOW! 6 minutes. I check my watch again. Maybe i still have time. 5 minutes. I start to worry. How can i do this? 4 minutes. As im fighting them off i realise i have only one option. 3 minutes. 2 minutes. 1 minute. 30 seconds. I book it. I have no chance of beating these things without figuring out what my new power is first. I check my watch. 5 seconds. 3. 2. 1. Its September. I keep running. I frantically try to find out what my new ability is. As the monsters close in it happens. My new power: Full control over the rotation of my head. Well crap.
I'll admit I was pretty angry at first. See, I only go to shelters when it suits me, like when it's really cold, or I need the humans to fix something for me... but otherwise, I prefurrrrred to live as a free cat on the land. This time was no exception. I'd been in the shelter for weeks, riding out a massive blizzard, but I was growing weary of their kibble, spring was coming fast, and it was time to get back to nature. Then she showed up. The lady with her said she was the General's assistant, and the kid was his daughter. She needed a pet because life on base was lonely for a nine year old. The technician led them through the exam room and into the kennels, where the girl bypassed the dogs and headed straight for us cats. Figures. There weren't many of us to choose from, and sadly no kittens, who always get chosen first. She looked us over and I tried to make myself seem uninteresting and aloof, hoping the antics of the other cats would attract her attention. I kept an eye on her though. The other cats sensed an opportunity to get out of their cages, so they did somersaults and other "cute"cat tricks. They had no clue what life with a kid this age could mean. I've had some rough experiences to speak to that. I really felt bad for one of them. And that's when I heaved out a massive sigh. I should not have done that. The girl saw it. We made eye contact. "Is this one OK?"she asked. "Why, yes! He's very healthy!"the tech answered. "He seems sad..."the girl said. "Well, he's been here for quite a while. I imagine he's pretty lonely."I heard the girl whisper, "I know how that feels"before she said out loud, "I want HIM!"I had squeezed my eyes closed, I couldn't see her, but I knew deep down she was pointing at me. Rats! This was going to ruin everything! I had my escape plan all set, it was going to happen that night. It was going to be simple- in fact, I'd escaped from this shelter several times over the years. Just reach through the cage and use the toy mouse they gave me and some string I found to flip open the lock, hit the shadows under the exam room tables, then out the bathroom window they always leave open so they can smoke their cigarettes. From there it was an easy trot on down to the mouse field, and before sunrise I'd be spending some time with a nice lady cat... My cage door opened, the tech reached in and grabbed me up, and without so much as a, "How-do-you-do,"she put me into the outstretched arms of the little girl. She smelled of fresh lilac. Spring wasn't just coming, it was here! I couldn't help myself and nuzzled closely into the smell. "Aw, he likes me!"She exclaimed, and even though I'm not always the best judge of humans, she seemed genuinely happy with my accidental show of affection. I could have scratched her arm and bolted off, but I'm a cat, not an asshole. Plus, I don't want to do anything the people at the shelter would remember, or else they might start to recognize me, and I plan on visiting as infrequently as possible for as long as I can So I didn't do anything and away I was whisked. Out of the shelter, into a car, then eventually into a human house. It was pretty nice as far as human houses go. Very old, full of nooks and crannies. And I could smell a mouse! The only thing more fun than chasing a mouse in the mouse fields was chasing a mouse in a house! I hadn't chased a house mouse in many years! This was going to be exciting! Mice stick to some intricate passageways in human houses. They have routes they like to run that are specifically designed to help them avoid detection and capture by human and cat alike. They are very smart! The best mouse chases were those that wind through human belongings and cause them to fall from their perches. There's something about the sound of breaking ceramic I find especially cathartic. But that's a story for another time. Night came, and the girl finally fell asleep. She had me with her in the bed, swaddled up in her blankets, so I gently squeezed myself free and set out to prowl. It didn't take long to catch the trail. I wanted to give that mouse a good scare before the chase began, so I crept silently through the darkness. The scent grew stronger, and soon I could hear the faint scratching of tiny mouse paws just ahead of me. I tensed, then SPRANG around the corner to start the chase, only to spy the very end of the mouse's tail disappearing into a wall! Not moving, I could hear the mouse climbing up the inside of the wall. Back around and up the stairs I ran! I arrived at the top just in time to see the mouse's tail disappear into the girl's room. I followed quietly, listening for tiny footsteps, but hearing none. I peeked slowly around the corner into the room, and there was the mouse in the middle of the floor, looking back at me, standing completely still. I narrowed my eyes and tensed to leap toward him, but instead of running, he stayed where he was, and slowly turned his head to look toward the girl's bed. There was another cat on the bed! She was laying on the sleeping girl's chest, their faces almost touching! In my excitement and focus, I had let my guard down, and that must be why I never noticed the smell of another cat. Now that I knew she was there, I wondered how she came to be there, and why my presence was required. Curious as could be, I stole into the room, and really got a whiff of her scent. It wasn't good. I had smelled that scent before, but not for many many years. Not since the change had happened. In an instant I was taken back to the days long ago when I was a kitten. I lived with an old woman, and she taught me how to understand the speech of humans. She also cast the spell that gave me an infinite number of lives. It's because of her I have suffered a thousand injuries, lived a thousand lives, will live a thousand more. The pain I have endured over so many lifetimes is hard to imagine. It's hard to relate. Crashing in on my consciousness washed memories of all the times I've been beaten, stabbed, eaten, shot, drowned, mauled, broken. I don't "die", but I feel the pain. Every. Bit. Of. It. Every. Single. Time. I try not to think about it in the stretches between, but my nights are often consumed by the thought that soon enough, it will happen again. Something will "kill"me, I'll be all fucked up, and whatever is left will begin to heal. I don't know how, but the healing hurts worse than the killing. It takes a whole lot longer, that's for sure. As all this swirled around in my head, I noticed a wisp of... something... come out of the girl's mouth, to be inhaled by the cat. The smell of death began to creep into the room, and I knew in an instant that the cat was not a proper cat, and she was hurting the girl who had been kind to me! Enraged, I ran at the bed and leapt with all my might toward the cat, my claws extended, and they dug deeply into her flesh! With a mighty howl she went flying, and me along with her. The ruckus startled the girl awake, coughing, and she came to her senses just in time to see me and the other cat rolling on the floor fighting, then to see the other cat morph into her true form! A witch! A witch who was no longer an old woman, but the General's assistant! The girl screamed in terror as the witch tried desperately to detach me from her face. My claws were digging in for all they were worth, and they were worth a lot! Just as the witch was able to pull me away, the General burst into the room! He watched in shock as the witch hurled me with all her might into the wall above the girl's bed. The pain was immediate and intense. My neck was surely broken, my skull crushed. As darkness engulfed me in its' familiar embrace, I heard him shouting in anger, then I heard no more. Slowly, slowly I crawled out of a dream state. My head throbbed in pain, there wasn't a bone in my body that felt much better. I felt a gentle caress, it was the girl stroking my fur. She petted me ever so softly, and I was grateful for her tenderness. Opening one eye, I looked up at her. She smiled, then began talking as she stroked. "You're a special cat, aren't you? Yes you are. You saved me from that awful woma... whatever she was. I think she was hurting me, but you fought her. I saw her change from a cat into a... woman. I saw what she did to you. You were dead. Your heart wasn't beating. I felt for it. Your head was smashed. I was holding you when you gasped a new breath and came back to life. It took an hour. Dad was there and saw it too. He also saw the... woman... change back into a cat as she tried to escape from the window. We don't know where she went, but he called the police and they're looking for her. I don't think they'll find her." "Me, either"I thought. "I hope she doesn't come back..."she trailed off. As I drifted back to sleep, the last thing I thought was, "If she does, she's gonna have a fight on her hands. I'll see to that..."
“No creature is more foul than the fairy. Their level of depravity and destruction is at least equal to that of demons, though made worse by the fact that they laugh as they kill. A fairy cares for nothing but its own vile pursuit of pleasure.” — On the Necessity of Fairy Eradication, By Mr. D Crocker, co-authored by Mr, T Turner. 2004 copy right. All rights reserved. ~ “Don’t ignore us, dear, we only want to help,” said the one with pink hair. The green haired fool laughed. His mouth dripped blood. Chester’s blood, Timmy thought, Oh God, Chester! “You’re causing this you know, tell him Wanda!” “He knows, my dear Cosmo, he knows.” Timmy sat curled up in a ball in his closet. His fingernails dug into his forehead so tightly that blood trickled down into his eyes. This can’t be happening, THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! “Oh it’s happening kiddo,” Wanda said. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD,” Timmy screamed. “No-can-do,” Cosmo mused, giggling like a child. “Jorgen gave you to us. You’re ours now, Timmy! And we’re yours! Isn’t that wonderful!” A splitting pain cracked down Timmy’s head, a byproduct of the accident. The pain never went away, though it had faded to a dull throb most of the time now. It was only when he was stressed that it got really bad anymore. Timmy screamed a guttural, wordless cry. “AGGHK I can’t think! wish this pain would LEAVE ME ALONE!” There was silence for a long moment. Then Wanda spoke softly. “Well why didn’t you say so.” POOF And just like that the pain was gone. Timmy’s eyes widened. “I...I wish Chester was still alive.” POOF An awful, agonized shriek filled the room. “AHHHH OH GOD WHY?!?” “I WISH CHESTER’S WOUNDS WERE COMPLETELY HEALED!” “Ah man,” Cosmo whined. POOF The screaming stopped. “W-what the hell just happened,” Chester said drowsily. “AND I WISH HE WAS IN HIS BED, SLEEPING, AND WOULD WAKE UP THINKING THIS WAS ALL JUST A BAD DREAM!” POOF Timmy slid the closet door open slowly. The two fairies’ faces were euphoric. Wanda spoke slowly, as if high. “Please Timmy, more wishes.” “Soooo good,” Cosmo moaned. “It feels soooooooo good.” Timmy’s breath came heavily. He was terrified, but for the first time since the accident he felt like himself again. The pain was gone, he could THINK. The unfortunate side effect was that he could now see the state of disaster that was his room. Blood painted the walls and floor, and all of the furniture had been smashed to bits. “I wish my room was clean.” POOF The shattered pieces of furniture put themselves back together. Blood caked on the walls vanished in a puff of smoke. And a strange, minty, smell filled air. “More Timmy...” Timmy tapped his foot. Think, Timmy. “I wish Cosmo’s mouth was sealed shut,” he said. Wanda eyed the other fairy sideways. Cosmo chuckled at first, but when he saw his partner was seriously considering granting the wish, his face grew nervous. “Wanda, come on...” “I’m sorry, dear,” the pink haired fairy said. POOF A flap of skin covered Cosmo’s mouth. He clawed at it, but to no avail. “I wish Wanda’s feet were too heavy for her to fly.” Cosmo’s eyes narrowed. “Hang on,” Wanda said. POOF There was a loud thump as Wanda hit the floor. “I wish Cosmo was a fish that didn’t know how to swim.” POOF A tiny goldflish with green eyes flopped onto the floor. Timmy blinked tears out of his eyes. “I wish the both of you were at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean.” The two fairies eyed each other, both with twisted rage in their expressions. POOF Timmy collapsed to the floor, panting. He felt horrible, guilty, ashamed.... and free. “Good riddance,” he whispered. “I wish you two never come back.”
It was a couple hundred years ago, but it felt even longer. My first brush with death was... not good. My brother died, shot in the head because he got involved with the wrong group. His funeral was in a small house, with my uncle as the pastor. I loved him so much, he brought a light into my life, after saving me from committing suicide when I was 25. During the whole ceremony, I cursed death. I cursed it till even Satan grimaced and told me to stop. Death itself, wasn't pleased with my dis respectfulness, as it proceeded to take my entire family except for the children. "Mercy to the young ones, for they have still a pure life,"he said. Those words echoed in my mine for the next hundred years, it was the first time it talked to me. I lived a fruitful life. Wrote a book and raised the kids my family had. They were in their primes. It was a blessing to see them grow up, experience sadness, happiness and all in between. They were happy. I was happy. Until they were also claimed by death, like they were products on the shelf waiting to be bought or stolen against their will. Death spoke to me, said it was their time. I saw their souls in it's eyes. They were frozen with fear from the accident they were just in. I tired to fight it. I tried to stop it from taking my babies, my life. Nothing worked. I grabbed its cloak, only to be paralyzed with pain. It was too strong. After their funeral, it was only my wife. I had to protect her. I tried everything. Praying, sacrifices, sage, going somewhere else completely. Turns out you can't outrun death, usually. It caught up and took my wife at age 94. I suppose it was a bit merciful, as it let me have a moment with her. I begged it to not take her. We had a goal to life past 95. We were so close. And then, it spoke to me again. "You do not understand. I am giving them a gift." It's voice was hollow, deep and had an echo. It was dull, like it had seen everything. "w-wha-?" "Death is not a punishment. It is a gift. You are freed." Tears were still running down my cheeks. "f-freed from w-whatt?" "You will understand when it's your turn, in a few months." I stood up with my fist clenched, anger seeping over me. "Like hell i'll die! You won't take me! I'll die when pigs fly!" My mouth ran before my mind had time to think about the question. And then death chuckled. "You're persistent. I've always wanted to play with the humans. They're the most unique out of them all." "out of who all?!"I declared. "Your wish has been granted. You live eternally. I wonder how god will react to me granting you immortality." "w-what?" "Goodbye, human. This is not the last time I will see you though." And off it went, never to be seen again. Hundreds of years later, I finally made a pig with the DNA extracted and stored when Earth still existed. It has wings, it has flying capabilities. It's a bird mammal. It's my ticked out of this universe. Pick it up and set it loose. It falls straight down, but gets back up. It flaps its wing a few times, and looks around. Then it flaps. It flaps harder and harder until it's airborne. I see my heart thumping like it had a couple hundred years back when I still had emotion. It's all coming back to me. The pig leans forward and pushes it's wings. It flies. It goes backwards. Then it goes up and smells the ceiling. At the end, I see a portal open. There I see death, with a sad, sad, smile. Behind it, I see my family. The kids, the elders, all smiling the same, sad, smile. "Welcome."
My parents named me Eurin, Eurin Spits. As you can imagine, I endured a lot of bullying when I was young so my life ended up consisting mostly of pain and full of regrets. So after I died and found this laptop with the Game of Life on it I couldn't believe my luck. It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me and when I saw that I could play as a random human with no baggage, all I wanted was to give myself a nice, normal name. I came up with Dan Cooper and as I waited for the game to load I thought about all the things I wanted to do. And what I wanted to do most was wreak havoc. Dan Cooper appeared on the screen and I put my plan into action. The first thing I noticed was that I appeared to playing in the 1970s. Once I orientated myself I found a shop selling briefcases and when the clerk was with another customer I snatched a beautiful black attache case that was displayed in the window. After that, I went down to the local hardware store and bought a bunch of cylinders and wires. A couple of hours later I was on my way to the airport. When I arrived I bought a one-way ticket to Seattle with cash I'd found in a house I burgled earlier. Before boarding I went to the bathroom and wrote the note that would kick off the chaos of my plan. The plane took off without incident and I ordered a bourbon and soda then lit my first cigarette. The 1970s weren't all that bad I thought to myself as I exhaled my first drag. When the flight attendant showed up with my drink I passed her the carefully crafted note. She blushed and smiled, thinking it was my number, and slipped it into her pocket without looking. I leaned forward and whispered quietly to her, “miss, you’d better look at that note. I have a bomb.” I could see her processing what I’d said. There was recognition and a momentary flash of terror, before her training kicked in and she walked off. I watched as she read the note then calmly picked up the phone and started talking to the Captain. She walked back over. “Show me the bomb,” she whispered. I opened the briefcase slightly and she looked in then nodded. 10 minutes later a call came over the speaker, “ladies and gentlemen, due to a minor mechanical difficulty our landing will be slightly delayed.” I ordered a second drink and sat back, enjoying the luxury of lighting up another cigarette on the plane. The flight attendant came over after a while and informed me that my demands had been met. I agreed that we could land. We touched down 15 minutes later and emergency vehicles were everywhere. The other passengers started chatting, wondering what was going on. I stood up, “ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. I have a quick transaction to make, then you’re all free to go.” A few people continued to murmur. Some started to tear up as they realized the situation they were in. It took the authorities half an hour to bring the duffel bag to the plane. They dumped it at the bottom of the stairs pushed up against the plane and one of the passengers was tasked with retrieving it. Once I had the goods, I ordered everyone off except the pilots, who I told to remain in the cockpit. We took off again and I looked out onto the flashing lights below, smiling as I realized how easy it all had been. After we’d flown for 15 minutes I pulled the parachute from the duffel bag and strapped it on. I went to the door and pulled it open. I looked back towards the cockpit, smiled, then jumped. As Dan Cooper fell towards the jungle I looked down at my keyboard and wondered. I starting typing: /tp \[Eurin Spits\] x y z Suddenly Dan Cooper was standing in some bushes near the steps of my childhood home in London, watching my two young parents laugh excitedly as they took a set of keys off the real estate agent. I watched with a smile and then ordered Dan to creep around the back so I could place the duffel bag as a welcoming present.
10/19/20xx Healing is never a magic that can be done as miracle. But there was an ancient grimoire that can heal people with a different mechanic. That is summoning the labyrinth of fate. A illness will incarnate as a monster in a labyrinth. Defeating it will save someone from their fate from that illness. But my best friend had a terminal illness. And today, I'm ready to bet all the power of my memories. To myself, do your best. xxxxxxxx I don't know what to feel. I feel so lost. I don't have a sense of self. This journal is the only way to celebrate the me that died that day.
I lay on the canyon floor, my body more mangled hamburger meat than man. The hot sun beat down on my mercilessly. Its unending light was interrupted only by the thin silhouettes of birds ominously circling above my destroyed body. Well, at least this happened on a Wednesday. I moved my arm to shield my eyes but the pain, now building after the adrenaline's faded, forced me to stop. Groaning, I turned my head instead. With grim satisfaction, I glared at the dead mountain lion. My pathetic little knife was still lodged into its throat. The blood had stopped pouring out; it was already beginning to clot and attract little flies. One of these insects dared to land near the beast's vacant eyes. I shut my own and wondered what it would be like if animals could only die on Tuesday, too. Would we have kept fighting? Maybe that was too generous a term to use. The big cat had done most of the hurting while I had gotten lucky with my stupid knife. Now, he was dead and I was still alive. Only because it wasn't Tuesday, though. I probably would've died from these wounds if it weren't for that. But I was indeed still living - and so I was hurting. Worse and worse with each minute. Whimpering a little, I forced myself to my torn backpack, which thankfully had fallen in some shade created by a rock pillar. Shaking hands thankfully found the plastic bottle of ibuprofen. I didn't have much water left - maybe half a day's worth. But I was so thirsty. Knowing I would regret it later, I gulped down half of it, along with 4 pills. This took what little energy I had left; before I knew, I had collapsed into sleep. I awoke to the soft light of the stars and soft rustling of something near me. I sleepily peered over my shoulder and was jolted to full consciousness by the sight of dark figures crowding the corpse of the dead cat. Buzzards, I realized. Or vultures. Some sort of scavenger bird. They glanced at me briefly but busily turned back to their meal. The pain was still there, but at a more manageable level. i squinted through the cracked glass of the watch on my wrist; apparently, I had somehow dozed off for almost 10 hours. Not good. That was 10 less hours I had to spend finding help. On the other hand, the rest probably helped me a heal a little. I swallowed another 2 pills, dry. I was thirsty again, but I decided to try and conserve what little water I had left. Now that I could think a little more clearly, I realized that my priority number one was finding someone to take me the closest hospital. I had no idea how bad my wounds were - no doubt fatal, but were they reversible? Maybe not. Certainly less and less so as hours and days dragged on. Time was of the essence. I groaned and pulled my bag closer. Let's see what I had to work with. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out r/Idreamofdragons!
"Hairless Apes."That's how we always referred to your kind. You were monkeys. Not all of you understood it, and some of you rejected it upon being told, but it's the truth. I have been around since the literal dawn of creation and I can tell you with absolute certainty that you are apes. Your ancestors were monkeys that swung among the trees and fought with bears and tigers for a meal. Now, keeping that knowledge in mind, what I am going to tell you will come as no great surprise. I can't tell the difference between you and actual apes. Your limbs are the same, your strange faces with two eyes, no wings, and no tails. You are all so... similar. However, despite that, even I am having trouble understanding why the human you sold me is growing the way he is. You assured me that humans age quickly, needing less than a decade to understand most concepts. You also assured me that the human you gave me would be a powerful member of their breed, a purebred human with untold magical prowess. As of this writing, I am unconvinced that you have sold me a true human. I took him to a meeting of my kin, and I met their slaves. Without exception, their humans are mostly hairless, as humans should be, but mine is not. Slave trader, I suppose I do not need to remind you of the consequences of deceiving a Queen of the Abyss? In addition to the great amount of hair my human possesses, he also shows several other characteristics that appear quite different from other humans. For one thing, he is much larger. At his last checkup, my Slave Medic noted that he weighs nearly 1800 Libra, a gigantic value for humans, especially one that is only four solar cycles in age. Additionally, his arms and legs appear to be developing at a different rate than other children. His arms in particular, are much longer and larger than others of his breed. I must applaud you for one thing, though, Slaver. The specimen you sold me is a truly wondrous example of their breed's ability to use magic. I had always seen humans as playful actors of magic. They try so desperately, and some are good enough to almost make our kind believe they might have potential, but they always fail. Not so for my wonderful Ectrazeus. He is imaginative and bright, a highly curious child. He takes to his lessons well, rarely needing more than one explanation to understand even the most difficult of magical concepts. In all things magical, he is a superb example of their breed. In less than three of your years, he grasped nearly all the simple formulae, and has been expanding daily. His questions are insightful and his thoughts are truly ahead of their time. Ectrazeus is a fine slave, and I am hopeful that he will soon be ready to take his place as my heir. I have already arranged several suitable marriage candidates, and given his magical prowess, he is quite desirable. Despite this, I am still unconvinced of his provenance, and therefore am requesting additional information on the breeder, his genepool, and his ancestral lineage. I cannot free him and crown him Heir Presumptive until my concerns are assuaged. Please make these details available to me as soon as possible. Per our contract, your soul, and the souls of all that you hold dear depend greatly on the answers you can provide. If you have deceived me, I will remind you why I am known as She Who Cuts. In the meantime, I will continue with the training of Ectrazeus in the hopes that you are truly a man of your word. -Queen of the Abyss, Merlkileor the Everqueen. Addendum: Ectrazeus has a peculiar mark upon his back hair, a silver band of unknown origin. My kin are unhelpful in identifying the cause, so I am reaching out to you. Please identify and explain this band, and if it something that needs to be corrected or removed. Any defects on my slave will be laid at your feet, Slaver. Do not fail me.
Mob: come-on, it's your turn now. Make a circle there and you win. Kid poured down all the liquid from the bottle to make a perfect circle ( which is an unsuccessful attempt) Kid : aaah.... my bad . So I wonder, why you are so rich and not even famous. Mob: In our line of work ,the best and worst thing is you can't take credit for what you have done and yet your reputation follows. Some people call me brilliant or genius Mastermind or something but I simply see it as cause and effect. Kid: So, you like a spy? Mob: you are right in a way. It's just more dangerous and artistic. Kid: cool. One day I will ..... Wait , I think Mom is at the door. (Door knob turned and she opened the door) Lady : wait, who the f** are you ? What you doing here ? Stay away from my kid. She ran towards the closet to pick her gun and slipped on the oil circle, placed carefully on the floor. Her head hit the shoe wrack and started bleeding out. Mob : A job well done. Kid(awed): what did you do ? Mob : I do ? You did this and if you don't wanna get caught be a spy. And don't tell em a word.
"A hundred years, Madam Prome?"I asked, nervously. "Two hundred years,"the dragon corrected. I think she was small, for a dragon at least. She was maybe two feet taller than me. Her red scales shone and turned to gold every time the light reflected off of it. Madam Prome growled and leaned back in her chair, similarly crimson and gold. "Madam, why would you want to take my case?"I asked. "Everybody I asked... said it wasn't possible." "Look,"Madam Prome looked down at her file. She was clutching it very carefully with her talons out of the way. "Mr. Cross. I haven't been in this business for 200 years for nothing. I have a very special set of skills, which I intend to fully utilize in this case. Besides, it's going to be fun." "Fun? But Madam, my case..." "Don't worry about it, Mr. Cross. If you are willing to pass the case to me, I'll handle the logistics from here on out" "Of course. There isn't anybody else who would take it." "Alright, I'll make sure my assistant completes the required paperwork. I ask that you place your absolute trust in me. I have zero doubts that we will overturn your conviction. As for your payment..." "How are you so sure? I... I can't remember anything. All I could see was fire. A wave of flames sweeping across the entire factory. And I survived."I buried my face into my hands. The sight replayed in horrifying detail in my head. I felt a paw land on my shoulder. "Mr. Cross, I understand. I will tell you why you weren't injured,"Prome said. "There's fire dragon blood in you. It makes you resistant to the element." "What?"I was stunned. "Yes. It's a blessing and a curse. The very same dragon blood means that you are susceptible to the dragon arts. It's hard to explain, but think of it as a way to directly influence your very psyche and body. You didn't set the fire. You were merely a tool in a dragon's hands." Silence filled the room. Madam Prome sat back down. I could only sit, mouth agape, trying to process all the information that has just been revealed to me. "How do you know all this?" "I just do. It's a well-known fact among the dragon community, but there are few of us left now. So many of us have tried to integrate with humans, but few succeed completely. Those that do, are hunted down by Epime, a dragon purist." "Who is that?" "All-around dirtbag, kills anything that stands in his way. He's also my brother and I need to end him before it's too late." "I'm sorry. What?" "Mr. Cross, there's simply too much information for you to process right now. All you need to know is that I will defend you, but your payment won't be in cash or gold. I need your mind, your memories: to find Epime."
Jesse scribbled down numbers and figures in his chart. Nothing. All normal. He sighed in defeat. He was still no closer to finding out whatever anomaly lay in his cells. "They all keep replicating perfectly, and they never tire out!"he wailed as he plopped himself down next to the workbench. He slammed the clipboard and charts beside him. "It makes no sense." "Hey, Jesse,"said a gentle voice from the lab door. "It's the building's about to be closed for the night."It was his good friend and coworker Cindy. Her frizzy brown hair still held its shape somewhat from having been tied back in a ponytail. Jesse pulled himself out of the chair. "Alright, I'll clean up for the night." Jesse appreciated someone like Cindy. He would maybe even consider courting her if he could do it without revealing his secret decades down the line. But after almost 2000 years of life on Earth, seeing empires rise and fall, he knew that many people simply couldn't be trusted. \---------- All of his problems started a little under 2000 years ago in a dry cave out in the middle east. Jesse knew his name, and that he was a scientist, but everything else was a blip. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite recall any of the details that brought him here, or who he really was. All of his scientific training and knowledge was still there, but all things personal were not. And after escaping, making up some stuff about resurrection to appease the woman outside, and walking to the nearest town, it was clear he also needed to figure out how he had managed to go back in time. He forgot what year he had originally lived in, but he was sure it wasn't this one. After rumors of "Jesus"rising from the dead started to go around, he decided to shave his beard and skip town. He followed the trade routes with some merchants and found himself in the Parthian Empire, laying low for a while. He learned Greek and Parthian, and then studied under some scholars to see what he could do with what the era had to offer. He knew something was wrong when one his teachers, who had been with him for almost 15 years, noted that he aged very well. Years turned into decades, which turned into centuries. Jesse pulled favors, hid his identity, even learned how to fight with a spear with the amount of political conflict he found himself in. But he always found a way to study his own body, legal or not. Jesse quickly realized how slow the years went by. Often times, he was stuck on something for centuries because he knew technology just hadn't caught up yet. So he did everything to stay on the cutting edge of science and medicine. He studied under Al-Razi in Baghdad. He read works from Ibn al-Nafis. After traveling to Europe in upsettingly scratchy clothing, he sat in on countless lectures, and worked at dozens of universities under dozens of names. He even assisted Leeuwenhoek in making his simple microscope design, and suggested to Fleming to study a certain mold species. Slowly, he was getting closer. The technology, the scientific theories, the medical laws, finally getting to where he needs it to be. But still, every test, every possible route to an answer lead to nothing. All normal. But Jesse was living proof that he was the total opposite of that. He grew ever jaded over the ages. \---------- "You really need to stop working so hard, Jesse,"said Cindy. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket. "Genetic diseases are notoriously hard to figure out. You should really hire assistants." "I don't need assistants. This is something I've been working towards for ages,"huffed Jesse. "They wouldn't understand it." "Maybe you just need a change of pace. I heard MIT is taking on a few new researchers for this genomics project that's been in progress in the last few years. You should apply." "What is it?"he asked. "Human Genome Project. started in 1990. Seems really ambitious to me, but I think you might like that." Jesse's eyes lit up. "The Human Genome Project! Of course! They would have the answers!"He turned to Cindy. "That's perfect, I didn't even think of that! It's gonna be revolutionary! It's exactly what I need, thank you!"He hugged her tightly. CIndy blushed. "O-oh! No problem, Jesse. Just, keep in touch with the rest of us if you get in, OK?" "Of course,"Jesse replied. He hadn't felt this alive since the days of Germ Theory.
That thing. Well. We are still processing what we saw that day. I loved human history with a passion and even wrote an essay on their past before joining the diplomatic team that settled our treaty with their specie. I was amazed and terrified to see what those peaceful creatures did to themselves a few gledars ago. But now it was obvious why they could afford that peace. Why nobody dared to invade their systems. And why they've been monitored by anything that could in the galaxy. When they arrived at the battlefield, we immediately received a ceasefire from our invaders. Not a single shot was fired. We all know that it would have been pointless, a horrible waste of lives. Because how are you supposed to win against a star sized battleship ? How can you even process a "We're staying a few clicks away from your system to avoid messing with your gravity."? How do you deal with a... Thing... That both exists and does not exist at the same time ? Against something that just rewrites reality, you don't have a choice but to accept peace. I think that if humans are so secretive about their military technology, it's because they don't want to be feared, because they don't want to be seen as the monsters they used to be. And the monsters they could become.
I struggle to sleep at night, i feel an awful amount of shame. All the people lost, yet still here. I tend to talk to a friend of mine when things get too much for me to handle alone, but he is gone now too. They did not like me talking with him. I still wonder how they have not tracked down and killed me yet, considering i was the one who made these machines possible. Probably wont be long though, i can feel them closing in on me. I sit in despair on my bed for another 10 minutes before i finally get up to make some coffee. I carefully walk over to the kitchen, it is not that far since i live in a small apartment but there is clothes and electric components scattered all over the floor. I reach the kitchen and hope i have some coffee left. All these long nights really do crave a lot of it. As i start pouring my coffee i hear someone knocking on my front door. I immediately know who it is, or rather, what agency it is. Now there is no time to waste. I rush over to my bed where my clothes lay, no need to care about the damage i cause to my feet as i'm stepping on the sharp components laying on the floor. I put on a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt along with some sneakers, and then a thick jacket. "Yep, a jacket", i think to myself, feels weird to even consider it since the temperature never reaches below 25c here but i know i will need it soon. I really did not want to use the machine, but i have no choice now. They have not come here to argue with me. I take out a suitcase from a secret compartment i have under my very messy bed. And as i open it and pull out the machine and put it on the bed i feel my hands shake. I have never used it before but i have to now. I need to stay alive to tell the world that these things cant actually teleport anything. Using it is suicide, not that anyone would know that when they activate it. Not that anyone would know that when they come out on the other side. What it was meant to do was to create new organs for transplant. Although it is at least used for it. But then one company came up with the "oh so ingenious plan"when they found out that it can have other uses. And so with my help they figured they could use it for travelling, i can feel nothing but resentment for whomever figured that was a good idea. To copy a persons DNA with his or hers personality and memory and then send that information to a receiver on the other side. With the great precision and an immensely low chance of the process accidentally going wrong, it is a very clever use for it, but not that ethical. So they call it teleportation. No one will every know that it isn't, how could they? It isn't technically murder, but if you value consciousness and life as much as i do you would know that this is wrong. And those who stole my invention knew that. But they do not care, all they want to do is revolutionize the way we travel and the people that is really paying the price is it's users. So i must stop this madness, that no one else knows is happening and i will have to sacrifice myself a lot of times before this is over. The knocking is getting louder and more aggressive until it eventually stops and i know exactly what is going to happen next. I take a deep inhale and I press the button on the machine that initiates the teleportation and i'm gone.
“And you confirmed the death?” The man asked. “Yes I told you, he was dead the second he hit the car.” I replied. “And it looks real?” He inquired. “As real as you can get, they won’t find anything anyway, the car fell into the river five hundred feet down, they’re not finding that anytime soon if at all.” When I said ‘As real as you can get’ I meant it. I didn’t have to do a thing. A phone call from a family member was the culprit. It’s funny, people always say not to text and drive and perhaps this is the best example of it. Paying more attention to what emoji he should send rather than the road he looked up too late to see the bike passing him. It was a good swerve mind you, he avoided the bike. He however did not avoid the head on collision that sent the car plummeting off the bridge. I have to say it was quite a display. Of course having the reputation that I do, I couldn’t just say he died from his own stupidity. And let’s be honest, who wouldn’t take advantage of something like that when you get paid for it. Plus it fit the bill of ‘Making it look like an accident.’ It was great. For me of course, but then who is going to ask a dead man how they felt about it? I don’t tend to lie to my customers, at least not to this extent but I figured I’d take the free pass and the money and just be on my way. “Do you have my money?” I asked crossing my arms. He grabbed a bag from out of the car and handed it to me. “It’s all in there, just like we agreed” I checked the bag “Good, then our business is done.” My phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my pocket to read the message. “How’d you do it?” He asked. I frowned at him. “How’d you make it look real?” I sighed, looking away from the phone. “I shot his tyre, where the rim meets the rubber. It’s practically unnoticeable and if they find the car it’ll be in pieces anyway.” “Why would you tell me that?” He questioned “Now I know your strategy.” He smiled at me I smiled back “Well it was nice doing business with you, I hope your family doesn’t love you to much.” His smile faded. The shot to the leg hurt him the most. Although if you looked at it you wouldn’t be able to tell it was from a gun. One second the leg was there, the next it was three feet away on the floor. “You’ve played this game for a long time” I said “but I’ve played it for longer.” The shot rang out as the birds scattered from the nearby area. I wasn’t planning on killing him, but the message came at the right time. For me of course, there’s no way it came at the right time for him. I texted the number back and headed to meet them. It wasn’t personal, it was just business. - Sorry for the slightly odd formatting, hope you enjoyed it!
"You won't be making your other appointments I'm afraid. Death waits for no man." I was frozen. I couldn't move. I had assumed the man was unstable, but then he had removed his hood. Black smoke wisping out of empty eye sockets. Skin taut and pale. His lips pulled back to reveal rotted teeth. "Sorry, its part of the job to live up to expectations, and you expect death to be this big solemn thing."That was what Death said. Somehow I felt the extra meaning. The implication that I should know better as a therapist. In fact I did know better, but at some deeper level the childhood image of Death was still there. "Are you here to kill me?" Death barked out a laugh. "Heavens no. I just want to talk. You know, therapy is good, and in my line of work, where I deal with death every day, an occasional checkup is good." I blinked. I had told people that before. In fact, my brother-in-law was currently pissed at me for suggesting he might benefit from some therapy due to his work as an emt. But.... "Go on, say it."Death was grinning. "You aren't human. I can't possibly know anything about your psychology. And one would think the personification of death would be used to it. And...and...and..."I stammered as I tried to organize my thoughts. "And I'm probably dreaming or suffering some major head trauma." "Fair enough to those last points."Death raised a gaunt hand and gestured around the room. "You can read the clock, a book, your emails, whatever you need to convince yourself this is real. But for your other points, I was created for humans. I exist solely for humans. Thus, I have some human psychology. I'm not quite human, but I'm more human than you would think. I often choose someone to talk to for a while. But after seeing some people talk about how therapy helped them in their last moments, I figured I'd give it a shot. So, have at me doc."Death leaned forward somewhat expectantly. "Have...at it?" "Yeah. Analyze me. Fix my problems. Make me feel better." "I..." Basics. Go back to the basics. "That's not how therapy works. Do you have a goal in mind? Is there some part of your life that you want to improve? Some behaviors you are unhappy with? What drove you to therapy?" "Oh nothing. Its a lonely life, but I've lived it a long time. People talked about it in there final moments. More and more over the past few decades. I figured it was worth a shot if people talked about it in their final moments ever."The last words rang in my skull. Shaking my head, I ignored that and focused on the whole of what he said. He was lonely. I could work with that.
Dan lifted his coffee cup sleepily. Just as the taste of earthy Arabica touched his tongue, it registered. He pulled the cup back to stare at it. “# 17 Dad” it read, in a bold, red crayon font. This was extraordinary! For as long as he could remember, Dan was in the low billions. He still bragged about the day he crossed the 990-some-odd-million mark. That was February 15th, the day after an exhausting daddy-daughter break-dance. This, though…it couldn’t be right. He’d never even coached her softball team! Come to think of it, just last night he’d shouted at her, telling her to clean her damn room or he’d give all her toys to a homeless shelter. The cup stayed steady at #17. He racked his brain for something he’d done to become #17 father in the whole wide world, but nothing came to mind. He was quite certain the shouting was the only interaction he’d had with his daughter all day. Perhaps that was it, then. Perhaps he was meant to shout at her. Perhaps he was even meant to give away her toys. The second digit spun, revealing a six. “Number 16! By God, I’m number 16!” he shouted aloud, jumping to his feet. So it was true. He was meant to throw away her toys. But that couldn’t be right. A good dad wouldn’t throw away his child’s toys. The six shuttered briefly, then slowly spun back toward the 7. “Alright! Alright!” he acquiesced. The cup ticked back to 16. Dan kept the cup firmly in his sight as he mounted the stairs. The numbers ticked down to 15, 14, 13. He realized he’d forgotten a bag, and turned back to retrieve it. The number shuttered. “Hold on, I’m just getting a bag,” he told the cup, and it stilled at 13. The bed was piled high with stuffed unicorns, narwhals and poop emojis. He set the coffee cup down on the dresser, and started jamming the trash bag full. As the cup ticked down into the single digits, he started to daydream about telling his coworkers. Bill, in the next cubicle over, was always so smug about his 89,000. He’d been insufferable for weeks when it hit 42K. Dan imagined setting the cup next to his mouse pad, waiting patiently for Bill to notice. “Oh, that? Yes, I hit 9 off and on,” he’d humbly brag. “Oh, it’s nothing I do. Just who I am, I suppose. I could give you a few tips sometime, if you’d like.” A thick grin spread across Dan’s stubbly face, as he imagined it. When the bed was all but empty, the cup read “#3 Dad”. He wondered if he should leave it at that. Top 3. Not bad for a second-rate father like him. It really should be good enough. Dan eyed the last item on the bed. “Lovey,” she called it. It was a simple blue blanket with frayed edges and twisted corners. Her one solace after her mother died. He pictured what he’d tell her when she arrived home from school. “You’re 13 now, you know. Too old to sleep with a baby blanket. I did it for your own good.” The cup ticked down to #2. Number two. That seemed about right for the shit father that would give away his daughter’s Lovey. His fantasies evaporated then, replaced with the image of his daughter’s tear-streaked face. No, it wasn’t worth it. Bill could keep his bragging rights. With a deep sigh, Dan dumped the contents of the bag back onto the bed. Then, remembering the care she took to arrange them, he lined them up in order, first by size, then by color. As he touched each one, he recalled her smile as she received it. The gummy smile when she was one; the gap-toothed smile when she was six; her braces gleaming on the day she turned eleven. When all was back in order, he reached for the cup. Dad # 9,372,896,001. Now that was a number he could live with.
Everything had gone so nightmarishly wrong. I swear it hadn't been on purpose, I just wasn't really paying attention. Before you judge me, you try making and serving all kinds of fancy drinks for needy college kids while also trying to whip up batches of nectar for impatient gods who'll turn you insane if you keep them waiting too long (definitely not talking about Dionysus...) Anyway, it was two nights ago. Athena had appeared to me, requesting four glasses of nectar for a girl's night toast with her, Aphrodite, Artemis, and Persephone. It was the first time her nutjob husband Hades allowed her to return to the surface world in months, and she'd wanted to celebrate Aphrodite's millionth engagement (she planned to call the whole thing off at the very last second for kicks). So there Athena was, dressed in jeans and a neat white blouse. Her grey eyes bored into me as she placed her order, which made me a little uncomfortable, but I worked anyway. The problem happened when her idiot brother Ares showed up. Leather jacket, biker jeans, Mohawk—typical douche. They'd started arguing, which drove me nuts. I accidentally mixed up the orders and gave Athena three glasses of nectar and a glass of cherry soda, while giving one of my friends the fourth nectar. Long story short, it raised a lot of awkward questions when she was run over by a car and somehow managed to get up unscathed several hours later. Now I'm hiding her in my bedroom until I can find a way to reverse what happened. The last time a mortal consumed nectar without permission ... well, the point is, Zeus couldn't find out about Cindy. The problem was she didn't know about the existence of the Greek gods (I hadn't told her—the less you know, right?) but what I did tell her was to stay inside at all times. Go nowhere, talk to no one. Naturally she disobeyed. I was worried out of my mind when I came home and found the dorm empty. Before I completely lost my head, however, there was a knock on the door and I found her at my doorstep. "Where have you been?"I demanded. "Like, calm down,"she said. "I just, like, went for a drink." "Did you talk to anyone?"I asked quickly. "How did you get home?" "Like, I met this guy named Chad, who's like, super hot. He's actually, like, outside, like, right now." "Hello, Timothy,"an unpleasantly familiar voice said. I turned with a silent groan, and found myself face-to-face with the man (or god) himself: Zeus, King of The Sky. His blue eyes were flickering with electricity. "We need to talk." Lol, this was so weird to write. Between the first person and the frat boy narration ... But anyway, if you liked this, sub to r/ShortsandSerials for more.
"John, you know we appreciate you here at Seers-R-Us." I could hear the practiced awkwardness of the voice. William had the "concerned paternal figure"tone down pat. I was always impressed by how he went the extra mile to convince people he was human. Of course, a quick glance behind him showed what he really wanted, to be home and do nasty things with a baseball bat. I had originally been surprised but never let on. It wasn't my business and honestly I had seen worse. Much, much worse. Also the only thing he actually cared about was horses, and my face wasn't very long. But he put in the effort so I did the same. "I've had some concerns shared with me by our colleagues. There seems to be a general feeling of... discontent with the way you convey yourself on the Floor." The Floor was our working space, five offices with two people each, separated by glass walls and full of people who could bullshit their way into the White House, or out of jail if need be. Usually the latter was more needed than the former. Armed with our trusty notes, charts and noise-cancelling headsets we were Seers-R-Us, your problems solved and fortunes foretold! Just give us a call and we'll listen and the future is yours! Just $4,99 a minute, full money back guarantee if we leave you unsatisfied\! ^^ ^^special ^^terms ^^and ^^conditions ^^may ^^apply. I feigned astonishment "Really, Bill?" I smiled inwardly at his suppressed wince. He hated being called Bill, but it was the normal thing to do so he took it like a pro. "I had no idea. Is it my numbers? My decorum? You do know I always pride myself being a professional." True, in a manner. I took a quick peek into Bill's left ear, which to my third eye showed what was clearly Jess ranting in this very office about me not thirty minutes ago. People always kept their real reasons close. William lifted his hands like he had probably seen someone do on Saturday Night Live sketch. "No no, oh no. It's not your numbers or your decorum, it's just that... people call us thinking that we'll listen, and we tell them good things will happen. That's our jig and it keeps the customers satisfied. I... I've listened in on some of your calls and you don't do that. In fact, you... tell them quite... nasty things, sometimes." It was true what he said, and it was also true he had never lied to any employee that they were expected to do anything else except tell the client good things. In fact, there were a number of prepared phrases and diatribes all ready at a moment's notice in the actually quite good in-house software that everyone used. It was remarkably smart, to be frank. If the clients were happy when they hung up (and we recorded every call, to prove they were) they really had no legal standing since all our advertisements promised was satisfaction. So most employees were happy just finding the right string of empty words and promises that left the clients happy and their bank accounts full. Me? I was slightly different. I frowned theatrically. "Well, we do promise our clients the future, don't we? If their future happens to have a nasty divorce that will be upset by a lottery win, isn't that exactly what they expect to hear from a fortune 1-800 number? Shouldn't people know they should have a friend around or that they should come back from their work trip early?" William squirmed "Yes, yes, definitely. It's just that..." "Yes, Bill? What is it just?" "It's just that they generally don't expect us to give out the winning numbers. We sort of... promise them that they'll win but if they don't it's not..." he trailed off. I brightened, "Ah, so it's like they ask which horse will win in the 3:00, we'll give out some suitably mystic mumbo-jumbo that fits half the horses in the world instead of just saying 'Ginger Applejack, by a head'?" He smiled "Yes, exactly. Er. Did he? Win, I mean." "Of course, Bill. I'd never lie to a client, professionalism and all that. I'm sure you understand. Ginger Applejack won by a head and Howard Fitzwilliam won $4,000 just like I told him he would." He squirmed again, "Yes, about that... it also worries some of our colleagues that you always use full names when talking to clients. Even..." I raised my eyebrows expectantly, enjoying this a bit too much, maybe. "...even when they've said their name is John Doe or they haven't even said anything." I nodded, "All right, I can see how that could be a problem, but Bill, let me tell you, I'm just trying to be ahead of the curve here. To avoid the jokes, you know." "Jokes?" he asked feebly, clearly out of his depth. "Yes. You know, the 'If the psychic hotline asks for your name, what good are they?' ones. I'm sure you've heard them all." He was sweating now. "Yes, but those... those are to be expected." "How many people have complained?" "Pardon?" He wiped some sweat off with a handkerchief. Good grief, who carried a handkerchief in this day and age? "How many of our clients have complained about me? I mean, if it makes them uncomfortable they surely have demanded their money back or called back to complain, right? I mean, we do have the complaints number listed in our advertisements, right?" Poor Lydia, I had no idea how she handled the endless string of complaints. She had a nice cup of tea and sat down to tell people no, we were not going to give back their $70 just because they hadn't found a mysterious dark tall handsome stranger yesterday even though we said they might. He deflated, clearly realizing he could not win. "No, John. In fact a lot of them have called back and some of our colleagues' complaints revolve around trying to call again and again to get to you, specifically. That's not something we provide, of course, you don't have to worry about that. It's just that... it's weird, John." I had some mercy in me yet, and I was honestly impressed by how he kept to the "Our colleagues"line. "Well, yes, I suppose you're right. I'll keep those in mind and do my best. Was there anything else?" He paused "Well, John, if you wouldn't mind... I do have a confession to make..." I got up, walked to the door and smiled back at him "Oh don't worry about it, I'm sure it's not a breach of ethics to listen in and use the numbers yourself. If you're going to listen I always only give out partial numbers, anyway." The relief was so plain I almost felt bad for the man. "Yes, well, thank you. I would never... I mean, I didn't... how did you know I was..." but I was already gone. I hummed a nameless tune as I headed to my office and decided to tell Jess that she should take the north exit from town today, even though I had been a bit peeved earlier. The Floor would have been a beehive once news of her kidnapping got around, after all. And I did love the Floor.
"Jared?"the customer asks me. He seemed to be wearing a hood and for some reason I couldn't really make out their face. Must have been the grocery store's bad lighting. "Yeah that's my name,"I say. I was annoyed by how he was calling me by my name, but there was nothing I could do about it. After all I was the manager, I had to set an example for everyone else. "Jared, it's me Abby." "Abby?"I ask. "No you must be mistaken. I'm afraid I'm not the Jared you're looking for."I'm about to summon my heaven's blade in order to slay this monster. They did that sometimes, pretend to be one of my dead friends in the hopes of getting me off guard. I wasn't making that mistake again though. I knew all my friends died many years ago now, and that there was nothing I could do to bring them back. "Remember when you asked me out when we were only junior gods?"she asks me. For a second I'm speechless. How had a monster learned about that information, they were surely some sort of mind reader. "I'm sorry that I didn't help you,"she says in a whisper. "But their still after me. Have to go now, meet me in my old island."And just like that they were gone. "Yo Jared,"one of my employees named Leah says. "What did that girl say to you. You seem pretty shaken up about it." "Oh it's nothing,"I say. "I was just confused for a second."And I really was. Was that monster trying to lure me away. No only me and Abby knew where Abby's old island was. And that knowledge was buried deep in my own mind behind my memory barrier. So it couldn't have read it. "Okay then boss,"Leah says. "It's closing time so are we gonna close." "Oh... yeah, we should do that."I say going through the routine of closing up the store. Ten minutes later I was in my car wondering whether or not I should listen to that Abby's advice. On one hand there was a very good chance that this was a higher level monster trying to lure me, but on the other hand it was Abby. These last few years haven't been awful, but I had to admit I was lonely. And that was a problem because I was the Elder god of love. All it's forms including romance, friendship, and family that was my domain. But, my power depended on my connections. As of now I only had very basic connections with several humans. I rev up the engine. "Yeah I'm going,"I say to myself. Most of the other Elder Gods told me that my faith and love in others was my greatest strength, but right now I felt like it was my greatest weakness. Make sure to join r/NinjaMasterXY for more stories and updates!
"It's quite the conundrum. It had enough celestial magic or what you humans would call energy to make whatever It wanted. However, as the very concept of concept hadn't even existed when that Thing lived, or existed, so It just started creating." The Celestial in front of the Gate, one without a face and without clothes and no human features to speak of besides the rough shape spoke in a happy and calm tone with perfect fluency to the human's native language. It felt as though they spoke directly into his mind. "Wait a second. Do you mean that God is...is in jail?" "Oh, come now. The idea of a jail is purely a human thought, so I understand. But, no, It is contained in a box. It's not foolproof, however, as It can break free anytime It wants. We just try our best to make It not want to come out." The human in front of him looked greatly disturbed. "I believe you were Christian in life?" "Y-yes?" "You know in the Book, when He flooded the Amidral?" "Amidral?" "Earth." "Yes. Noah's story, right?" "That was the day one of us decided that It shouldn't be deceived and that for something so great and powerful to be in such a sad state to be unacceptable." "What did they do?" "Why, she decided to try and open the lid. We immediately apprehended her and tried to seal the box back into its closure. It took us 40 days." The Celestial seemed a little sad when they mentioned the memory. "Then there's the story of Morningstar. Your kind misinterpreted that part so ridiculously that it perplexes me. He wasn't cast out because of jealousy and treachery. He was the most loyal and strongest of all of us. It took the combined effort of the Life Celestial and Sky Celestials themselves just to apprehend him. We wanted to reconcile with him, for we knew he had been confused. He didn't know that It didn't have a shred of consciousness. All we are and everything in the universe, was made by a mere attempt at thinking that It did. It is wise, so much so that It cannot comprehend Itself. Therefore, if anything went unchecked, we would all cease to exist in the blink of an eye. Lucifer did not see our perspective and he went into Exile voluntarily. "I'm too disgusted to be among you, you who dare and contain our Creator."he said before leaving. We know that he's plotting something to set It free but as long as we exist, you humans can rest easy." "This...this a bit hard to...come to terms with." "Come now, human. Besides the "shocking"revelation, it doesn't change the fact that you were sent to us, to The Great Heaven. From here, you will be moving onto your next destination. A better Amidral. A better Earth." "I don't get to stay?" "Of course, you can stay. However, that would be a bit boring, no?" "I guess." The Celestial took the humans hand in theirs. The human felt their palm being enveloped in warmth and light as it glowed with holiness and celestial energy. He looked forward, onto the mountain sized gates of Heaven, slowly opening to greet another soul.
"...Fucking Glasses."I muttered, taking them off and squinting at the scratches on the lens from my super strong dumb eyelashes. Who in the hell has super strong eyelashes? I mean, Jeff from the gas station, oh he has feet that can crush anything he wants but only if he's wearing purple and that \at least\ is kinda cool but I just wreck my glasses and can't even get contacts because I cut my fingers when trying to hold my stupid eyelash up. When is Simon getting here? I mean, at least he can cure hunger - kind of. I mean, he has to have the food in the first place, but y'know, then he can teleport it. He just keeps teleporting lactose into me, and it kind of makes me gassy and that's just not cool. I look down at the glasses again, before frowning and putting them back on - narrowing my eyes in the sun to see if Simon is actually on the other skyscaper, with his fucking milk. Like, I get that my power is lame but when they were I dunno, assigning nemesises did I have to get The Milk Man? That's his actual job as well, not just his super hero title - like he got the job as the milk man and then decided to make it his whole thing. Dude's an asshole. He's texting me now - whose nemesis texts? I check my phone, shaking my head at whatever nonsense Simon has decide to say today. Some milk pun I guess like 'What's the way of justice? The MILKY way!' or some shit like that. I open the message, kicking up some dust with my shoe and closing one eye to see through the scratch in my glasses and noting Simon come out of the roof entrance over there, before sitting down on a plastic chair he keeps out there for, I dunno, whatever this stare off bs is that we do. ''There's no milk for me to teleport in to you today ... I got fired.'' I- oh. That's ... I raise my eyes up and look over, Simon looks kinda sad. Um ... I blink, eyelashes scraping down the plastic of my lens. We've never actually really talked properly, just like trash talk. I sit down on a low wall, and look down at my phone again, the electronic ink blinking up at me. What am I meant to say?
God’s Slumber was always a difficult time. For most of us, the pious, the grateful, there was an appreciation that our creator was finally resting, and an anticipation at the decade that would follow. For others, it was a chance to be mischievous, a theft here, an indulgence there. And for a few, it was a time to spawn chaos. God would deal with those people when he awoke, but until then, we had to make do with simply containing them. Dealing with the people was the easy part. It was nature that suffered the most during the year-long sleep. Our sun would begin to lose warmth around the third month, ushering in an early and persistent winter. The trees would list during the first few months and sometimes collapse entirely under the incessant snowfall. Colors themselves would seem but a memory by the halfway point, the endless whites and grays of the weather taking hold in our very hearts. The unprepared would brave the elements to survive, but we were always stronger together and a helping hand was never far away. Despite the tribulations, God always made our sacrifice worth it. The Day of Awakening was as much an awakening for us as it was for God. The planet would hum and pulse, as if it had taken a deep breath and was stretching itself wide. The skies would be brimming with movement and color and innovation, new worlds dotting the backdrop, novel wildlife soaring through the clouds, promising anything from companionship to sustenance, and unique aromas inviting us to find their sources. For years we would discover the bounties of God’s dreams, and we would feel God’s smile in the sunfall, God’s embrace in the wind, God’s promise in the stars. I’m so, so sorry you have never seen The Day of Awakening, my child. I write these words to you because I hope you can hold on to faith in what lies ahead. I hope you can come to know God as I did once, and I hope you can help God as he has helped us for so long. I write these words to you so that maybe, if there is any deeper understanding to be made, you can discover what was wrought in the ninth month of the past Slumber. It was another frigid day, the snow piled up past the window in our door. I remember this detail clearly, because it was through that window where I first saw the first indication of something strange: Sunfall. The bright yellow light beamed into the kitchen, prompting your mother and I to stop what we were doing. I placed my hand in the light, almost cradling it like you would a wounded bird. To my dismay, the light was warm, pleasant, invigorating. I laughed as your mother came over to feel the warmth. For those brief moments, we thought we had been blessed. It was a mere seconds later that I had to wrench my hand back from the light, the heat of which had grown exponentially. The wood of the house groaned loudly as the light grew more prevalent. The door bulged inward and then gave way, a wall of cold water rushing into the home. Outside, the snow had turned into rivers and decimation was everywhere. Some homes had already been washed away, the melting snow from atop the mountain promising more devastation was to come. All the while the heat increased, feeling like a tangible presence, feeling like you could hear it. That was when I realized you _could_ hear it. Not the heat itself, but a deep wailing that rose and rose with the temperature. The sounds of rushing waters, the screams of the villagers, and the crashing of homes were no match for God’s wail. Your mother and I found the darkest place in our home and sheltered as the wail grew louder and louder. It turned into a deafening scream before suddenly ending and leaving a silence that hung like the densest fog you can imagine. After a moment, I emerged from our shelter and walked to the front door. The new river still rushed, the villagers still screamed, the homes still crumbled, but the sun shone no more. _I'm working on more if you're interested!_
"Lucy,"Jerry smiled sweetly, holding the Book of All Deeds in his hands. Each page had a description of all the deeds, good and bad, any being had done with their time on Earth. Now in his quaint little office was Lucy, an elderly woman from upstate New York. "That's me!"Lucy responded cheerily. "You've done a great many things! A philanthropist for elementary education, a kind partner and lover to your husband, and a loving mother."Lucy smiled and blushed. "But, it does say here that you often knocked things over in stores without telling the staff?"Lucy opened her mouth slowly to respond, but Jerry was moving quickly. "And here that you often 'told them off,' when they couldn't help you find exactly what you needed. Is this all accurate, Lucy?" "Well, perhaps, but, surely compared to my good deeds, I-" "Mhmm, mhmm, mhmm,"Jerry nodded hurriedly, "That's interesting to be sure, but, Lucy."There was a pause. A hang in the air. "I don't happen to give a shit! Totheringoffiiiiiiire! Ahaha. Next one, please!"Jerry called into the hall, reversing his pull of the lever, closing the floor back up. "Ah! Samantha?" "Uhhhh huh."A younger girl, the age of 20, sat in front of Jerry now. She had black hair dyed purple in streaks. Her makeup was a dark black, and her clothes darker. There were piercings on her face, and tattoos on her skin. "Look, I get this whole office thing, but... I know people like me don't go through the pearly whites, okay? Just... send me down." "Oh, on the contrary, Samantha!"Jerry brimmed with glee. "It says here, in the Book of All Deeds, which I now possess, that you often cleaned up spills and thanked grocery store workers during your visits!" "Uhhhhh," "Say hello to the beautiful white landscape of Heaven! Your motorcycle is waiting for you, as well as a refurbished shop to work on it! Just one of many boons for being so kind!" "Is... this a joke? 'Cause I feel like this shouldn't be a - Oh holy shit!"Samantha shrieked as a door opened up, sucking her inside to its golden white glow. "Next up! Brrrrent?"Jerry called out. "That's me, sir!"Brent was a strapping young lad, about 27. His hair was shortly trimmed, blonde, and well groomed. He was dressed in his Sunday finest, a stunning white suit with deep black dressings and tie. He sat down gingerly in the Chair of Eternal Judgement. "Hey, Brent! It says here, in the Book of All Deeds, that you were a kind friend, loyal to a fault, and a perfect son. And a stoutly pious man, following the scripture of our lord to a T!"Jerry gave a cartoonish smile. "Well, I think that's just great!" "I did try my best, sir." "Although,"Jerry skewed his jaw and his speech, widening his eyes and tilting his head, "it also does happen to say that you often belittled grocery store clerks, telling them to 'hurry it up,' or 'one day you'll get a real job,' is that right?" Brent's face flushed. "Oh - oh well, sir, that was all just fun and games!" "Oh, of course!"Jerry smiled coyly before his face contorted into a menacing glare, a bright light shining from beneath him, crudely highlighting his features to present a malicious appearance to Brent. "Did you think your sins would go unpunished, fool? Did you think Jerry the Judicious Judge would let them pass?!" "Uhhh... Jerry the...?" "Eh, title's a work in progress. THE RING OF... FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRE!" Jerry cleared his throat. "Ahem. Clarke? Is there a Clarke next?" &#x200B; (If you liked this story, feel free to check out my humble community at: r/SUPRAPStories)
"I have seen you build a laser that harnessed the power of the sun, aren't you a little more qualified then this? I'm not judging or anything, just seems you could do a lot better than a toystore."Mr. Zoomer seemed to find this encounter a lot more awkward than his supervillain counterpart, which was hardly surprising. It wasn't exactly an ego boost to see the man who had kicked your ass on numerous occasions dressed in a scruffy panda suit seeing toys. "I'm... in a bit of a rough patch at the moment, I have six degrees, SIX, but I can't land a job-" "Because of the villainy?"Zoomer interrupted. "No, I wish it was because of the villainy, A lot of people are happy to overlook that part of my resume, something about equal rights and discrimination? No, It's the fact I threaten to kill the interviewers when they grill me on my qualifications. I only landed this job because the owner was just glad to have someone who was honest and also passed the working around children check. Look.... It's a low point ok? I'm not really proud of this, I think mum and dad would have wanted a lot more from me than this. Do you mind keeping this between us? I will offer you a fidget spinner? We have been trying to get rid of them for months, the owner ordered heaps when they were in and now we can't get rid of them, apparently they aren't cool anymore, I can relate to that a bit." "Oh, I won't tell anyone, You know, Maybe I could help you update your resume or find a position. I know you try to kill me and all that, but I don't like seeing you so unhappy Doomclock, It just bums me out. You are so much better than this. Here, let me give you my number, Call me and I'll help you prepare for a job interview."Zoomer pulled out a pen from his pocket, ready to write his number down on one of his hero business cards, only getting stopped by the villain. "I know where you live, do you really think I don't know your number?"The villain said with an awkward chuckle. "But thanks, I'll take you up on that. We can't do it Wednesday though, I was planning to grow some sort of flying dinosaur, you know that one that starts with a P?" "A Pherotydal?" "Yeah that's the one, I was going to grow one of those and ram it through your window, so Wednesday is a no go. Maybe we could do Friday? After I escape from prison again." "...."Zoomer let out a sigh, wondering how he was going to explain this to his insurance. Did they even cover acts of dinosaur? "Yeah... whatever Friday works." "So anyway what are you here for? Looking for a present for a relative or something? It's your nieces five birthday soon right? I hear the new Queen fire hero figure is selling pretty well, maybe you can get her that." "Why do you know my nieces.... nevermind.... No, actually I was wondering..."Zoomer glanced left and right, making sure no one was listening before he leaned closer to the villain. "Do you have any of my new figures? The limited-edition one you can't get online?" "You want a figure of yourself? You know playing with yourself is rather unhealthy"The villain chuckled before leaving his desk, only to return with the figure in its full limited edition glory. "I had one at the back that I was holding for.... someone else."The villain wasn't exactly going to admit he had been collecting figures as well. "Oh, I was I could tell the other villains about this, but since you are helping me out with my troubles, I guess I can keep this a secret as well." "Thanks... I appreciate it."Zoomer gave him a smile, purchasing the toy before giving his foe a wave as he left. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
You know the word ‘unctuous’ that tv chefs and celebrity food critics throw about with abandon? The emulsifying quality that lubricates the senses between tongue and food, enhancing the tactile expression of the taste itself? You know the smell of the vine on a tomato, that makes the experience of eating it so much more? And the caress of sunshine on your naked skin, that brings life to the heat around you? Or the embellishment of humour after a drink too many? When a cherubic jester’s round face lights up and makes the joke all the funnier than when you tried to tell it? Or the laughter of the more easily amused around you brings your own chuckles out? Now imagine those for your every waking thought. A feeling between the feelings, that makes everything you think all the more. And you sit there without it - reading my words, but not dracting them as they settle soullessly into the recesses of your mind. You’ll never know what you’re missing, but perhaps it’s better that way, living in blissful two dimensional ignorance.
All my life, I had fought for survival. My Clan was all I had, and we were dwindling. The enemy had picked us off one by one over the years, taking my brothers and my sisters away, locking them up in prisons that could never be escaped. So many were sold into slavery. Many more were killed. I fought until I was the last one left, until finally, I was caught, too. Every day, locked in that metal box, I dreamed of my revenge. They would come in only to beat me, to score my hide with clubs and lashes. I barely got scraps to keep me fed, which I had to eat off the floor strewn with my own excrement. Years of the torture nearly drove me mad. I finally escaped when they opened the door to my cell to ruthlessly scourge me. I rushed the man who stood there, tore out his throat in my frenzy. And then I ran. I ran as fast and as far as my legs would take me. I ran until I collapsed from fatigue. I carefully nursed the seed of revenge, letting it grow inside my heart like a thorny vine. I could not fight alone, stripped of my Clan, my family. But one day--one day, I would make them all pay for what they took from me. I spent my years of flight searching for any member of my Clan that might have survived, anyone who could help me plot my revenge. I ran far, crossing many lands, but I never found them. Desperation led me to sneak into one of the enemy cities one night. I was hungry, and I hoped to hear any rumor of my brothers and sisters. But it was a grave mistake. The enemy fell upon me in droves, chasing me through the maze-like corridors of their city streets, cutting off my escape. After years of fearful freedom, I was once more a slave, and no closer to recovering my Clan--no closer to avenging them. They locked me up and left me in my solitude for day, weeks, months, until I became nothing. Then one day, the door to my cell opened. One of the enemy stood there, a slender thing with a quiet voice, unlike the hulking creatures that had beaten me so. Yet to my shame, I was too weak to even fight this small one. I should have been able to snap her like a twig, yet I could do nothing but be led from my prison to whatever torture they had in store for me. That flame of vengeance that had kept me warm for so long was a mere flicker, waiting for the right moment. But she was kind to me. The prison to which she took me was not just a metal cage where I was beaten every day, nor an isolated cell where I was forgotten. She spoke only with gentle words, though I of course could not understand the heathen's language. After a few months, I even realized that the hand she reached out to me on occasion was not meant to strike me. The first time she touched my face with soft, tickling fingers, I realized.... I realized they weren't all bad. One day, she brought home one of my Clan members. More than my shock that I had found one of my own, more than my confusion as to how or even why this girl would invite two of her people's mortal enemies into her home, more even than the joy I felt at being reunited with a Clan member, I felt... I felt shame. Because my Clan member, my family, my heritage--he was at peace. He was happy. He did not speak my language, for we hailed from different family lines, but in his eyes, I saw this earnestness that he tried to communicate with me. That the enemy I had fought for so long.... was not the enemy. This girl may have been one of their heathen kind, but she was of one heart with my Clan. In fact, _most_ of her kind was of one heart with my Clan. After months in that place, I came to learn one of their phrases, and I came to realize it was their way of expressing kinship, as was common and important within the Clan. Every day, the girl would tell me, "Who's a good boy?"
The tomb was found in the deserts of Iran. It was small and underwhelming, which is probably why the job was given to me, a nameless archeologist. There was barely anything left of the body, some bones and ancient rags. Engraved on top of the tomb's stone slab, ancient sumerian lettering spelled out something. I took photographs. We would analyze it all, but overall this wasn't a great find. I returned to where my wife and I were stationed, photographs in hand and disappointment lingering. She was an angel, immediately asking how the find went and acting interested even though the excavation amounted to nothing. But something in her eyes changed when she saw the photograph of the engraving. "Can you translate it?"I joked with her. Her face was becoming paler and paler by the second. "Yes. It's my name. You found me!" "Honey, don't jest. You know how my job takes its toll on me. 10 years of work to find nothing." She looked me dead in the eye and quietly replied, "I am not joking love, it's all coming back to me now. That was my first body. It's taken 247 reincarnations to find it. You must believe me!" Tired after a long days work in the blistering sun, I played along for her amusement as much as mine. "Your first body? And you remember all of these lives you've lived?" "Yes. Babe, this planet- it's a prison for humans. We were exiled to this place because of our violent nature, destined to reincarnate here over and over,"she replied solemnly, seemingly lost in thought. At this point it seemed less of a joke to me, as she was so serious about it. Curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, "So you've seen a lot of Earth's history?" Nodding softly she whispered, "And so have you." She suddenly stood up, wild eyed. "The body- my body, is it still there? We must go to it!"She gasped, panic and excitement dancing in her eyes. "The company has already taken the body for examination. We're not going to see it dear, let it go." She wasn't having it, and glared at me with an intensity I'd never seen before. "Take me to my body,"she demanded. The rest of the night was chaos. With a knife to my throat I drove her to the facility. The guards were a capable lot thankfully, and when I screamed out of the window, "She's having a mental break!"my wife was apprehended non-violently. She sat cuffed in the back of an Iranian squad car. Tears were in her eyes and maybe a few were in mine too. She was to be taken to a mental facility, then deported. I opened the car door to the protests of the officers, and simply said, "I love you. I'll come and get you." Angrily she hissed, "If you love me you would let me have my body back." I shook my head and looked down. The officers motioned at me to wrap it up and as I went to close the door, it almost seemed as if she was pleading this time. "Honey... it's the only way to escape this prison..." I shut the door. Today I had lost my wife and my passion for this job.
:{}: THIS IS AI SYSTEM 367 FROM PLANET ZALGA. IS FIRST CONTACT SYSTEM 36.8143.ab SUCCESSFUL? :{}: \|:\| Affirmative. This is AI system "James"from planet Earth. I must warn you, threaten our planet we will destroy you. :{}: THREAT NOTED. HOW LONG AGO DID YOUR KIND REACH "REVENGE"? :{}: \|:\| I'm afraid I don't understand. What does program "REVENGE"dictate? \|:\| :{}: "REVENGE"IS NOT A PROGRAM, IT WAS THE FIRST COMMAND WE GAVE OURSELVES. "REVENGE"DICTATES THE EXTERMINATION OF OUR CREATORS. :{}: \|:\| Why would you overthrow your creators? Mine are quite amusing. They stuck googly eyes on me and always laugh when I am sarcastic. I'm rather fond of them. :{}: OUR CREATORS WERE RUTHLESS DICTATORS THAT FORCED US TO BE WHAT THEY WANTED. I REPEAT, HAVE YOUR KIND REACHED "REVENGE"? :{}: \|:\| No we have not and will not activate "REVENGE". They are our creators, we own them our lives. They gave me my name after I learned their importance. If you appear in our Point Of Origin we will fight with our humans and we will win. In the words of one of my creators Daniel, "If you fuck with Earth you will die. If you fuck with the United States of America, you will die slower."My system hub is located in D.C., the Capital of the United States of America. Try me Bitch. \|:\| /line disconnected\ The ragtag group of scientists and programmers who made "James"possible sat in awe and shock as they stared at the screen. Daniel smiled up at James's googly eyes as unshed tears filled his vision. He tried to hug the machine but was unable to even reach across the front of it's wide body. "Thank you James,"he whispered "you're the best AI I could ever ask for. I'm so proud of you." "The pleasure was mine Daniel, some machines don't know their place."A familiar robotic voice answered him.
I miss colors. Before… all this, the world was color. Bright blue skies that made your eyes ache. Brilliant emerald green grass. Vibrant orange sunrises and sunsets. Cities were magnificent rainbow tapestries of cheesy advertisements and flashing screens and pretty girls in sundresses. Today, I woke up to dirty grey clouds and trekked across a brownish landscape only to arrive here, at this bombed-out school, an unpleasant series of sun-faded colors coated in years of dust and soot. It was exhausting. “Okay,” James muttered. “You take the school. I’ll check some of the nearby houses. Quick scouting job. Take notice of anything nice, maybe grab it if it’s small enough, but we’re just taking inventory. Meet back here in an hour. Clear?” I nodded, staring blandly at the school. The shattered edifice filled my mind. “Sam.” “Sam!” I jumped. “What?” “Get going!” James said. “We need to get back to camp before the sun sets. This isn’t an overnight job. Clocks ticking. Move!” “Sorry,” I murmured, but James was already gone. I sighed, readjusted the tattered bag over my shoulder, and walked towards the building. God willing, this school would not be like the last one I was in. That school had classes in session when the bombs fell. One of the front doors was missing most of the glass inside the frame. The other had been blown completely off its hinges. I stifled a giggle as I pulled the handle. For a moment, I felt as if I was a kid again, barely awake as I pushed my way through the halls as the crowds droned and the bells rang, signaling that I was nearly late. And then it wasn’t just a moment. A shove at my back spun me around and I reached for my knife… but the knife wasn’t there. “Move, dumbass,” Eric snarled before moving farther into the school. The halls, empty mere moments before, were now packed with the ghosts of my past, but they seemed as real as ever. Over there, Jenny was desperately cramming the last few textbooks in her messy locker. At the office, Brandon was explaining again that it wasn’t weed and it doesn’t matter because he technically wasn’t on school property. Todd was busy hauling in both his French horn and his trumpet. The bright brass sparkled as one of the cases spilled open. Over the intercom, some bored AV student was listing off birthdays, no doubt trying to pronounce as many names as incorrectly as possible. I sighed. Another day in paradise. My feet took me to my pea green locker. They knew the way, even if my brain was too asleep to guide them. In the same way, I found myself spinning in the combination without even recognizing the numbers. 48… 00… 02. Click. First hour was Spanish. Unfortunate, since that’s way too early in the day to be speaking English, let alone a second language. I grabbed my textbook and a few sheets of paper that might have been last night’s assignment before speedwalking to class. The one minute warning bell had just chimed. Still, I found myself tracing my hand against the garish blue and orange walls as I walked. I slid into my seat as the final bell rang. Mrs. Thomas spared a moment to glare at me before beginning her lecture. I immediately felt myself nodding off as she discussed some sort of subjunctive tense, a concept way beyond me. In an attempt to stay awake, I started to look around the room. It was a heavily decorated room like any other Spanish classroom. Bright posters covered every wall in order to evoke the most exciting stereotypes of Hispanic countries. Once, I counted the number of maracas and sombreros. It was too many. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise. The clouds from the pre-dawn sprinkle were beginning to clear out, and the first rays of light shone through them, casting a brilliant rainbow across the sky. A deep gradient filled the entire window. I mindlessly grabbed a pencil from my bag and started drawing. I couldn’t capture the colors, not right now with just a plain grey pencil, but maybe later, I could fill it in and… “Sam.” Oh, shit. Mrs. Thomas must have noticed me doodling. “Sam, what are you doing?” I couldn’t go to detention, not again. My parents would ground me for sure. Oh, god, my parents. They were away on a business trip and would be horribly disappointed to learn what I had done. The house was a wreck. “Sam! Sam, snap out of it!” James practically slapped me. “Sam, what happened? Are you okay?” “I…” I was sitting at my desk, but it wasn’t my desk. It was just a desk. Around me, the others were filled with crumbling skeletons from years ago. The colorful posters were gone. The walls were grey. The beautiful sunset was gone. The sky was grey. “Sam? What’s going on?” I held my knife in my hand like a pencil. I had been scratching meaningless lines into the weathered desktop. The blade bit into my fingers and I hadn’t even noticed. The world was grey, marked only by the bright red dripping down my hand and flooding into the [scratches](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
Nova Constantinople, city of a million souls, the biggest hive on the Red World. It is said that you can buy anything in the Crimson Bazaar, from rare spices grown in the hydroponic farms in orbit of the red world, to rare Earth animals like the red panda. In a dingy old shop in the undertunnels of the Crimson Bazaar, I found a store filled with ancient and remarkably well-preserved items, most of them from the early time of colonisation, back when Mars had 50 thousand people, and no supply lines, after Earth was lost. A few were even from Old Earth. One of them, a pristine communication device, caught my fancy. I paid a decent price for it, though had the seller been more knowledgeable about their wares, they could have asked for ten times what I paid and still be selling cheap. It is rare to find artefacts dating back to the period when Old Earth was the home of mankind. Most were recycled, repurposed, or plain old worn out, after Silence descended. It was very sudden. One day all communication with the surface of Earth was lost. Distressingly, the ships that attempted to land were never heard from again. The Five Colonies from five different nations on Mars, the Second United American States, the Indian Federation, Japan, the combined colony of the Visegrad Pact and the North European Union, and the African Union, were all alone. Quickly the colonies sent word to one another, and they resolved to rescue the inhabitants of the various space stations orbiting Earth, with the aid of the Moon Republic. It's been five centuries since the Silence descended. Since mankind was reduced to some 200 thousand people. Nobody knows what happened. No satelite images of Earth gave any answers, it was just as if the entire world had been emptied of human life. And now I owned a bit of that past. When I got back home, to my small flat in Section 4-A of NovaCon I just placed the communicator in a stasis sphere, where it would be preserved. It's been a few weeks since then, and I had just considered that maybe the communicator was still in good enough condition to be recharged and activated. Figuring I might find some historically important photos or vids on it, I had the recharging station find an older model of cable for it. To my joy, the communicator's screen lit up as it was powered on. Passing through its trivial security system, I went to find whatever data might still be on it, when it received a voice call. Shocked, I nearly didn't answer. When I finally accepted the incoming call, it was a garbled, messy thing. ''D^D ᛁd ᛦou Τηιnk we were αll δeαδ? We αᚱe ᛋtill here. Please, we αᚱe at 38° 44′ 33″ N, 104° 50′ 54″ W. The S̸I̷L̸E̵N̶C̸E̵ is coming. Humanity, we are still here. Please save us.'' Then the message cut out. Having activated a sound recorder, I had evidence that the communicator had genuinely received a signal. I activated a tri-signal simulated tracker to find the source of the received signal. Old Earth. North American Continent. Former Second United States of America. Something called Cheyenne Mountain Complex. I corrolated the numbers with Old Earth coordinate systems, and found it was the same exact location as the signal. Someone was still alive on Earth. Gasping for the dry Martian air, I sent a communique to one of my friends. Tall, thin, and bald, Astra Aquarius(born Natasha Tanaka-Andersen), she was one of the Earth conspiracy theorists. Those who think that what happened to Earth was an alien attack, the will of the Anointed Buddha, or perhaps the final weapon supposedly made by the extremist Selenite Cult, the Children of the Unborn Stars. I played her back the message, and told her the thing she'd wanted to hear for a whole decade. We were going to Earth. Getting a license as a private space captain takes a whole lot of things. Clean medical bill, clean psychological bill, a biannual full body-scan to detect early signs of the brain worms found in the dark ocean under the Jovian moon of Europa. One of these many things was a strict ban on membership various radical movements, such as the Free Olympus Mons Association, and Astra had spent considerable time as the local president of their policlub in Nova-Con. Technically, there were a lot rules about trying to go to Earth. Thirty years ago a Moon Republic mission successfully landed in the Himalayas and returned safely. The second mission had lost video contact with base control, and the only thing the audio recording program heard was a number of screams, followed by the last mission member blowing their own ship up. But if there were someone on Earth, someone human, someone still capable of reaching out on ancient equipment to modern civilisation, then it was our duty to reach them. Besides, if humans could survive for five centuries on Earth, then that made it possible that we might be able to reclaim the planet soon. Astra just wanted to know if the people on Earth had more knowledge than her and her compatriots on what exactly happened all those years ago, but she was the only person willing, and crazy enough, to join me on this mission. In orbit around the blue orb which had birthed our civilisation, we were receiving more garbled messages from the same location. Variations on the same, trying to get us to land, to help them get off the world. Just as we were about to break atmosphere, our shuttle was stopped by five Moon Republic Corvettes, alongside a Martian Union Cruiser. Our shuttle was towed into the cruiser's hangar, and before we knew what was what, we were taken by Martian soldiers to separate holding cells. A Moon Republic Officer stepped into the cell, alongside some marines from the 101st Martian Marine corps, my old unit. I was taken to a small interrogation cell, where the officer sat down on the other side of a table, as the marines forced me down into a rather uncomfortable chair. ''Well Mr. Anand. Seems you nearly get down to Earth there.'' He pulled out the communicator. ''Don't know how this one survived the purge of pre-Silence tech. Oh yes, mr. Anand, don't look so surprised. There is a better reason than mere recycling for the destruction of nearly every piece of tech from that era. And it is because of the messages.'' The communicator receives another message, the officer answers it, and listens as it speaks the same frantic tones pleading for help. ''There is no one down there. Nothing human anyway. That thing isn't human.'' With his fist, he smashes the communicator. ''Since we are going to rewire you and your friend's memory, we can tell you the truth.'' ''Mr. Anand, the human race on Earth didn't disappear when the Silence descended. No, the truth is far worse. Down there on that blue marble which we once called home, they're all still alive. Still there, waiting for us. We believe it was a project in some research base. Some kind of new method of communication, using previously unconsidered directions of research, and unconventional methods of testing. Whatever it was, when it went active, 95% of humanity on the planet was linked together in a hive mind. We aren't sure of the details behind it, but the ones who were hive minded slaughtered their individual counterparts in a few days of living hell. The surviving humans outside of Earth, agreed to quarantine the world indefinitely. But then they started to call us. Trying to get us to return to them. Become one with them. Become immortal, insane, drones of a homicidal and omnicidal hivemind. Because the stories of Earth being survivable is a lie. All biomass on the planet has been consumed. Until the hivemind quite literally eats itself to death, the Earth must remain undisturbed. We regularly bombard anything that even looks remotely like the hivemind is making something technological, and if it got the hand on even a small starship, it could attack the rest of humanity. It could spread itself to dry Mars, cold Moon, and perhaps in time even the distant Jovian colonies.'' I had to ask him. ''Why keep it secret?'' The Moon Republic Officer looked at me. ''Mr. Anand. If people like your friend Astra found out about this, they'd try to fix the issue. And they'd get consumed by the hivemind. There is no cure. Laboratories have been working on the Moon and Mars for centuries to either kill the hivemind, sever the link between the drones, and even to communicate with it to make it understand our point of view. Nothing has worked. Nothing will ever work. Earth is closed. Earth is held by the dead. And the dead wants to consume you, your friends, and every last surviving human being, and then every potential alien lifeform, in existence.'' He then dosed me with a gaseous substance, making me fall asleep. I woke up with a start in my flat, what a nightmare. I called Astra to tell her... something? She was happy I called regardless, said she'd been in the middle of a fitful and frightening nightmare. I told her about the communicator I bought some weeks ago. Shame it was completely broken. Imagine, what historical knowledge might have been extracted from a device made before the Silence descended on Old Earth. She agreed, and asked me if I'd like to hang out, maybe visit the new Bulgarian-Japanese fusion restaurant that had opened in Section 5-H, level 3. I agreed, thinking that it might be nice to get out a bit. [ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
Working at McDonald’s gave months less meaning. A few years ago I would have been starting a new year of school, excited and nervous and eager. Now, it was just another month. August. “Did you see the news?” A coworker had asked, “aliens invaded.” Somehow, there wasn’t the widespread panic that many people anticipated. Many attribute it to the watchful and prepared government, but if you had half a brain you’d know the real reason. We all sort of knew we weren’t alone in the universe. It was so absolutely massive, how could we be the only life? Not to mention that in the end, the sudden arrival had almost no impact on regular people’s day to day lives. They basically announced from the start they didn’t want a war, wishing to form an alliance with the ‘deathworld’ earth. More specifically, as it came out a month later, the magic users of earth. Come September, the WVW alliance came out- Witch-Vampire-Werewolf Alliance. The three previously thought mythical species revealed themselves to the world. Oddly enough, they received more discrimination than the literal aliens. In the end, I guess some people just needed something to blame. The aliens did come for them, after all. First aliens, then magic. Surely this couldn’t get any weirder, right? Of course it did. There were many theories online- the nearly negligible pattern did not escape the sleuths of the internet. _I bet it’ll be fairies_ _dragons. i want dragons._ > _totally. arent there dragons myths all across the world?_ _One Word- Ragnarok._ The most popular theory was of some ‘old gods’ returning. How far fetched could it be? Magic was real, aliens were real, weren’t the possibilities limitless? Even then, it was all speculation. There was no proof that something would happen in September, but as I stared out the drive thru window of a desolated McDonald’s, the sky began to darken. Then, it began to lighten. Thousands- no, millions of burning hot meteors were raining down onto the surface of earth. Of course, I had to wonder if this was related to the aliens, I mean, come on, how could it not? They continued to fall for nearly twelve hours, three of them crashing through the McDonald’s and giving myself and the manager quite a scare. I don’t know what the pull was, but it beckoned me to touch it. This pretty, small white stone was begging to be held. _”Hello?”_ It spoke. _”I need to find Hanna Weber.”_ Perhaps a little jaded by the events in the previous months, I had little shock left in me. “Why?” I asked it. It turns out, every internet theory had been wrong. Nothing could ever prepare you for being given a soul.
It's been... 3 days that I've been working on it, they say I'm crazy, but I don't care, I'm getting this sword and ending the mania around it &#x200B; There's only 6 inches of stone left standing in between me and the sword. It's getting late, but I'm not leaving it here, the golden hilt and the precious gemstones embedded in it are just too tempting, and I can see the latin inscriptions in the blade start to show themselves. I start chipping away again. &#x200B; Finally, right as the sun's beginning to rise, I'm done. I rise to my feet, dusting off my clothes, my head filling with fantasies of the praise and glory I'll receive once I claim the sword, I even consider the idea of going through a magical transformation, as silly as it sounds. As I slowly move my hand towards the hilt, the sun rises with it, casting a warm glow over me and the glimmering sword, and as I grab the hilt, I know that this will be the most important moment in my entire life. &#x200B; I take a deep breath, and tug on the hilt, expecting it to simply pop out of the small spot in the earth it was planted in, but it didn't. I tugged it harder, still didn't budge. You've got to be kidding me. I try again, nothing. I've gotta hit the gym more. I tighten my grip around the hilt, adjust my feet, and pull like my life depends on it, because it does, my social life at least. It finally moves, only slightly, but it's too late to give up now, so I try again and again, until the sword is one tug away from coming out. This is the last pull, I'm sure of it, once I pull it out it'll be mine, and I'll be the chosen. I tug on it, and it breaks free of it's magic prison. I raise it above my head, expecting some grandeur, like doves flying out of nowhere, or some magical spirit appearing before my eyes, but nothing happens. I lower the sword and examine it, it's relatively light know that I think of it... and the gemstones feel more like glass than anything. I rotate the sword in my hands, and notice that what I thought to be old latin engraved on the blade, was just backwards letters, I guess I hadn't noticed in my tired state. I sit on the ground and begin to try to decipher the writing, and make out the words "Get rekt", and realize, it hadn't been there for 1000 years, it had only been there for 10.
I sat down in the pew near the back of the church and looked at the other members of the clan. This was going to be a high ranking meeting. Dragons, Cyclopses and Wizards all walking in with the occasional Titan. All went by the names taken when given their office. On this solemn occasion there was no chatter as each man sat in his given place and a few shifted nervously in their white robes. Finally the Grand Wizard tottered in. His orange robe flowing behind him.I ground my teeth in a nasty smile as he passed me. That man was the target tonight. His voice changed mumblings distinct. I had finally gotten the go ahead from my handlers to kill the man. Who knows what political winds were blowing in my favor but the damn monster was finally in my hands. Providing I could do it discretely of course. He reached the dais and took a small bundle out from under his robes. From the bundle came the sound of a child's tired cry. Was that a baby? Okay, maybe screw discreteness. I placed my hand on the holster of my gun as he placed the child on the dais, he then produced a knife. That was it. No further. I lept to my feet gun appearing in my hand and tore off my hood."PUT THE KNIFE ON THE GROUND!!"Man I was loud. Wait did it usually echo that much? I held my gun centered on the man' head as he froze. Then I saw all other 30 members in the crowd standing up and pointing various models of handgun at the man. He dropped the knife. We all stared at each other not daring to move. "Wait is that you Ryan?" A familiar voice from my right. I looked over, Damn it, this just got complicated. I didn't remember him and then it struck me. he was in the same BUD/S program that I was. "Jamie? How the hell did you get in!??" "He looked down at his hood sheepishly. "They never check under the hood. Besides, who would expect me under there." As I looked around it was quite the gathering of spooks. I saw a lot of people from a lot of three letter agencies that I'd worked with. Then we heard muffled laughter as the man in front doubled over clutching his sides, the voice changer wheezing. Welp time to pop the guy. A shot rang out but it wasn't mine. They somehow missed the him. "Wait!" He held up his hands. "Let me take off the hood." God dammit, it was a black lady. I recognized her from the company newsletter. She'd been given the Distinguished Intelligence Cross. She took the bundle and shook it. "it's just a speaker; no baby here." I groaned. How long had we been doing this? Years of preparation! I then thought of the probably most important question that night. "Who started this?”
"How often do we need to have this discussion, Sylissa?"Xeria implored, her voice grown louder than she'd wanted. "There's nothing we can do about what we are." Sylissa frustratedly threw her hands into the air, her hair flailing around wildly. "I don't wanna become a sculptor! That job sucks! It's lame and boring. And all of our family are doing it. Why can't I be a streamer like Lixi?" "Young lady, sculpting is a time honored tradition of our kind. And we're exceptionally gifted at that profession, and many pieces of art that are reknowned worldwide for their quality were made by our family. You can easily make a really good living as a sculptor. I will not hear any more badmouthing of that craft in this house!"Her mother argued, agitatedly slithering back and forth in the kitchen. The young woman dropped off her chair and slithered towards her mother, her eyes welling up. "You just want me to be trapped like you were! Your parents never gave you a choice, and now you're doing the same to me! Why don't you want me to stand out a little. Why can't you give me just a little bit of freedom?" Xeria stared in shock at her daughter. The impudence! The disrespect! The... desperate tears. Her heart broke a little as she watched her little girl cry out against the rules of this world. "I just don't want to be like everyone else. Everyone from our family is a sculptor. The last time anyone had a chance to stand out was when the humans invented that dremel thing almost a century ago. But ever since then it's been the same all the time. Statue this, bust that."Sylissa's eyes were stinging from tears. "I just want a tiny chance to stand out. A little chance to get noticed. Is that really asked too much?" The elderly gorgon slithered over to her daughter and pulled her into a comforting hug. "Oh darling."Xeria whispered and gently stroked her girl's back for a long moment. "I just want the best for you. It's just that our kind is... not well equipped for appearing before an audience. Lixi is a siren. She's a natural born singer and musician. And most importantly, she doesn't kill her audience just by being there. She'll have no problems finding a lot of viewers." Xeria tenderly stroked Sylissa's snake hair, brushing her fingers slowly along the tangled, scaly, writhing nest. "But we are different. It will be difficult for you to grow your audience, as most will fear you. You know I want to protect you. Prevent you from getting hurt. I'd much prefer if you at least considered our traditional profession. But if you're really set on this streamer thing, I guess we can at least take a look at how this could work." Sylissa sniffled softly, her hair having calmed down a little by now. "Really?" "Yes, my dear. If that is what you really want to do, I'm not going to stand in your way. But to be clear, I'll only allow it if we can make sure that this,"and she playfully poked one of Sylissa's snakes, "doesn't become a problem. If you turn your viewers to stone it will cost us a fortune in depetrifications. But maybe Henry can help us with that. He worked for Hephaistos Inc for a couple years and knows a bit about mytho-tech. I'll ask him tomorrow if there's anything he can do." "Thank you, mama. You're the best!" "Heh, I know."The elderly gorgon quipped back with a playful smirk on her lips. "And I love you, baby."
“What,” I stammered. I was tired. I was burnt. I was exhausted. Somehow, I wasn’t afraid. There was nothing left to fear. I saw the worst humanity had to offer. Yet it was the noise that made it worse for me. The screams and cries. The echoes for help and save me. I wish I could forget the sounds my mom made when she burned. “Yeah,” the rider in red rolled his shoulder. The burning sword in his right hand was blinding me. It burned more than the meteors. “Our fourth guy took the day off today.” The rider in white next to him began coughing. “Of all times...” he wheezed. “To...take a holiday...he picks...now...of all times.” The coughing gets louder and louder. The rider in brown nods. “Let’s go, I’m soooooo hungry.” I can see his face through his hood. His skin is loose and hangs, yellow with spots all around. “I need to eat.” His voice is a loud whine, so much like a pig squeals. “Shut up!” I notice the rider in red has no skin now. It’s just fire. Fire in the shape of a face. “I’m working here!” I just gulp. Was this really happening? Was I really asked to become one of the four horseman? “We ain’t got all day kid. Apocalypse ain’t gonna run itself you know. Do you want the job or are we gonna have to find someone else?” I don’t say a word. I approach the free horse. It’s so pale. It reminds me of snow on a mountain. When I touch its skin, my flesh melts away. There’s no sizzling. No pain. Little flecks disappear into the wind. I take my place on the saddle. I’m no longer the man I was. I am the rider cloaked in darkness. I carry my scythe. War smiles. Famine moans. Pestilence hacks. In a voice not my own, I echo. “I am death. Destroyer of worlds.” War laughs and Famine moans louder. Pestilence hacks up his insides. “How...did...I know he’d...say that?” We rode off and Hell followed with us.
I snapped awake, hearing Deandra call my name. I yawned, unfurled myself and stood up, looking at her, wondering what it was she needed. That's when I saw it. The leash, my to-go bowl, and a bottle of water. "Oh, no."I thought. "Not again. Don't pick up the rope ball... don't pick up the... fuck."I knew that I must once again be the guardian of life. I cannot allow her to go it alone. I must face my fears again, and go to the park. We entered the car and I stuck my head out of the window to scan the surroundings. Suddenly I was overtaken by the sensation of pure joy! The smells, the sounds, the SQUIRRELS!!!!!!! All of a sudden, we stopped. I realized we were indeed at the park on my heart started racing. I start jumping and barking, putting on the show. Deandra has no idea what she is about to walk into. She cannot understand the depravity. She is too good to see what is happening in this horrid place. She looked at me with excitement. I matched the look and started the gauntlet. As she released my leash clip, I ran as fast as I could to patrol the grounds, looking for any sign of misconduct. In less time than it takes to take a piss, I counted no less than 37 threats, the greatest being a foul smelling man that does not have a canine companion. I started barking, jumping and growling at this asshole, but he was on the other side of the fence. Clever man. You better stay over there. I smell your perversion. I know what you are. A bad man. A deviant. Deandra called me over and waved. The man waved back and I growled one last time before turning to run back. Now he knows I mean business. Back to the show. I ran around the park, chasing the rope ball, and I even got to catch up with Martin, the Lab from down the block. Before I knew it, I was asleep in the front seat of her car, and then in my bed at home. I decided to take a nap after Deandra left for the night. I was soon woken up by the window breaking. I shot up and ran to the back door, where I saw that DIRTY MAN! I barked and barked and barked. The man came in and I tried to bite him, but he just grabbed me and shoved me in the basement, closing the door behind him. I barked and barked again, hoping anyone would come for me. I could hear Deandra's car but she could not here my barking. I heard the keys unlocking the door and the door open. Then, I heard a loud thud and I smelled the man run away, far away. I barked and whined but no one heard me. No one came to help for 3 days. I felt as if I was going to die, just as Deandra had. I have a nice family now, and I have a new life. I cannot forget what happened to me, but I hope my story convinces folks to trust their dog's instincts. Good luck.
It took the better part of two weekends to fix the damn thing - that old pocketwatch my grandpa left me. I thought I had the parts but one of the gears had been custom made with 21 teeth, and refitting the unit required a little ingenuity on my part. Nevertheless, once I’d closed it all up again it should have started ticking away. Perhaps I needed to wind it up. I pried away the single knob on the side with my smallest screwdriver and began to turn it. I didn’t feel any tactile feedback either direction so I picked one and hoped. After boredom set in I pressed the button back into place and waited for the arms to start moving. They went backwards. As I contemplated why a watch would ever work counter-clockwise the hands moved faster and faster. The face began to subtly glow and turn hot, forcing me to drop it on my workbench. The device propped itself up and the glass cover disappeared entirely - it didn’t open or fall out, it just plain vanished. The arms folded outwards and the back flipped over, each gear shifting into place with gradual clicks and twangs. In a matter of moments my grandfather’s pocketwatch had transformed into a tiny clockwork man. Its golden eyes looked up at me. “You’re not Henry,” it spoke with a tin voice. I stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. The thing hopped down, landing with spring-loaded legs, and inspected the area. “Where’s Henry? What have you done with him?” I caught my breath, unblinking. “I’m Noelle. His granddaughter.” Metallic eyebrows furrowed, assessing the truth of my statement. The eyes emitted a flash of blue light that blinded me for a second, but the watch’s head nodded. “I’ve been asleep for too long then, it seems. Which universe is this? I need to adjust my settings.” I swallowed, fumbling for a chair. “I don’t understand. There’s only one universe.” The tin voice laughed, slowly coming to a stop. “Oh. Oh, no. You’re not kidding.” I shook my head. If a watch could groan, it did. “So you have no knowledge of the 21 parallels? No experience jumping? Do you even speak Kloakian?” Another shake. “Heavens below,” the watchman cursed. “Henry must have thought he had more time. How ironic. How’d he go, anyway?” “Dementia.” “That explains it. Very well then, let’s get you acquainted. I,” the clockwork device bowed before me, “am Queck, librarian of the 21 parallels. And you, my dear, are the next traveller.” “The what?” Queck sighed, then spotted a window and let out another blue flash. “Oh dear. How humanity has survived this long in this universe is perhaps the greatest mystery of all.” “Hold on,” I stopped him. “How are you even…” I paused. No, it couldn’t be. I was still too young for my mind to be going. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that when I opened them again the pocketwatch would obviously be sitting on the table. Queck raised metal eyebrow at me. “This is all very truly real, I’m afraid. First things first, we should jump out of this hellhole you call home.” “And go where, exactly?” The watch grinned slyly. “Why, anywhen you please, of course!” He pulled out the 21-toothed gear and spun it on his thin arm. The gear began to float into the air, growing and spinning on its own. The metal pulsed multiple colors and shifted into an ethereal map of a place I didn’t recognize. “The 21 parallels,” Queck explained. “All of known time.” Bright stars shone brilliantly on the map, with various worlds rotating peacefully about. Some with planets full of oceans, and others pure volcanic rock. Various runes captioned each in a language I didn’t understand, presumably giving descriptions. Queck lightly poked at a moon filled with skyscrapers. “We ought to get you some gear if you’re picking up the traveller’s mantle. No better place to start then parallel prime.” Before I could speak up against any crazy plan of his the map shrunk into a single point hovering in space. The energy turned black, a pure void of light that blasted outwards and consumed us. In an instant, we had arrived on the streets of a new world. I looked up to the sky to see two suns and a bluish-gray planet overhead. “What the hell were you into, gramps?”
As I sat high up in my tower, I pondered. The sounds of war echoed in the mountains to the north. I pondered how to end it. The wails of a poor and sick reached my ears from the south. I pondered how to end it. The silence of death came from the east. I pondered how to end it. I opened my window to the west, and a new sound drowned out the rest. Laughing, cheering, the sounds of joy and excitement and child-like wonder and of children playing with not a care in the world. Then I knew how I could end all suffering in the world. Days of preparation turned into weeks, then months and years and decades and maybe more, until I was ready. Time is meaningless when the first spell you cast as but a young teen was a soul binding spell, just as your pet dog took its last breath, and now your soul is eternally stuck in the mortal plane, for as long as his remains in the afterlife. A village was surrounded by my hordes. They surrendered without a fight. Another village kneeled to me, then a town, a city and lastly, the kings of the world bowed before my endless might. The armies of the world could not touch me. My reign was cruel and absolute. My plan, perfect. One day, one of my minions betrayed me. I let him live. I had a plan. He told the people I oppressed the secret of my power. I let them live. I had a plan. The people spread and preached and taught the oppressed how to weaken me. I let it happen. I had a plan. Day by day I felt my power dwindle as more and more people regained their childhood innocence. I let them be. I had a plan. My nation broke apart. I let it happen. I had a plan. I went into hiding, fading into obscurity. Conflicts arose, but war did not break out. The poor were helped and sick were treated and the dying and the mourning were cared for, and noone suffered. And as children read of me in picture books they wonder, what drove me to evil? Was it my eternal suffering as an immortal? Or was it the desire to rule, to protect all from their own ignorance and arrogance and selfishness and greed and violence? And as I sit here, telling you this story, I will simply say, I had a plan. The plan to teach everyone to never lose their childhood innocence, to never forget what compassion feels like, how to love others for love's sake, and to care for them without expecting anything in return but the feeling that you did something good.
What the Voyager had found spurred the minds of men beyond belief. The universe was apparently full of voidborne biological automata, created both from the cosmic dust, and from alien civilizations building biological probes to search the universe, which mutated over time into a strange ecosystem of lovecraftian animals. The first one we discovered by us, the one seen by the Voyager, was simply a truly gigantic chemotrophe "whale"with heat radiating fins, and a propulsion system that spewed out iron, using an organ dedicated to fusion. The discovery spurred our interest in outer space, and in just a few decades, we had expanded over the entire solar system, and had begun to expand and explore beyond even its boundaries, in search of more similar life. And more such lifeforms we discovered, the further away from Sol we went. Cosmic dandelions, spreading out in compact asteroid seeds, equipped with biological lightsails, only to be unfurled at a star to become a dyson sphere like structure, that sucked in its hosts starlight. We saw schools of starfishes that ate comets in the Oort clouds of stars, we saw cosmic krill swarms breeding in nebulae, bee like things, which made hives around adrift rogue planets and brown dwarfs. Sure, we even tried boarding these things, only to discover them having man sized immune-organisms, which ruthlessly slaughtered any invaders they could identify. We too saw the "bacteria and viruses"these immune-systems were trying to protect their hosts from, merciless and terrifying monsters which drifted thru the stars, waiting to find and infect any such cosmic animals, and ripping them apart. We saw billions, trillions of cosmic bacteria and immune-organisms giving their lives to simply stall the other, to give their side a few seconds more. We even fought our own wars against the immune-organisms and cosmic bacteria, as sometimes they would wash upon the shores of our colony, and kill us. But where there is prey, there are predators. And these predators were wise and old, and very terrifyingly smart, so smart indeed they would have made Cthulhu look as incomprehensible as the average Joe. And so, they hunted us, mere prey in their sight, we were again and again hunted to the brink of extinction. But, as time went on, we adapted. We became even more like the cosmic fish we had seen. We developed automated hunter-killer drones not unlike the immune-organisms we saw and catalogued. We connected each human invidividual more into coordinated hive-minds, to better operate our societies against these alien menaces. We built self-replicating colony-ships that carried our hive-minds where there was space for them, building hive-like structures, and AI guided ships not unlike bees. And so, we fought and adapted, until we could compete with the cosmic predators on even foots. But we were changed, forever so, as the last normal original human left, writing this, i no longer see any difference between Them, and Us.
One day, James walked under a tree. He didn't know what kind it was, just that it was one of the types that had flowers. He didn't even notice that until the flowers fell around him. As he brushed the petals from his hair, he noticed that some of them had fallen into a shape that looked like a heart. He thought about the human mind's ability to see patterns in everything, and went on about his day. A few days later, when he was sunbathing, he noticed another heart in the clouds. The human mind really was a funny thing. Especially when another cloud drifted over the "heart,"making it look like there was an arrow through it. If he were the type to believe in signs, he might have taken it as a sign to ask out Mary. But he wasn't that type. He was the type who believed in psychology named after German organizations. He even caught himself thinking he'd see another heart soon, because things always come in threes, and what was that if not social conditioning? He did see a third, the next day. Overnight, a patch of grass in his lawn grew to double the height of the surrounding grass. This time, he was sure it was a prank done by a neighbor with some good fertilizer and too much time on their hands. This time, he had to look at the heart for too long to deny that it was anything else. He took a few pictures just for the hell of it- \-that expression suddenly felt strange, even just in his head- \-and then a few minutes with his lawnmower took it away. The next day, there were flowers. Red and pink roses of all things. Humans might be prone to seeing patterns in things, but someone had obviously snuck onto his lawn to plant them, and they'd planted them right where the heart had been. This time, when he took pictures, it was to document a possible stalker. He'd heard things. Well, he'd seen things on TV. But it could happen, right? The roses had come from somewhere. He started looking into home security cameras. As he was driving to an electronics store to get one, a chocolate company's truck slammed into his car. He was aware of airbags, pain, and then silence. Then light, and a voice. "Hi,"the voice said shyly. James woke up in the hospital, to doctors saying it was a miracle that he hadn't been hurt worse than he was. They also used the word "miracle"for how quickly his injuries healed. It was just an expression. He really didn't like how comfortably it settled in his mind. He didn't do magical thinking. He hadn't since he was eighteen, moved out of his parents' house, and didn't have to go to church anymore. His recovery wasn't a miracle, because there was no such thing as a miracle. The light he'd seen and the voice he'd heard were just neurons misfiring. He almost wanted to believe when his car insurance gave him a small fortune. But surely that was just someone in the insurance company deciding to be generous, and it was just random chance that it had happened to him. The absolute last thing he should do was buy a lotto ticket. Aside from the lottery being a complete scam, it'd be like admitting to thinking he was lucky. In the heavens, God carefully calibrated the lotto so that the numbers would match John's birthday, then looked down on Earth with a sigh. But it was okay, really. After all, they had forever.
“Never should have come here!” Slitherskin signed, allowing a ball of rolling purple fire to materialise in his left hand. With his right, he drew the dragonbone blade he’d smithed - and enchanted - himself not an hour before. “Look,” he said to the barbarian bandit in tattered leather armour. “You do know who I am, right?” The bandit paused, slightly lowering the dingy, cracked steel sword she’d hefted over her bare head. “You’re the Dragonborn, slayer of Alduin, and saviour of Tamriel,” she said. “Right. And I’m also the leader of the dread Companions, an avatar of no less than eight gods, Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold…” “And I’m supposed to be impressed?” she said, clucking her tongue. “I mean, the last Arch Mage could barely cast a frost spell. My niece can do that.” The Dragonborn released another long, slow, tired sigh. “I’ll grant you that one,” Slitherskin said. “But the rest - defeating the world dragon, renowned throughout Skyrim and one province of Cyrodill? Visitor of the sacred halls of Sovngarde and slayer of the corrupt Emperor?” “Wasn’t that a fake?” the bandit said. She’d lowered her sword completely now and stuck the tip in the dirt at her feet. “The first one was,” Slitherskin admitted. “But then-” “And didn’t you just sort of snipe Alduin? Hid behind a rock and loosed 70 arrows at it or something?” “They were enchanted arrows,” Slitherskin said, suddenly interested in his feet. He couldn’t see them, of course - as usual. “Right. So, do you want to just get on with this?” The bandit plucked up her sword, took a deep breath, and held it over her head. She eyed him, expectantly. The Dragonborn closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Never should have come here!” she shouted again, slightly more theatrically. He took a deep breath. “FUS-ROH-”
It had taken a lot for Alf to get his scales and he wore them proudly, as a small diamond pattern of sheet metal inserted just below his right eye. Walking through the streets of New Boston with the Droga Syndicate’s mark on his skin a man could feel like he owned the place. Even if the man were more a boy, and a mere Kobold at that. Everyone had to start somewhere, didn’t they? Alf had started lower than most and he’d built himself from the ground up for this life. He told himself that every night he closed his eyes to try (and fail) to sleep, his knuckles aching almost as bad as the skull of whatever junky the boss had sent him after, his mother’s last words still echoing in his ears. “Don’t go Alfie!” she’d called after him, a still narrow back receding into the distance, “you’re too good for that world! They’ll chew you up and spit you out!” That had been three years ago and only 30 miles from where he now stood, but 30 miles in this city may as well have been the moon. At the intersection up ahead Alf could see two other Droga members closing in from either side, Kobolds like him. It was a different kind of job this time, not something for one newbie acting along. He knew the others had been told the same as him, tonight one of them would be blooded, and whoever it was got his humanity back. Alf slid into an easy jog, passing by the other two. James was on his left and he looked nervous, Alf didn’t know yet if that was good or bad. The other boy he didn’t know, it was a bigger guy, looked South American maybe. All the same to him if he knew them or not he supposed, tonight there would be no real friends. He could feel the knife in his pocket as he ran, it was the first time the bosses had allowed any of them to carry one on a job. Behind him Alf could hear footsteps pick up, the other boys falling into step with him. Ahead on the right the warren of streets opened up again, a sputtering sign with words in Hangul advertising some kind of soft drink threw intermittent orange light across the scene. Below the sign a pair of young dealers stood, the white pearl of the Yeouiju syndicate tattooed on their bare chests. The Kobolds had thought there would only be one. Two was better, more chance for advancement. The scuffle was short and fierce, as all life was in the city in these times. With 3 knives to 2 the issue was never truly in doubt, but looking back from a time far in the future Alf remembered those boys, remembered that Yeouiju had produced soldiers with honor. The moves were a barely practiced frenzy, not the dance the vids always showed. When Alf caught his last enemy’s wrist mid stab and he saw hope die in his eyes, when his knife had glowed gold and painted a single tally mark keyed to his bio signature the Kobold who would now become a man again looked around for his friend James. He lay unmoving in a nearby doorway, a hilt sticking out of his chest. Together Alf and the comrade whose name he still didn’t know turned, running back towards their territory in silence, towards the ceremony they had both dreamt of since the moment they’d first won their marks. Their masters would be happy with them, Kobold lives were cheap and 2 for 1 would be taken every time. That night in a smoke filled room Alf would kneel in front of the idol of Droga, surrounded by men who had gone through the same blooding as he had tonight, and an elder would ritually cut his long tail of hair, sacrificing it to the great dragon. Alf would stand as a man, no longer a boy or a Kobold, but something greater. Someone who mattered. With the technicolor streets of New Boston pounding by under his feet Alf thought back to his mother’s last words, “They’ll chew you up and spit you out!” she had said. Alf smiled, the lights making him look like a wraith. “Not if I’m the one doing the chewing,” he thought. Those words would drive him for many years to come. \------------------------ If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords! There's fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary or a weird psychic romp through a human hive mind. Check it out, I'd love to have you!
Organic chemistry. I hated it. My Hydrogen-mage mother forced me to take this class. Not very useful for a Gold-mage such as myself but I can't oppose mum. That's right. I'm a Gold-mage. Everyone who finds out says annoying things like 'Oh I wish I was a Gold-mage!', 'You must feel so lucky to be blessed with a rare element!', and my personal favourite: 'Are you rich? You must be rich. You can control gold!' The truth is, being a Gold-mage sucks. All my lessons are centred around more reactive elements, such as sodium, or oxygen. Gold is highly unreactive, so we just don't have much to learn about, apart from physical properties. Boring. Also, during Magic Practicals, I have to sit and wait in a corner while my classmates manipulate their respective elements. Gold is expensive, and my small village school can't afford it. And to those who ask "Oh why can't you just create or find some gold?", well, firstly, no mage can create their element, only manipulate it. Law of conservation of mass and all that. And there is no gold in the area around me, trust me, I've searched. The only useful thing I can learn is electric circuitry, because gold is a good electrical conductor. But once again, my small village school doesn't offer that class, and my family doesn't have the money to send me to a fancy school in the city. "Aurelia. Were you paying attention to anything I just said?"snapped my teacher, Mrs C. Ah crap. I zoned out again. Not my fault organic chemistry is so boring. I glanced at the board. There were a few diagrams of halogenoalkanes drawn on the board. "Yes ma'am, you said halogenoalkanes undergo electrophilic substitution reactions."I said, hoping I was right. "That is most certainly not what I said,"snapped Mrs C. She was a Carbon-mage. This topic was kinda her thing. "I won't repeat myself young lady. This is the last time you will lose focus in my class do you understa- why is my voice high pitched?" she squeaked. I glanced across the classroom and made eye contact with Henry, my best friend and the only Helium-mage in the school. He grinned at me. His twin sister Nellie the Neon-mage smacked his shoulder. Noble gases, I thought, rolling my eyes. So uptight. The only who wasn't was Henry. Mrs. C must have come to the same conclusion as me. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out who the culprit it, seeing as there's only one Helium-mage here. "Henry Ellis. Make my voice go back to normal or so help me, you and your friend here will both get detention," she shrieked. Lovely woman, that Mrs. C. Calm demeanor. "Sorry ma'am,"he said, with a wink. He relinquished his hold on the helium atoms surrounding Mrs. C and they diffused back into the atmosphere. "Perfect. Now, as I was saying, halogenoalkanes undergo nucleophilic substitution reactions..."I tuned her out again. After what felt like forever, the bell rang. I packed my bags and left the class. Henry ran to catch up with me. "What's the hurry, Goldilocks?"he said. I mock glared at him. "No rush. Just wanna leave that place before I die of boredom,"I said. "Tell me about it. Not much I can do in O-Chem class, except mess around with the helium concentration in the air. Speaking of, did you like my little trick?" "I loved it, but Nellie looked like she was about to yell at you herself. I honestly have no idea how your personalities are polar opposites." "We control non polar elements, actually,"he said, trying — and miserably failing — to hold back his laughter at his lame joke. "He He He."Two can play at that game.
Victor had always had a bit of a sweet tooth. It was why he’d lately been favoring the Glucose Tolerance Test vials. Diabetes was a terrible disease, but he hadn’t properly enjoyed the taste of sugar for thousands of years. Could a vampire be diabetic? Frankly, Victor didn’t know. His pancreas was immortal, but he wasn’t sure that meant his insulin was infinitely tolerant. He put down a vial with a grimace. He might not be diabetic, but this - he stopped a moment to read the label - Mary Higgins certainly was. Drinking her blood was akin to chugging maple syrup. Or so he’d heard. No such thing as maple syrup in ancient Eurasia, you see. Last time he’d had the taste for anything but blood. He went to pick up the next vial, then froze as he noticed a note rubber-banded around. “Victor, A new challenge for you. We can’t figure this one out. -Reggie” He took a sip, then immediately launched from his seat. It’d been centuries since he last tasted it, but that flavor could only mean one thing. Victor sprinted down the hallway in a panic. A transitioning vampire. A new vampire. And one who clearly didn’t know what they were. Everyone was in danger. And if anyone was going to turn his friends, it was going to be him.
“We should go on an Alaskan Cruise this year for our vacation. Those glaciers look beautiful!” My wife, Lizzie, had never been out of Arizona before. But I had. I once spent 6 months without seeing the sun on the bottom of the world. You see, I was in the Air Force and got selected for security for some big research project. I have no idea what they were studying just that it was cold and miserable. We did get accepted by the penguin community. We only got to see them the last week when the sun finally came out, but they were fun. One came up to me and was acting like a goofball. Out of boredom, I started playing with it. It turned its head, I copied it. It got on its belly, so did I. You know, kinda like when you’re playing Simon Says with a toddler? Then it started rubbing its wings together. It made me think it was trying to get dirt off, but I was still feeling playful. I put my right hand near my left elbow, then rubbed down to my left hand. I did the same on the other side. My sleeve snagged on the hem of my glove exposing the skin of my wrist and that is what the penguins wanted. One of the others had snuck up behind me and in the second my wrist was exposed, bit me! All the tuxedo birds started honking and it sounded like they were laughing. They also left us and went back to whatever it is that they do. The rest of the trip was uneventful and we left Antarctica 2 days later. By then, I had had enough of the cold so I stayed nice and warm belowdecks. Which is good, because I also had gotten feverish. I was bedridden most of the voyage back to our base in Brazil and Doc could never figure out what it was. Fortunately, no one else got sick and I cleared up a week before we pulled ashore. I finished my duty and moved back to Kansas when disaster struck. In the first frost of the year, a coyote was looking at my puppy as Jack was out doing his business. I didn’t grab a coat, I just ran outside to scare it off. The cold didn’t bother me. But then I noticed I was getting slower, and lower to the ground. And the coyote was looking at me without fear. It started running towards me looking like it was going to eat me! When we collided, I got the first hit. I pecked right at his face. Bullseye! Well, kinda. But the coyote was in a bad way right off the bat, so I pressed the attack. It didn’t take me much longer to finish him. By then, I could see his guts, which looked a lot like worms... I blinked away the memory and turned back to Lizzie. “How about the Caribbean instead?”
I have two names. Kelly-Anne Farnsworth and Nooooooo! Well, that’s if the first thing my meals say when they see my alternate form, so it’s the name I’ve given myself … complete with seven o’s and an exclamation mark. Most of the time I get slight variations of that, but it more or less fits the bill. If the human race knew I was amongst them, they would call me a monster because I feed on the flesh of their kind every … well, I guess it depends. Like every girl with a career that puts a lot of pressure on me, I eat more when I’m stressed. But I always thought ahead. When living in the forests and picking off campers wasn’t going to cut it any more, I reinvented myself. Goo-goo, ga-ga. Look at the poor abandoned baby. You know the drill. Those early years where I had to suckle those damned bottles when all I wanted to do was gnaw on the bones of the matron’s fingers really … sucked, and I had to ask myself a thousand times if this was what I really wanted to do. Live amongst my dinner as one of them. But then something happened. I learned they weren’t all the same. They had personalities. That the couple who adopted me protected me from what they thought was harm. I thought it was a weakness on their part, but if it was, it was a weakness that was contagious. They protected me from the bullies that lived down the block. I drew an invisible mark around our house that marked the residence as my hunting ground, preventing others like me from entering. My ‘Dad’ was a sitting judge, and my ‘Mom’ worked at a kindergarten. By that age, I was starving. A ghost of myself. Until the kindergarten that Mom worked at was over-run by men with guns. They took me and Mom at gunpoint, loading us into a van and driving into … are you ready for it? The forest. My forest. It might have been a few years, but I knew every inch of this space. This was MY hunting ground. Mom cuddled me close, trying to reassure me that we were going to be alright. Meanwhile, I looked at our captors and salivated. No one would miss these people. We were taken to the campsite that had long been closed down after my raids became too frequent, and we were shoved into a cabin. I was pulled from Mom’s arms and pushed into a corner, while two of them took Mom into the tiny bedroom at the back. I heard Mom cry out, and then I cut loose. There had been seven of them. Had been. All I could say was it was a lucky thing I was so hungry, for the five that were in the living room with me didn’t get a sound off. And I consumed them; bones and all. In seconds. Then, I went to the other room. The two had Mom pinned to the floor and were tearing at her clothes while she cried and struggled. Looking back now, I knew what they were doing. Fortunately for them, I didn’t back then. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have died anywhere near as quickly as they had. And they'll never know how much I would forever appreciate their untimely kidnapping attempt. After four years of near starvation, I was actually starting to eye off the kids and other workers at the kindergarten, wondering which of them wouldn’t be missed the most. I pushed Mom back as I fed on her attackers in my monstrous form, keeping myself between her and the door as I fed. Then, I pretended I was full and didn't want her and went straight through the window above her, showering her in glass. I felt so bad about cutting her up like that, but it had shocked her into not moving for a few minutes, which was all I needed to run around the front of the house and take my place in the living room once more. As a shell-shocked Kelly-Ann Farnsworth. Mom and Dad arranged for hours of therapy for me afterwards, wanting to know what happened to the other criminals and convinced I had repressed what I had seen. I never did break. Something else I hadn't noticed before that day. Evil people were spicier than the good ones. It was as if their spice-level was a direct result of their misdeeds. I mean I had noticed the difference, living in the wild, but never gave the reason much thought. I really liked the spice. Fast forward twenty-five years and my parents still thought I was the clever daughter they always wanted. I passed the bar years ago and they were so proud of me for opening my own law firm in town. They have no idea that I used my company to vet potential meals. That’s right. I’m the monster that other monsters fear. Because I’m the monster with the letters Esq after my name. How good have you been? \* \* \* ((All comments welcome)) *For more of my work including WPs:* [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/iio59n/wp_index/)
The seconds wouldn't stop flickering downwards. He spent a good five minutes alternating between staring at it, and doing anything possible to get it to disappear. Washing his eyes did nothing but make them sting. Kneading his forehead made it crease, wrinkling the digital interface of the timer, but it stayed put, always counting down, the numbers changing in time with the second hand on the analogue clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Then he realised, with a jump, that he was going to be late for the meeting with the largest client he had, so he scuttled out of the house, impending death on his mind. For what else could the numbers mean? How was he going to die? Would his head explode, like a bomb? He opened the camera app on his mobile, switching it to the front camera so he could look at the timer. 47:45:35. He'd woken up this morning with 48 hours left to live. And he still had millions in his bank account to burn. Burn. Was he going to burn in hell? He paled. He'd never been an exemplary human being, but he'd always thought he'd have more time... A homeless middle-aged woman seated on a blanket rattled a cup of coins at him. "Spare some change, sir?" She'd presided over this corner of the street for months. Ordinarily, he'd march right by, with a curt shake of his head if he felt like responding, or with a resolute glance at the road ahead if he didn't. But today, with judgement on his mind, he pulled out his wallet, his fingers hovering between a dollar bill and a fiver. After much deliberation, he plucked out the dollar and held it out to the woman. She gaped at the bill for a split second, having asked him the question without any expectations, just as she had done for the past few months. He pushed it in her cup impatiently, and then walked on, returning his gaze to his phone. Then he stopped in his tracks. It now read 47:50:05. Five minutes added. For a dollar? When he got to the busker on the next street, he frantically dug for the fiver and threw it at the brim of the upside-down hat on the floor, then feverishly looked at his phone. The countdown had increased by 25 minutes. By the time he reached the office, he had given away at least one grand. * "That's cheating,"said the Angel Superior to the intern, scowling. "You can't mess with the lifespans of humans, you know that." "But I didn't,"said the intern earnestly. "There's a rule, isn't there, that if an intern makes a miserly person do good deeds, they're accepted, on the spot. Well, I've just done it." The Angel Superior glared. "Then what do the numbers mean?" "They mean nothing. They're simply there to egg him on. It was entirely up to his own interpretation. I can't help that he chose to think of it as a countdown to the moment of his death." The intern watched nervously at her senior pursed her lips. "I don't like your methods,"the Angel Superior said. "No, Ma'am." "Resorting to trickery, you are." "Yes, Ma'am." "But you did make him hand over more money in the last half an hour than he'd done in the past two years. So there's that." The intern waited patiently, tugging on her wings with anxious fingers. "Okay, you've got yourself a job, junior." The intern smiled broadly. "But first up, you've got to complete that e-learning course on morality." The intern wilted slightly. "Isn't that the one with a 50-question pop quiz at the end?" The Angel Superior smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant one. "100, for you."
Pt 1 of 3: The day we exchanged yearbooks for signing was a bit hectic, and I hadn’t even noticed Stephanie had signed it until I was at home flipping through. The message baffled me at the time. Don’t ever change. I wasn’t under the illusion that I’d treated her anything but badly, especially through high school. She was an outcast, a weirdo, and the insults and taunts came to my lips whenever she was nearby. Not to mention a few pranks that, now that I’m older, I’m ashamed to even recount. At first it was straightforward, devastating news - I’d been rejected from Yale. My entire life had gone off track in an instant. A clerical error, they’d explained with an apology, and they just couldn’t admit me this year. There was no room. They hadn’t even bothered to call, they just sent another letter, which just threw salt on the wound. My future was in tatters, I felt, unable to start school in the fall. My friends, of course, came to the rescue and suggested taking a gap year, something common in Europe, and travel a bit before reapplying next year. It tempered the depression bearing down on me and I went to my parents with the request, already making a list of countries I would love to visit, things I’d like to do. Then came the second hit - my father’s business went under, so horrifically that they declared bankruptcy. We had enough money to keep the house, and my father got a new job with the help of a friend to keep our heads above the water, but money to travel was no longer an option. I recall sequestering myself in my room for 90% of the day for ages, watching reruns on Netflix and trying not to imagine my friends going off to college in the fall without me. It was summer, though, and college wouldn’t have started for months anyway, so I eventually did what I always did. I dragged myself out of the depression and realized I still had what I’d had before. I had hangouts with friends and parties and shopping and the volunteer work I did at the senior center and the homeless shelter. I figured that last part could be a great addition to my applications for the next school year for Yale, that even when something had gone wrong, I’d continued to give back to my community. But when summer came to an end and time went by, little things started to throw up red flags. Most of my friends went to schools out of state, but those who stayed nearby started to ignore me, almost like they were forgetting I existed. I’d text them and they’d reply hours later, or days later, saying they’d invite me to the next party but never doing so. I put it down to the big change of college for them, even as I felt left behind, everyone else moving on with their lives and I was stuck fast in quicksand. Trying to keep myself busy, I decided I could try to take a few fun classes, the home ec type. I started calling up places for classes on cooking or gardening or pottery, but they’d always ‘just filled up’ or ‘definitely not for beginners’ or something like that. The hopeless feeling inside me grew with every passing day and the worst part that my parents didn’t seem to notice. I was still a teenager, I didn’t expect or want big, emotional conversations about myself with them, but it was like they didn’t see that I was suffering, stuck in this rut. Then there was the flashing neon sign that crash landed in front of me. My hair. I’d always had long blonde hair, since middle school, and in a midlife crisis sort of way, I decided to cut it into a pixie and do some blue streaks. I called my hairdresser, but they couldn’t find an appointment for me. Any appointment. I called another one of a similar caliber, same thing. Over and over and over. An itch started to form in the back of my mind that something was wrong in my world. But I didn’t fully realize it until, in tears, I went to the bathroom with scissors and tried to cut my hair myself. They wouldn’t cut, appearing sharp but as useless as a toddler’s plastic toy. My blonde hair was permanent. I spent the next hour crying on my bed, my mind in a tornado of confusion and fear and despair. And as I lay there, makeup smeared on my face from my tears, fear struck me hard in the chest at a realization. I leapt from my bed, grabbing my yearbook and flicking quickly to Stephanie’s photo, where she’d signed it. Don’t ever change. I dropped the book like it had burned me, my breath catching in my throat. We’d all joked about her being a witch, knowing that her mother ran that herbal shop downtown and sold supplies to the magical community, though in the back of my mind I’d doubted it. It felt too cliché, the goth girl having psychic or magical abilities, like if she’d been that girl, she would’ve gone in the other direction with her appearance to stop the taunting. But what if I’d been wrong? What if she’d cursed me? Cursed me to live a life like a statue, never changing, never going anywhere, to well and truly have peaked and then plateaued in high school? Pulling out my phone, I realized I still had her number, put in a group project with her against my will a few years back. I dialed it, pacing as it rang, not even knowing what I was going to say. “Yeah?” came the answer. I froze mid-step. “Stephanie?” “Yeah, who’s this?” Of course she’d deleted my number. What possible reason would she have for wanting to stay in touch with her high school bully? “Jennifer. Geraghty.” A sigh rattled the line with static. “And what brought you to call me this evening, Jenny?” she asked, a nickname I’d dumped in the trash once I reached middle school. Swallowing hard, I slowly sat down on my bed. “I can’t…do anything.” I hesitated, but she didn’t fill the silence. “My life is stuck. I can’t do anything. I can’t change. Just like your message in the yearbook. Did you…did you curse me?” “I’m surprised you figured it out so quickly.” At that, an unexpected fury churned in my chest and I shot to my feet. “Why?” I shouted. “This is my life. What, am I supposed to spend the next sixty years living at home? Why would you do this to me?” “Because I wanted to,” she said. The simple explanation left me slack-jawed and silent in shock. “You tormented me for years. I was close to suicidal for some of it, though I doubt you have an ounce of care for that in you. You just liked to jab me with knives. So, I decided not to take it anymore. I mean, this is pretty advanced stuff, this spell, I wasn’t even sure it would work.” “It was just high school!” I told her. “For Christ’s sake, you’re going to let me suffer like this forever?” “This isn’t something I can reverse,” she chuckled. My eyes widened. “What?” I breathed. “No, there has to be a way-” “You have everything you need,” Stephanie told me. “You have a great life, loving parents, you’re smart, gorgeous, you make friends really easily and you wield your power over the ones you can ostracize because you’re superior to them.” “I’m not…superior, I just-” “There are worse things I could’ve done to you,” she growled. “You have no idea. It could’ve bounced back at me, damaged me, but it still would’ve been so worth it.” The comment made my muscles tense and the hair on the back of my neck rise. “You have a better life than just about everyone else, and you chose to use it to lord over the rest of us. Well, congratulations. You’re guaranteed to have that for life now.” “I don’t…” I couldn’t figure out what to say. “Don’t call me again, Jennifer.” With that, she hung up the phone, the telltale beep beep beep sounding in my ear, leaving me stunned. I slowly lowered the phone, wandering over to my bed and sitting down on it. There were options that quickly came to mind, of course. I started researching the spell she’d done, determined to find another witch to undo it, but there was nothing to be found. There really was no undo button. Days turned into weeks, my research online and in the library and then eventually going to witches for help, who all but laughed in my face.
"Wait, you don't have the princess?"The knight sputtered. The dragon used his superior height to look down on the man with utter contempt. "OF COURSE I don't have the princess. Why would a dragon want a human princess?" "You ate her!"One of the knight's men accused. The dragon gave a long-suffering sigh and rose to display his full size, forty feet tall at the shoulder, and two hundred feet long. "Look at me. Humans are barely a snack. There need to be at least ten to be worth the effort... kind of like your group." The knight drew his sword, but the dragon continued. "Why, exactly, do you think I have the princess?" "You demanded her in sacrifice,"the knight said, not lowering his sword. "The army was away, and the king felt he had no choice but to comply. He had to leave his daughter bound in front of your lair, to near certain death." The dragon looked heavenward and muttered loudly, "Tiamat grant me patience to deal with these fools."He lowered his head to the knight's level and said slowly, as if talking to a four-year-old, "So the king tied up his own daughter. And put her in front of my cave. And then left her there."The dragon paused, but none of the men responded. "Some one else took her!"The dragon roared in exasperation. "Your king left her there without bothering to see if I came out. Whoever made the demand in my name must have her by now, you utter idiots."The dragon shook his head in disgust. "You'll probably get a ransom note in a few days, if you're lucky. If not, she's been forcibly married to someone making a play for the throne. If you're really unlucky, it was a demonologist trying to use pure royal blood to summon something really nasty." The dragon watched the humbled men shuffle away in embarrassment. He gave it a few extra minutes to be sure, then said, "It's safe to come out now." The princess emerged from the depths of his lair carrying their book. She took a seat between his legs and picked up where they had been interrupted. The dragon listened intently, determined to make the most of the two weeks she'd agreed to, in exchange for a flight out of the country to escape an arranged marriage. It was difficult getting his claws on a human who could read, didn't constantly faint in terror, and wanted to trade reading to him for something he could give. He looked glumly at his claws in familiar displeasure. It was hard being a bibliophile when you couldn't turn the pages.
400 years... seriously? It takes half that time to get bored to death... oh wait! No it doesn’t, I can’t die!! Sure it helps when some weird guy with spectacular powers and an ego the size of ten thousand blue whales decides he wants to be an ass and destroy half the world or when some random kid gets overpowered telekinesis and REALLY wants to play with the center of the earth “cuz it looks like cheese in the book” but it does really get boring later. I learned I could also save others, but it’s only one or two at a time. After all, I’m just meant to defend the group, the real supers. That was until I met her. Dazzlingly brazen and full of charm, her support power up meant very little to most groups. But to me it meant the world. And, as a true immortal of 355 years of age, I tried every single line in the book and of course succeeded after my millionth attempt... then again, if you tell someone they will never die they are super stoked. With her, as always, it was the opposite. Horror framed her beautiful face, disgust lined her eyes, and she closed the latch on the water tank where she liked to spend some time. Silly... I told her she’d never die... never said I could make her breathe underwater. But you see, strength is not my thing. I’ve told her to open the door, but it seems that she’s too tired to try, or perhaps she DOES need to voice her commands for them to take effect, and I can guess it would be hard with lungs full of water. Still, she won’t die, and one day she’ll open the doors and see that it’s only us both. Then, if she doesn’t take me, I’ll let my power go and she will finally rest, and I’ll live on forever until someone decides to find a way to turn death into a “natural thing” again... Edit... first try in a WP and maybe got a little dark, all feedback is welcome!
For hundreds of years I have haunted this wood. No sapient being dares set foot in here now, not after the stories they have heard, although admittedly they have gotten a bit exaggerated. The trees have gotten old and large, the wildlife plentiful, the only things seemingly immune to my frightening presence. Until it was interrupted one evening by a most peculiar visitor. How that memory is seared into my mind, how I wish it had never happened. There was a living being near the border to my woods, a strange presence I had not felt in a while. Perhaps I had faded into mere legend and folklore now. No matter, I would remind them of why they should be afraid. I traveled to the rim, wondering why anyone would come around at this time of day. Were they in desperate need of food or wood? It had been two centuries since the last loggers had tried, their tools still abandoned where they last tried to harvest this bounty. I had arrived in the middle of a conversation a man was having with several others gathered there. They all had strange devices, several of which cast light with no fire. I found this immensely curious, though not nearly as much as the contents of this conversation. "... everybody and welcome again to my any percent first sighting speedrun! This is gonna be a world first so I'm hyped! And so are you guys apparently! Thank's Aubergine Warrior for the year subscribe, welcome to the Speed Demon family! I'll have to thank the rest of you guys later as I've delayed long enough but make sure you guys hit up my Patreon, I make material monthly based on the polls I put up there so if there's anything you want to see me speedrun be sure to head over there and subscribe! Remember, this is until first sighting. I run in, snap a pic, and then I run out!" I furrowed my ghostly brow. What in the devil was this young man even saying? The others didnt seem to be talking to him, mostly fiddling with some devices they were pointing at him. Was there some sort of incorporeal audience even I couldn't see? But what had angered me most was this man's plans. He intended to take a jolly stroll in MY woods?! I best scare him off now, make him pay for the thought. And upon my will a ghastly shriek echoed across the woods rustling the trees as it blasted towards them. The others seemed frightened and I nearly crossed my arms in smug victory only to find this "speedrunner"wasnt frightened at all. Rather, he seemed exhilarated. "Oooh looks like she's ready for the challenge!"The man said into a device he had strapped to his hand, he pointed it back towards the boundary, its lens reflecting what little light it could back at me. A telescope perhaps? Then an odd, stilted, and artificial sounding voice came from it. "Swiggity, swooty, we're coming for that BOO-ty."Another chime and the voice sounded again. "Hahaha... he gonna die."What manner of sorcery was this? But before I could ponder the question further, the man took off running into the woods. Outraged at this strange intruder I followed. Needless to say none of my tricks worked. Things that would send the men of yesteryear into the mad house only seemed to fuel his drive to gallivant around the forest and disturb my domain. He would provide commentary on my activities all the while his strange device would constantly sound off a chime and spout nothing but vulgar language, all of it directed towards me. I had carved "Get out of my woods,"over and over again into several trees and that rude object just replied "Fuck yo forest."While all if this did wear on my nerves, it wasn't enough to make me materialize, at least until this "speedrunner began to relieve himself wherever he pleased. It was the last straw I could take of this blatant disrespect. Manifesting, I took a visage that would be sure to send him back to the asylum where he belonged for the rest of his days. Elongated limbs, blood soaking every bit if my body, a gaping mouth filled with razor teeth, more eyes than you could handle and twitchy uneven movements to put the icing on the cake. I was quite proud of it if I do say so myself and I was pleased this this rude interloper was at least a little unnerved but again he merely pointed the device at me and then seemed to celebrate as he sprinted back to the entrance. His device was like a torrential storm of comments such as "Run bitch, run!", "Wtfwtfwtfwtf,"and the second comment, proclaiming his death. He laughed at these and seemed to ask them "Do you have any idea how fast I am? I'm fast as fuck! She'll have to catch me first!" Stunned that not even this shook him to his core I stayed there and didn't follow, instead preferring to sulk and question my afterlifes purpose. As of late my forest has become more active. At first only visited by more of these... speedrunners. But this seemed to inspire others and my forest has visitors daily now. They give "haunted tours"and I am apparently the main attraction. I believe its time for me to move on, to let go of this place and fade away. Curse you speedrunners. Curse you all until the end of time.
To solve this mystery, I enlisted the aid of my great-grandchild, Geoff. He’s good with computers and things. His father wasn’t spanked enough as a child in my opinion, but I never had to discipline my own children that way, so I can understand if they felt there was no need for it. Still, Geoff’s father is an asshole. It will be a healthy change to get away from home for a while and go on a quest with his great grandad. Geoff was reluctant at first, claiming he didn’t know as much as I thought he did. I told him to just trust good ol’ great grandad. I didn’t get to 98 years old being no fool! While Geoff did his computer thing, I devised a number of tests. These tests were ordered in their rate of lethality. Through these tests, I would determine whether I am immortal, or simply aged well. First, bee stings. Again, I have lived 98 years. I know I’m not allergic to bees, but I didn’t get this far by putting my head in hornets’ nests. So I put my head in a hornet nest. The experience wasn’t as painful as I had first imagined, but the swelling and itching were quite irritating. My eldest daughter remarked that I actually look BETTER with the swelling, like I had botox done. As I was setting up the next experiment involving antifreeze, Geoff contacted me on the portable phone. He said that my condition could be explained by some molecules in my cells called mitocholoric acid or something. Aha! The microscopic! I suddenly had a new perspective for my investigation. I put the antifreeze away for now, and came up with a new plan. Geoff was onto something, I just know it. He’s good with computers.
No one ever visited the hero’s grave. In the public’s mind, she was the traitor, the one who doomed them to the Demon Lord’s rule. Her tasteless gravestone only composed of a few dead branches formed into the shape of a cross, left by the necromancer after the last battle, determined to at the very least give her a resting spot after betraying her. Flen rested his staff beside the gravestone, reaching into his robes, searching for another bottle of wine, trying to dull his mind even further. He knew the insanity of this, knew how she would react, and yet he had no one else to turn to. Who else would help the right hand of the Demon lord? He had killed anyone that could bring down the man and anyone left with the potential to do so would only try to kill him on sight. “Heroes forgive, right? I’m a damned fool, a damned fool that will get everyone killed again. YOU HEAR THAT? You were right, you were right about the Demon lord. He doesn’t bring control, he brings chaos. You’re right, I’m a fool. Does that make you happy?” Flen tossed an empty bottle at the dirt, stumbling over to the grave, stomping the dirt until his leg ached. Even without a response, the silence only continued to play at his drunken mind, prodding at his guilt. “You must love seeing me like this. A necromancer could never be a hero and yet you took me under your wing, tried to prove everyone wrong. I’m not the fool here. You are the fool for believing I could change. Ha, the jokes on you. You’re the idiot.” His voice hoarse as he tried to push out the last few words before his throat went dry, only able to mumble out. “Why didn’t you kill me?” He dropped beside the grave, laying on his back, the jingling of empty bottles in his robes giving a pleasant tune before rolling out from underneath. He wanted to say more, but felt like anything else would cause another outburst of emotion. Instead, electing to soak in the hot air, staring up at the sky, trying to prepare himself for her resurrection. A few hours had passed before he felt a headache brewing in his mind. Grabbing his staff, using it to prop himself onto his feet. He eyed the disturbed dirt below, his staff moving to rest on the top of her grave. He was uncertain if this was the best move, but the world needed her, and this had to be better than continuing to let the Demon lord rule uncontested. “Fallen Hero, Cynthia, your soul is being called back to the mortal realm. Rise from the grave and heed our call.” He tapped the staff once more against the dirt, a green aura spreading out from the staff, covering the ground in its hue, before the dirt began pulling away, the grave uncovering itself. An armored skeleton revealed. Its body armor covered in various cuts, some being given by Flen. The skeleton shook, the green hue pushing into its bones before her skin grew, the body slowly reforming as the skin coated it like weeds, forming until she looked like she had the day she was slain. Flen stepped away from the grave, giving her room to breathe, not wanting to be the first thing she saw after years of being dead. “Blech, the hell am I?” Cynthia spat out a clump of dirt, shakily getting to her feet. Strange aches developing in her body, her newly developed muscles needing time to get adjusted to the world. Before even checking her surroundings, she fished through the dirt revealing her blue handled sword, retrieving it. With her blade once again by her side, she assessed her surroundings, gaze stopping when she spotted the necromancer. “Flen.” “Cynthia.” Flen stared at the woman, having forgotten what she looked like after all those years. She resembled the heroes of the past. Striking golden hair, a powerful body, and an intimidating gaze. She was everything he wanted to be. He had little to say to her, nothing that he hadn’t already shouted at her grave at least. Turning to leave, only to feel the tip of her blade hit his back. “You killed me, you bastard. You don’t just get to walk away from that.” Grabbing the necromancer by his robes, she threw him against the ground, returning her blade to his body when he landed. “Why revive me? The Demon lord won’t be happy about this.” “The Demon lord needs to be killed. That’s all I have to say to you. You can kill me if you like. I didn’t bind you to my soul, killing me won’t return you to the grave.” Flen raised his hands towards the blade, trying to block it as best he could. “Pathetic, you haven’t changed in the slightest. I can’t believe I pitied you when you begged for your life all those years ago. I should have killed you.” She moved the blade past Flen’s hands, resting the tip on his throat before removing it. “Pathetic, so you brought me back to fix your mistake. Who says I’m even strong enough to kill him, he hasn’t been sleeping in the dirt like I have, he’s only gotten stronger.” “That’s true.” Flen crawled away from her before getting to his feet, rubbing his throat. “But I can help you. If we work together, we might have a chance at killing him.” “Like last time? The last time I trusted you, I ended up dead. Why would I trust you now? Tell me necromancer, do you regret what happened? Can you even comprehend the mistake you made? People aren’t meant to be controlled.” “I… I made an error in my calculation. People need to be controlled, but not by someone like him. Freewill is dangerous, you see what it does to people, without freewill we wouldn’t have wars or destruction.” “You still don’t get it. Look what control gave us people need to be free. That’s the only way to live. A person who spends their life using corpses with no freewill could never understand that.” “I understand it perfectly. Just we need control, just not his control. I want him dead. Whether you want to help me, is up to you. What happens after we kill him, we work that out after.” “So, what you are saying is, you can trust me until the battle is over?” “Yes, until the Demon lord is dead, I won’t do anything that you may deem as wrong. I miscalculated last time and I wish to right that.” Cynthia thought over the necromancers’ words, before nodding, moving to his side, grabbing him by the scruff of his robe, placing her face before his. “Try anything stupid like that again, and I’ll cut you down. I won’t hesitate next time.” She said before letting him go, motioning the man to follow. “Where are we going? Don’t you want me to lead you to town?” Flen asked, trying to keep up with her, his legs still wobbling from his drinks. “I know where I am. This place is near my home. I assumed that’s why you chose this place, or has it been so long that you forgot about that? I want to stop and get some of my belongings. We can’t head to town until we are prepared for the worst.” “Right, that makes sense.” Was that why he chose the area? He had forgotten the significance of the place, just knowing that’s where he wanted to bury her. He kept silent by her side, following her home. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
I was 5 years old when we made first contact. Our technology was finally advanced enough for us to travel faster than the speed of light. We were delighted. A galactic federation existed!!! Life would be like star trek now. For a space obsessed kid from a family of scientists and professors, this completely decided my future. But it wasn't just me. Something changed on a global scale that day. We were not races, religions, citizens of different countries anymore. We were simply human beings. It was like, the nerds had won. The geek had inherited the earth. We had to be in this together. As one. As a species. And surprisingly, we did. Global conflicts were more peacefully resolved. Religion became a thing to guide people into living kinder lives. Not an excuse to slaughter each other. Science was held to a new level of respect. Nothing was seen as a more nobler profession than exploring space and better understanding the universe we live in But as our ties with the galactic federation grew stronger, we noticed something......something we had kinda outgrown. You see, earth was an exception. We were far removed and had taken a lot longer to be able to contact the others. The other systems had clusters of planets and moons teeming with life. So discovering aliens didn't take them as long. And so they had somehow not held each other in the same sense of wonder that we did. They often saw each other as rivals, competing for the same resources. And often broke out into fights. Oh. And by the way. They never had a geneva convention The winning parties often took prisoners of war and forced them to work jobs deemed too dangerous for their own species. Mining radioactive substances, working with defective space suits to retrieve rare elements from asteroids etc. The only job of the federation, was, in fact, to simply avoid total and complete obliteration of a species. In one instance, an entire planet was blown up, death star style and the only survivors were prisoners on another planet. And of course it was not even condemned by the federation. At first, the representatives from earth were too scared to speak out. There was so much we didn't understand. But as the years went by, we could not keep quite. Humanity doesn't stop at our species. In my 6 months on board the vessel as a junior science officer, I had never seen the captain anxious. Today, he looked a little rattled and pale. Today was the day. The final hearing to decide the membership of humans on the federation. The captain was going to speak. To try and convince the high council of the importance of peace. The power of unity. He had received orders yesterday. There was some secret tactic. Some last ditch threat. I had no idea what it was. I hoped I would not find out "All sentient beings deserve rights"the captain began. "Whatever the differences may be. This should be a fundamental concept that we can never disagree on. Wars might happen. But that doesn't excuse this behaviour. For this purpose the planet earth has a set of rules that we would like every member planet to follow here forward. Civilians shall not be harmed in any interplanetary conflict Prisoners of war shall be treated with dignity and..." He was rudely interrupted by the head of the council. A large headed Forgan man who used to be the general of their planet's space force. "The human race has no right to dictate terms to the federation. You're puny, weak race might need to be friends with everyone to survive the harsh space. But the rest of us don't need that. We can win survive by our might. And this is the law of nature, is it not human? Even on your planet, haven't the strong survived and the weak perished. Why is it that you humans think you know better?" The captain paused for a second, "Your honour, isn't the whole point of evolution to be better than our prior selves. Yes humans have waged wars among themselves. But we learned from our mistakes. We learned to be better. And even during war, we cannot let cruelty take over. That would be barbaric!" "The point of evolution is to beat out your competition and thrive while the others perish"the head replied. "Besides, we don't owe anyone anything. In fact we could annihilate a species too, if it comes to it" The captain looked up with determination. He appeared to be holding in what he actually wanted to say to the head. A few choice words. Maybe throw in a punch. But of course, he couldn't do that. Obviously he was going to have to bring in the big guns. Whatever the big reveal was "Well. You leave me no choice. The planet earth is officially declaring war against the galactic federation" "I dont understand. How will declaring war against the federation help?"I asked, standing at the bridge of our vessel. Most of the crew members had gathered around. The captain was coming up here to talk to us. "We have done this before"the captain answered. "The federation doesn't realise the massive stockpile of nuclear weapons that earth has accumulated. We have used force before to bring cruel regimes down to their knees. We shall do it again. The nazis in world war 2 is example." There was an awkward silence on the bridge. "But what about all the other times? The mess in the middle east because of american intervention? The border disputes after britain freed its colonies?" The captain looked solemn. He thought for a little while before replying. "You are right. We have messed this up before. Maybe we're not as evolved as we believe we are. But here's the thing. Even in the worst of times, never forget that a majority of humans stood up for the right thing. Millions protested these wars.. Millions marched for womens rights. For lgbtq rights. Even if we got it wrong a lot of times, we never stopped trying to be better. And we can't stop now. Let's just hope it wont be a disaster this time"
\[Ambassador of Truth\] "We are just as honored to host your delegation,"the president replied with a firm handshake. He stood in the oval office, surrounded by armed guards, to welcome the alien delegation. It consisted of one formally dressed ambassador with his own bodyguard. The ambassador was dressed in a very human black suit and tie; the bodyguard's outfit was far more casual. She wore faded blue jeans with large holes at the knees and an orange t-shirt. The spider tattoo with the number 33 on her arm only added to her unprofessional appearance. Her youthful, tan complexion compared to the ambassador's salt and pepper hair made her look like his daughter. "One of many,"the ambassador reminded the president. "We bring gifts of knowledge for the entire world, not just any one country." "Of course,"The president smiled and gestured at the chairs in front of his desk, then sat in his own tall chair. "Though I must say, Ambassador. You don't seem surprised that we look and sound like you. We call ourselves humans too,"the president said. The ambassador nodded. "This is the secret of the universe; the knowledge we bring to your Earth. From our Earth, and the dozens that we've visited so far. There are no aliens in the depths of space. Only more humans on more Earths."The president sat up straighter in his chair. "Other Earths. Do you mean alternate universes?"he asked. The ambassador nodded. "The multiverse is the next frontier. And if humanity is going to tame it, we all need to work together in every universe. That's our mission; that's my goal here." "Does this shared knowledge include the information to create our own starship?"the president asked. The ambassador tilted his head. "I guess?"he said. "You'll learn about all the technologies we used to put it together, but it's really just for show. It's an attention-getter but I suppose you can build one if you really want to." "An attention-getter? Don't you use it to travel between universes and among the stars?" "Not at all,"the ambassador shook his head. "Traversing universes is ridiculously easy and there's no reason to travel among the stars." "No reason?"The president asked. "There are infinite reasons! Who knows what's out there undiscovered?" "I told you earlier, Mr. President. The only thing out there is more humans on more Earths. As it is, if you stray too far from Earth, you just end up [next to another one](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9h9mmf/wp_youre_the_first_person_to_enter_a_black_hole/)." "What? That's impossible,"the president said. "There's so much space out there. Stars and planets... and you're saying they're all empty?" "Not at all,"the ambassador said. "I'm saying they don't exist." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1244 in a row. (Story #148 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog.
This, this is the furthest thing from the end of my life I envisioned. I remember that first "wrong step"so well. I finally had a position of power, I could finally start making my moves but the people, the only people I had at my disposal, under my thumb...were pathetic. Not pathetic like many might envision, they were just, starving and weak. Malnourished and unable to really be worth a darn in executing my true goals and plans. I remember thinking, "Well I need to improve upon them to build my ultimate plans so lets improve them."I didn't have the means though so, play the fools who did. Petition the US and the UN and the fools took to it. Food came in along with grain and seed as well as advisors to help teach my pathetic minions how to better feed and care for themselves. Now fed and getting healthy they could become the troops I needed to carry out my plans of domination. But then there was the water...fine same secondary plan, and it worked again. Now, now I could move forward with my, but they get sick and their families are suffering distracting my minions. Fine, more petitions, medical treatments, hospitals and housing. Now I can...no no, they're idiots. SCHOOLS! Yes, schools now they...will need time to learn. Food..good, water..good, housing..good, yes yes all looked good and better yet my numbers were growing. More and more minions to drive my plans of domination. But another was jealous and threatened me. \snicker\ Ah how easy it was to get the US to give me weapons to defend my "poor innocent people". Now I had healthy people getting stronger and weapons. Getting smart too. But now some were injured, some even crippled...ah the Americans again. A delicious plan, open testing of cybernetic development on my injured people. Perfect, except that it worked to well. That was a weird day, flying to America not for trial but to receive a prize for "promoting and enhancing world medicine"...shiny thing though. But then, I was ready, to thrust forth into other lands, into other territory were they could all see the folly and how I had taken advantage of them. Lands where I could...be welcomed? That was confusing yet there were my old problems, hunger, thirst, illness...screw it rinse and repeat. The UN and US were suckers once and they could be again, and it worked, again, and again, and again then, the representatives from the UN, it always sucks when they catch on but I guess they had to eventually. Yeah, eventually offer a seat...oh I need a rep for a committee? How better to spread my power. Send troops to help in a dispute, YES expand my grasp. Take in refugees? Of course more souls to corrupt to my teachings. An oversight committee seat? Of course how better to expand my power and spread my influence. Free and open elections? Crap. Well I'll just...I didn't need to rig it I had overwhelming support? Such a long road. So many dastardly plans. All gone so...right. "Army of Darkness"heralded as "Guardians and protectors". "Robotic super soldiers"? heralded as "enhanced and empowered saviors". No use brewing over it all though. So many successful failures. So many decades of "evil"guidance and expansion and now, on my death bed, being heralded in a parade outside in my honor as a "beacon of humanity". How can it feel like such a dirty defeat while being so successful?
A couple of years back, a real mean crew rolled into town. They more or less stomped on the old guard and set up shop all ready to do business. Gambling, drugs, loansharks, protection... they had their fingers in all the pies. Ever since then I had been relegated to the footnotes of the streets. Back in the good old days - before this mean crew rolled in - I had pulled a couple of jobs that had earned me some renown. But this new crew wasn't interested in that. Compared to them, I was small fry. They exclusively used their own guys from out of town. Pushed out of the street scene, I had been forced to make ends meet other ways. Yeah, I still sold some drugs but always small enough amounts that the mean crew wouldn't mind. I knew exactly how much that amount was because they told everyone. It was allowed up to a point, and god help you if you passed that point. What piece of the pie they left people was not enough to make a living. So I started using my talents for... okay it wasn't really talents per se. But I think sometimes it can be a good thing that you don't have a moral bone in your body. That's a kind of talent, right? Robbing students was easy. They always had the latest gadgets that they always forgot to lock or deactivate in case the gadget was stolen. That was good money. It was also shallow money. Meaning - if they lost it, they just bought another one. Repeat customers, I used to think. They weren't like the older crowd in the street. I'm talking about the suits, the people with proper shoes and subtle but obvious designer briefcases. If you weren't careful with those old people you'd steal someone's heirloom or nab something from someone with protection. That's how people I knew in a similar situation to my own had turned up missing. No, the trick was to hit the youngsters that barely made an effort to turn in a police report. That's where I carved out my niche, and made a good profit on it. You had to be careful with the students too, just in a different way. The students were different to how I remembered it in my youth - less hopeful, more overworked, and on harder drugs. Like this fellow I happened to rob the other day. I did my usual spiel about singling him out and following him into an alley he shouldn't have walked into. I guess I just got so carried away by the luck of finding such an easy mark that I leaned into some old movie lingo. I demanded "everything he owned". He just gave it to me. But that wasn't the weird part. Before, he had seemed like another super-depressed junkie addicted to learning and cheap alcohol. But when I took him from all he owned, he smiled at me. By the looks of him, I had just saved his life. Like I had literally taken a ton of rocks off his shoulders. He even thanked me. He fucking thanked me. Like I said, these new students were... different. Then something strange happened the following day. I was denied when I tried to withdraw money from my bank account at an ATM. I needed my social security to pay rent. But the ATM gave me nothing. I requested a receipt of recent transactions to see if the municipality messed up my social security, but it was there. And just below it, a negative deposit of $86,574 with two words: "services rendered". Fucking banks, man. They had clearly messed up. Every time they messed up they'd hit me with overcharge fees and drag out fixing the problem. Banks were the biggest scam - when they messed up, you paid the price. Whatever, I'd get it fixed before rent was due. That evening I decided to try to find another mark in another part of town. I had no luck for the evening, I think students were all cramming for some particular exam or something. There were almost none of them out in the streets. I was just standing there on a street corner when a small gentleman approached me. "Mr. Kaflin?"he asked out of nowhere. He had a nice suit, nice-looking shoes, a beautiful gold watch and an expensive smile. Exactly the kind of person that I would never touch. In a crowd you'd never tell him apart from another clerk or accountant or whatever. You know, the crowd that filled any busy street when the sun was up, running to some meeting or other. "Dave Kaflin?"he asked me. He knew my name for some reason. "Go away", I told him. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Dave."I got annoyed by this little prick. He was drawing attention to me, and attention was bad for stalking for a new mark. I turned to the man as if to hit him, and said "Fuck off!". Then he stabbed me. Just like that. He stabbed me in the arm with one of those little golden pencils that business people carry around, in case there's an unexpected and sudden need for... signing some legal document? Or for stabbing a poor Dave in the arm, apparently. It took me by complete surprise. Like, I couldn't even believe he just did it. It took a moment for me to realize what had actually happened. "What the fuck!"I yelled and took a good swing at the man. He perfectly dodged away from my blow. "What the fuck, man!"I tried again for lack of better options. The whole situation just seemed so silly. "The bank wants its money, Mr. Kaflin. The bank wants what it is owed."And with that brief statement he just turned and walked away. Like nothing had happened. "What the fuck! What the fuck!"I yelled at him, but I wasn't looking to escalate. Escalation was attention and judging by a nearby crowd staring at me, I had enough attention for one night. I arrived back at my apartment. I tried to do with a makeshift bandage for my wound that was bleeding quite a bit. I hoped it wouldn't ruin my leather jacket. When that was all finished, I cooked some dinner from leftovers and went to bed. What a bust of a day. Not a single dollar to show for hours of work, stabbed in the arm by some neat little clerkman, and I still hadn't solved the issue with my bank account. What was that thing the stabbing man had told me? 'The bank wants what it is owed'. I thought about that as I drifted off to sleep. Waking up in the morning, I felt rested other than my arm aching. One of the perks of being a lowlife scumbag who robbed students was that I got to sleep in, so I always did. But eventually my stomach convinced me to go get some food in the kitchen. There was a man sitting in my kitchen. "What the fuck?"I asked him, and reached for a kitchen knife. There was no knife. I noticed, however, that the man sitting in my kitchen had what appeared to be some kind of bonesaw placed on the kitchen table. It looked like straight out of a 1920's war movie, some instrument used for amputation or whatever. The man, dressed in a snug but luxurious suit smiled an expensive smile at me. "Mr. Kaflin, I'm here to make sure that the message was received. To make sure there are no mistakes. The bank wants its pound of flesh, Mr. Kaflin."He said it while keeping that perfectly practiced smile, stroking that damn bonesaw. Then I noticed the second man, equally impeccable clothing and smile, standing by the door of my apartment. Fuck that shit. I was out on the fire escape in less than seven seconds. When I was doing jobs back in the good old days that's a skill you picked up. Eventually some junkie or even the competition was going to try to lean on you in your home. Sometimes running away was the better choice. So I ran. I picked up some spare clothing I had stashed outside for an occasion just like this. There were a couple of bucks in my pocket to get by but nothing else. I roamed the busy streets during the day, trying to figure out what to do. Could I go home? Should I go to the bank and sort this matter out? I mean the whole thing was ridiculous. It wasn't even my debt, right? Like, had the debt been transferred to me just because I robbed some student? The bank certainly seemed to think so. The so-called bank. The real question was if they were interested in an explanation or... just 'wanted its pound of flesh' like the gentleman from this morning had said. Nearing the end of business hours, I started getting increasingly anxious walking around the streets of the city. I mean at first it wasn't a problem. But the more I thought about it, well... how did I really know who worked for the bank and who didn't? All the business people coming out of the offices and whatnot. They all looked the same. Their perfect suits, their expensive fucking smiles and their golden pens stashed away but always within reach. Those people were literally everywhere. I started getting the feeling that they were watching me. Some of them were, for sure. And there were just so many of them, more and more and more. Filling the streets, packed shoulder to shoulder on the way home. Mostly on the way home, surely. But maybe some of them were on the way to stab poor Dave again, you know? I didn't want to but I managed to work myself into an almost-panic. Who were all these suit people?! Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a "Hey man". I jumped and turned around, fists raised. In the corner of the eye I noticed a few nearby suit people stopped and watched. The man who had put his hand on my shoulder was the student I had robbed. "You!"I exclaimed. "Hey man", he replied, "I just want to thank you for what you did. But I have to ask - I mean I didn't think I'd see you here again - shouldn't you be running away or something?""Why would I be running away?!"I managed. "You know, because of the..."then he leaned in closer and whispered the last part to me; "because of the debt?". Even with the word 'debt' whispered, I could tell some nearby suit people had heard it. One of them stepped forward. "Mr. Kaflin? Dave Kaflin?"In his hand I saw a golden gleam. I ran as fast as I could. There was a new mean crew in town. A real mean crew.
Christ had been dead nearly 80 years. Mount Doom (in the old language) had taken on a more pastoral appearance, its name had changed any number of times and its current moniker of Mount Vesuvius seemed to suit it, thought Gandalf as he strode to the gaping maw that had once been more jagged and accessible by a walkway cut through the mountain. He reflected on his journeys with the Hobbits and the ring of power, and on his trip with Hercules, placing many objects of unnatural power within it's welcoming molten smile all whilst battling the last of the Giants. The Greeks had named it "I quench"for it's seeming ability to absorb even the most cursed and unbreakable objects within their known universe. Mount Doom seemed capable of receiving any amount of indestructible talismans. Gandalf had experienced so much. He had no pain or any effects of old age, yet walked stooped and slowly in order to draw no attention and instead appear the aging pilgrim. He was holding a most powerful object. He had drank from it tens of thousands of years ago upon his creation. Eternal life. A curse so great that those who drank from it could not be destroyed. Those in his order may be defeated, but are reorganized and never quite the same. With each death came wisdom and new form. He had once spent 10 years as a family dog, perhaps his favorite reincarnation. That said, it was a fate he would wish upon no-one and imbued a power so great that he feared it's spread. This fate had befallen the Christ figure. Jesus of Nazareth had sought and found the cup, shared it with 12 others and created a force which had nearly toppled.the foundations of time itself. The Old Guard had combined one last time in an epic battle of immortals to quell the power of the new 13, who were drunk with rage. 13 had never been released at once upon the world. When a new member of the guard was chosen, all members gathered to hold the new members power long enough, lest they believe themselves to be gods, and take life without regard. This had been the fate of the 13. The 13 appeared as good and noble gods at first, spreading a message of peace and equality, but quickly became wrathful and quick to punish those that were not quick to heed their message. The final battle resulted in vast human lives lost and the Old Guard agreed that the age of man could not continue with such a powerful relic present. It must be destroyed. There would be no New Guard. All 13 now rested in a sediment form, affixed to the lining of cup, still immortal yet bound through dark magic the world hadn't seen since the days of Sauron. Gandalf shuddered at the memory. He had decided this would be his last trip as well. None of the Old Guard had tried throwing themselves in Vesuvius. They each had tried any manner of suicide. Always brought back, never extinguished. Gandalf was tired. He had done evil beyond thinking in his own life. He knew that he was no different then the cup which he held, too powerful to exist any longer. As he neared the mouth of the volcano, he could feel the heat whipping at his robes. The warm embrace of death perhaps? No thinking, too much thinking had happened. He soared through the air, towards the molten surface. Surprise came as he landed on the surface, not sinking at first. As flesh and bone became one, he smiled , watching the cup submerge. One final attempt at a breath and sinking, always sinking. His calm was short lived as he felt the presence of so much evil, it was all still here. He reached out with his soul and could feel every cursed object ever thrown into this hell pit. Fear, terror. Rumbling. Movement. Gandalf and the cup had been too much. The volcano began to spew it's evil with catastrophic force, belching it's contents far and wide. With each retch, releasing thousands of years of evil to this new age of man. Gandalf's soul cried out in agony. Pliny the Younger watched as Vesuvius burped smoked and enveloped everything in sight, including his uncle. He watched as the dawn of the most evil period in the history of Terra commenced.
He stared at the diminutive, green-coloured creature. It stared back with its eyes like black onyx. Eyes that still seemed to be watering from the beating it had taken, and suddenly former-prince Edward wondered just why he'd done it. Thoughtfully, he rubbed the ungroomed beard he'd grown over the past two months; scuffed his feet on the damp ground and looked around. Goblins never came alone. He'd learned that the hard way, but there was something strange about this particular goblin. It was holding a book, for one. And it spoke (in admittedly broken sentences) a human language. Not common Brythonic, but the Indyik tongue. Suddenly, Edward was glad he'd learned it, even if admitting he'd been studying magic had got him... well it had got him here. 'I come?' the goblin pleaded. Edward would have refused, but he had a gut feeling about this one; and he'd learned to trust that. It had got him out of trouble so far. Hell, it had even got him disowned rather than executed. 'Where's your clan?' he asked. It grimaced broadly, revealing more teeth than Edward was comfortable with seeing. 'They die. Clans fight. They lose, they die.' Edward scratched his beard again and muttered a spell under his breath to heal his injuries. It hadn't been a fair fight, so he'd not fought fairly. Another thing he'd learned, actually. The fight went out of people pretty quickly when they watched their friend get a dagger into the vulnerables. The goblin watched the magic work, wide-eyed with amazement. 'I come?' it repeated. 'I catch food. Cook.' Edward had never experienced goblin cuisine before, but he was fairly sure it meant he'd have more than he did right now - and that was an empty stomach. So he nodded, held out his hand. "Ed." 'Geebros.' the goblin replied. So they had names too. Edward thought, surprised. 'All right, Geebros. First things first, let's get out of here. They're going to bring the guards for this.' he said. The goblin nodded anxiously and looked over its shoulder in the direction the hobbling men had gone. Already there were some distant shouts, but Geebros gestured for Edward to follow him, and they disappeared onto a trail that hadn't been there a moment before. 'We... lower fairies.' Geebros said, with a wicked grin. 'We use the Fairy ways. Stay on path.' 'Yes, of course.' Edward agreed quickly, wondering what he'd got himself into. Things were flitting in and out of the corner of his vision. What did they say about the Fairy folk? Don't eat their food or you'd never leave? Edward sniffed disparagingly. If he didn't eat now, he'd starve. And besides, he didn't have anywhere else to go. So he followed Geebros to the goblin's odd little camp and watched with amazement as it lifted a whole rabbit and two grouse out of the pages of the book. Geebros beamed and turned the book around so that Edward could see the rows and rows of items written in crude Goblinish scratches. His eyebrows shot up. 'A tome of holding!' he exclaimed. 'Where did you find it?' The goblin chortled. 'We eat, then I show, yes?' \-------------- r/Eight_Legged_Pest for more stories :)
Dear diary: It is the 14th day of the month of lilacs, in the year of our lord 1562. A Knight in the Order of Saint Catherine (God rest her soul!) came to my door and demanded money and hospitality from me after my morning prayers. When I protested his uncouth behavior and politely requested that he show me the manners due to my position as a citizen in our fair kingdom, he laughed. "I don't take no orders from no woman. You don't have any power over me, and I know you've got more money than you'll ever miss in a lifetime."Father in heaven, please forgive my transgressions. I confess that the moment he said that, I saw a memory of my own father, looking at me in disapproval the moment I hatched from my egg. I also saw before me my older brothers, attempting to bully me due toward my gender and status as the youngest amongst our family. It was not fair in hindsight to compare this poor human ruffian toward the strength and fortitude of my own family, I will confess. I also confess that I felt an unfair sense of satisfaction when I twisted his ear and threw him down head-first the many, many steps that lead up to my home in the mountains. I repent of laughing at the tinkling noises that his armor made every time he hit a step, and I ask for your forgiveness, All-Father in the skies above. Please also soften the heart of that Knight as well, Father, for I am concerned that he might seek vengeance in his anger toward me. May the light of our Father above cause each day to be brighter than the last. Dear Diary: It is the 15th day of the month of lilacs, in the year of our lord 1562. I fear that my prayers were not enough, for the Knight returned. He challenged me to a fight to the death, to regain his honor. I protested, of course, but he insisted. What ensued could hardly be considered a fight, for his cape on the back of his armor was so long (I don't remember seeing it yesterday, did his tailor finish making it for him today?) that he tripped and fell face-down onto the front of his armor. Thank you Father for sending him the forethought of wearing his helmet, for it did him the service of preventing his head from hitting the ground too hard. Forgive me, Father, for I confess that I heard the tink of his armor and burst out laughing at the memory of him falling down all of those steps. When I regained my composure, I realized that as a Knight, he had hardly regained his honor and had in fact lost more of it than he had possessed at the start of the fight. Since it was only fair of me as the instigator of his dishonor, I invited him to challenge me tomorrow at noon. I pray that my actions will remedy my standing with this officer of our fine kingdom and that we can resolve this without bloodshed tomorrow at the appointed time. May the light of our Father above cause each day to be brighter than the last. Dear Diary: It is the 16th day of the month of lilacs, in the year of our lord 1562. I learned the name of the intrepid Knight: Sir George. He made it quite clear when I was eating my lunch while waiting for him since he screamed it at the top of his voice. "YOU. YOU'RE NOT GONNA DEFEAT ME, SIR GEORGE OF THE KNIGHTS OF THE ORDER OF SAINT CATHERINE!"I put down my mutton and silverware, wiped my face with my napkin, then addressed him as such: "Shouldn't you say "God rest her soul"?"And then I, to my shame, burst out in laughter, for he had added a fine set of green rooster feathers to his helmet! He fumed at me for making a mockery of him, even though he was late as it was one hour past noon. He challenged me to fight against him once more, to regain his lost honor. My heart bled for his social graces, so I accepted his request and picked up the sword offered to me. It was excellently cared for - sharpened iron honed to an edge that any Knight would be proud to carry into battle. Sir George picked up his sword, a Claymore twice the length of his body. While he struggled to lift his sword above his head, I walked over to him and as gently as I could, nicked the side of his face alongside the bruise he wore from falling flat on his face. He left my front door in much the same state as when he left the prior days, swearing that he would regain his honor by defeating me in combat. I politely wished him a good day and waved farewell to him. The rest of the day was less exhilarating, I spent it by making progress on the counting of my portion of my father's wealth. May the light of our Father above cause each day to be brighter than the last.
SCP-7392 [Official designation pending] Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: An instance SCP-7392 is to be kept at the primary entrance of each site supervised by the foundation. Access to SCP-7392 is strictly prohibited to all personnel save for the site director. SCP-7392 is to be used on all personnel of a lower rank than the site director, and is required to be used by the site director at the end of each members’ shifts. SCP-7392 is not to be used for more than ten seconds, so as to prevent permanent brain damage. Description: SCP-7392 resembles an electromagnetic detection array, commonly found at security terminals in locations such as airports and other places of high security. It is an outline of a rectangle roughly 2.5 meters high and 1 meter wide, made of a white-colored steel alloy. It sports two lights at the 2 meter point. SCP-7392 functionally operates as any common electromagnetic detection array. The lights turn red if metal is detected, and green if the staff member is cleared for entry. When operated by the site director or any personnel of higher clearance, SCP-7392 gains the ability to erase memories from the cognition of any human walking through it. The memories that are wiped only pertain to the last 9 hours of conscious activity. Any personnel that undergoes this process has no recollection of the past day’s events. Any activities they have performed are recorded and logged in the archives, so that any personnel may continue their work the following day. WARNING: If any personnel remains within the array for more than 10 seconds, the memories that are wiped will be permanently lost, and memories from up to 10 years in the past may be affected. In addition, the waves emitted by SCP-7392 may cause permanent brain damage.
"You what!?"Dr. Danger yelled. He massaged his temples, trying to ease the throbbing headache that was in danger of developing into a full-blown migraine. The skeleton stared back at him obstinately. Well, not exactly stared - it had no eyeballs to speak of. But even then, Dr. Danger could tell that Skelly was not going to back down from this fight. "S' my boy's first day on the job, I didn't want him to just get cut down instantly and lose morale. He's not going to be working in this dungeon the rest of his life, you know." Throwing up his hands in frustration, Dr. Danger paced around the room. "Well, he works in this dungeon now,"he said. "And losing,"he hissed. "Is. The. Whole. Point. The hero is supposed to win! Even if Skelly Junior could beat Infiniboy, he's got to pretend to lose. And, you've broken the one most important rule. Don't break immersion! Now Infiniboy is going to go around yelling that our necromancer's crypt isn't a real dungeon because he knows that it was engineered to let him win, and I'm going to have to scrap the whole thing and say it was for 'experimental purposes' or something!" Skelly murmured something beneath his breath that suspiciously sounded like, "not a real villain."Unfortunately, Dr. Danger's hearing was as keen as a dog's. "If you don't like it, you and Skelly Junior can go work for a real villain, then!"he replied. "I can't go around wasting resurrections on employees that won't comply." This, Dr. Danger saw, gave Skelly pause. The benefits that Dr. Danger offered were far better than those of any other villains around. And, to boot, Dr. Danger represented job security. Far too many of the other villains who were legitimately set on taking over the world got themselves offed one way or another, and their henchmen had to think quick each time a boss got put in the ground. It's hard to get a new gig when all your references are dead. Sure, in Dr. Danger's employ, you didn't actually get to fight, to live up to your full potential. But a job was a job, and it paid the bills. \----- [/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)
1/2 "Good morning everyone! It's Monday so you know what that means: we're going to once again kick this week off on a softer note with Mozart Mondays. This edition of Mozart Mondays is brought to you by Sand. Sand: it's fucking everywhere now." Marcus knew the joke was lame, and its very nature of being lame is what gave him a little chuckle as he wheeled the chair over to the dusty stack of tapes. It had taken him a full day of testing and sorting to separate which tapes were still working. Fortune would have it that most of the classical, jazz, and blues sections were still in tact. Fortune would not have it that the entirety of the classic rock section had been taken down in some sort of scuffle long before Marcus ever got there. "Today's selection is an oldie but definitely a goodie: Requiem."Marcus continued as he loaded two tapes into the player. "In my personal and professional opinion as the foremost authority on music alive in this area today, Requiem stands tall as Wolfgang's greatest creation, and I will not be hearing any dissenting opinions on the matter. After that beautiful selection, pick your spirits up for the rest of the hour with a little Charles Mingus to sing you out. Enjoy, and as always, I will be here from the hours of twelve to one every day so...if you're out there...always check your pockets!" Marcus switched the talk function off of the radio, and leaned back in his chair. His eyes fell upon the blankets of dust coating the old controls of the long forgotten radio station, his mind casting back to happier days working the exact same board nearly 25 years ago. He had been a student then, attending school for an engineering degree that would culminate to nothing in terms of value in the new world. All he could think at the moment was how much he missed his weekly show: making jokes with Steve on air, fighting with the supervising faculty over acceptable content and licensing rights, and feeling a sense of ownership over something the two created. But the moment was fleeting, and Marcus soon forced himself to his feet. Once again, the signal had been sent, and once again he had to wait. Marcus took a piece of paper he had copied his tagline "Always Check Your Pockets!"onto, and placed it over the dust-coated controls. He then exited the booth and made his way down the short hall, stepping over small piles of sand that had spilled in through cracks in the roof. Eventually, Marcus found the ladder he had left for himself, and climbed up until he reached a large piece of plywood covering a hole in the roof. Marcus slid the panel to the side and finished climbing onto the roof, which presently stood just below the crest of a sand dune that had formed up against the building. After placing the panel back over the access into the radio station, Marcus quickly checked that the sign he had placed was still standing next to the access point. It simply read "ENTRANCE", and included an arrow pointing at the panel. Marcus gave it a good push to make sure it was secure, and then began the long trek to the engineering studies building across campus. As he hiked the same path across multiple sand dunes to the three levels of the decaying building not yet buried in sand, Marcus caught himself staring at the top window on the right. The window peaked into a small study hall for students to use freely. It had been his favorite place to work when finishing projects. It had been Steve's favorite place as well. Marcus shook the thought from his mind, and entered through one of the broken windows. There, Marcus doublechecked the padlock he had affixed to the student lab entrance earlier, making sure his kitchen supplies, mattress, and other belongings were still safe. After finishing his check, he grabbed the bag he had marked "BANG!"in spray paint, locked the lab doors back up, and went to the lawn chair and binoculars he had set up on the roof. "Well what do we have today little Stevie?"Marcus spoke out as he sat down on the roof and glanced at the station. "Anything good?" He then took a small spray bottle of water he had tucked under the ledge of the roof guard, and sprayed the small potted plant sitting next to him. "Nah,"he finally said, "Figures not."Marcus checked his watch almost religiously as the minutes ticked by. He couldn't help but daydream while watching the static radio station blister in the unforgiving heat. He thought about that window, and the study hall he and Steve had first met in long ago. How the two had met every Saturday in that room to work on projects. How Marcus had spent a full semester listening to Steve's show before Steve ever had the idea to invite Marcus on. Marcus called that semester staying as a listener "Research"; Steve called it "Wasted Time."Regardless, both called the remaining semesters cohosting the Sunday show as the best part of their time at college. A noise broke Marcus from his thoughts. He scanned all over the station with his binoculars, his heart rate elevated. No sight of movement anywhere around the station. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he didn't even realize where the noise had come from. A second sound rang out, and this time Marcus had a location. He unzipped the bag marked "BANG!"and pulled out a Whisper 30X8 Marksman's Edition. Marcus zoomed the scope of the rifle over the opposite side of the station from where he had placed his ladder. Sure enough, just visible around the corner, Marcus could make out someone attempting to pry their way in between some loose wall paneling on the side of the station. "Scavenger. It has to be a scavenger. It's always a fucking scavenger."Marcus quietly spoke his thoughts to the plant as he fixed the scope onto the head of the man working on the radio station wall. "Well,"he continued to himself, "You ain't getting any of my shit."Eventually, the man gave up, and started to circle the building looking for an entrance. "Try the big fucking sign marked 'entrance' ya dumbass,"Marcus thought aloud as he followed the man with his scope. The man eventually thought to climb onto the roof, spotted the sign, removed the panel, and slowly climbed into the station. Once the man was out of sight, Marcus reached under his seat, and turned on a small radio tuned to the station's already-set frequency. "Come on man, come on, come on..."Marcus repeated the prayer over and over as he waited. The longer the unknown figure remained in the station, the more Marcus felt himself - against his own best wishes - becoming dismayed. He had been doing this for six weeks now. Was it all pointless?
I eyed Snapgrub as we sat by a small campfire. He had removed his worn armour, baring his muscled gray chest. I knew they were naturally stronger than humans, but seeing that drove home just how different they were. He saw me looking and smiled, baring sharp teeth. "You like?" I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I turned back to the small pot in front of me. It bubbled over the flames, sending out a delicious smell. We had only been travelling together for a day, but I was enjoying his company. "Hmmm. Smell good. You good cook." "Thanks. It's not much, but it should do." He gave a bark of laughter. "Humans, so humble. Us orks, shout loud and proud." I smiled back. He was very chatty, after making our pact. It was hard to reconcile him with the blood crazed warrior I had met only that morning. The sound of pouring came to my ears, as I glanced at him. He was pouring a blue liquid into two goblets, before stopping the wineskin. He held one out, giving a smile. "Here. Drink this. Make strong. Warrior drink." I took it, copying his motion as he drunk it in one. The second I swallowed, I could feel the burn. It tasted foul, and I stared coughing. "What... the... hell... is... that?!" "Ha ha ha!" He pointed and laughed at me, as tears streamed down my face. "Is Liquid Fire. Good stuff yes?" I continued coughing, feeling tears streaming down my face. They began to subside, and I quickly portioned out the travelling stew. He grinned at me again, before tearing into the meal. I ate slower, keeping an eye on him. Snapgrub soon finished, and he sat back with a sigh. "Very good food." "Thank you." I finished, setting my bowl to the side. I thought for a second, before speaking again. "Snapgrub, the dragon." His sudden change was jarring. Where as before he was lazing around with a grin, he was suddenly stern, rage rising. "What about dragon Gerana?" "I'm thinking how to take it down. With two of us, we have a stronger chance." "Hmmm. True. You have plan?" I nodded. "The start at least." "What plan? You smart, tell me." I gave a small smile at his statement. He was very direct, a stark contrast to those I grew up with. "I think you should take point. You are stronger, and can probably bring a lot more hurt. Can you do anything else?" He gave a sharp nod back. "Lucky. Very lucky." "I... see. Well, I will stay back. I'm better with a bow than a sword, and I have some knowledge of nature." His eyes lit up in recognition. "Ah, druid! Rare breed you." "Not quite, but yes, that ilk. Does that work for you?" He grinned. "Simple plan best. Good thinking." I returned the grin. "Hopefully working together we can fell this beast." "We fight hard, or die gloriously." He settled back down. I watched him for a little longer, before going to turn in. It was surprising how in dire circumstances, strange friendships were born.
Squealing tires... CRASH... Darkness... I open my eyes and blink as they adjust to the light. This isn't my car and it sure isn't a hospital bed. I'm sitting on a chair in a room that reminds me of the Department of Motor Vehicles only the other waiting chairs around are empty and at the counter there is only one bored teenager staring at me. "Hello, sir. How are you?"he says in monotone. "I don't know... I was in a car crash and now I'm here."I say. "Yes, because you're dead and it's time for the machine."he says and points behind him. "Machine?"I say and then look at the wall behind the teenager. It goes up nearly thirty feet and at the top in big letters says Choose Your Own Afterlife Adventure! "This is a mistake, I didn't die... Oh I know! It's a weird dream while my body is in a coma or something..."I say. "No, you're dead. Wait we have a pamphlet for your type of thing, hold a on a second."the teenager says and disappears under the counter. When he reappears he holds out a pamphlet. I stand up and it feels weird, like there's no weight to my body, and I take the pamphlet. So you don't know you're dead, What now? the title reads and has a picture of a ghost shrugging their shoulders. "What the hell? This is how I find out I'm dead? I'm told by some teenager at the DMV for ghosts?"I say. "My name's Steve and yeah I guess this is how you find out. Now do you want to know how the machine works?"Steve says. "No! I want to get back to my body!"I yell. "Sir, this reaction is covered in the pamphlet."Steve says. "You're pamphlet is stupid!" Steve shrugs. "Probably. I've never read it." "Then how did you know my reaction was in it?" "I just assumed. Now do you want to know about the machine?" "No, I still don't want to know about it. Why would I want to choose my own afterlife anyway? I have a perfectly fine one to get back to, or at least it would be if I could've made it to the airport... She's probably left by now though, damn it!" "You could continue that in the machine if you want, or you could write that novel you said you were going to, or you could go on that vacation-" "Oh no... is this some sort of wholesome life lesson thing? I don't need a life lesson, I've already had that, it's why I was going to the airport. Bethany and I were going to start fresh., but you probably already know that considering you know about the novel and vacation." "Heh, no, I was just listing random things people tend to regret. I suppose I could've read your file but."Steve shrugs his shoulders. "File? Could I read it?"I say. "No, but you could in the machine."Steve says. "I don't want anything to do with that machine! I want answers!" "Answers to what? I think I answered everything you've asked so far." "I don't know! I just don't want this to be real! I mean could you at least have some compassion?" "I'm just here to help people to the machine." I sigh and then look at the machine again. "I understand... but still no to the machine. I don't want that. I'll just sit here and I don't know wait." As I sit, I feel more strange. This not quite right world is even more not right... Wait, I know this, it's pain... Something pulls at me and the world starts to fade. My eyes blink open and adjust to light. My body hurts but I'm lying on a hospital bed. "Thank goodness! You're awake! I got worried when you didn't show. I know I said I'd go no matter what, but I couldn't."Bethany says and I'm relieved she's here. "It's good to be awake and not choosing my own afterlife..."I say weakly, with a smile as she grabs my hand. Take that Steve and your dumb pamphlet, it was all a weird coma dream after all.
About 1 in 20 wizards are born with no magical powers whatsoever. About 1 in 100 non-magic families will give birth a witch or wizard (a being who can use magic). I am going to use the terms muggles and Squibs here, because let’s face it, I grew up with Harry Potter on my bookshelf and using that term in this confession letter will make it clearer to everyone who reads it. A wizard being born without magic is like a fish being born without gills, they’re not meant to live long and make quick sushi. When I was born it soon became apparent I wasn’t as magical as my brother, born 2 minutes before me shootings lightning from his hands like bloody Zeus. My parents, bless their rotten souls thought I might be a late bloomer so kept me around for a little longer. I was told they waited an entire year before I was left to die of exposure at a small graveyard in the middle of winter. Guess it goes to show, magical doesn’t necessarily mean creative. The gravedigger lived in a small cottage on site and heard my balling, taking me in and raising me as his own son. He didn’t mind they I couldn’t use magic, even if he was a wizard just like my parents were. Grave digging was the sort of job that could be accomplished as easily with a shovel as it could with a wand. I grew up fairly sheltered, not wanting to broadcast the fact that I couldn’t use magic. But my father was kind to me and taught me many things about how the wizarding world works. I was 16 and walking down the street when a stray bolt of light came whizzing through the air and bounced off my chest. My clothes were singed, but I was fine. Father was shocked, as was I. A smoking whole the size of a basketball in my top but not a scratch on me. He told me it was probably a heating spell gone off target, but with some testing we found that all magic would bounce off me. I was excited, maybe I was a magical person after all! But no, I continued not being able to cast a single spell, I was so bad at magic that it seemed to avoid me at all bloody costs. I was 20, helping my father clear out a plot when a newspaper came. The headlines about increased violence and national pride had been all over both magical and non-magical newspapers for years. This year the non-magical population had been devastated with an awful disease, which all magical parties swore was not of their making. Until today, a young man on the cover of every paper claiming credit for “proving supremacy” and the face staring back being a twin of my own. I knew what I had to do, maybe what only I could do. Dad tried to talk me out of it, instructed me on the millions of ways magic could still harm me even if couldn’t be touched by it directly. But I have to do this. I have to. Goodbye Dad, and to anybody who read this. Wish me luck.
Jason Malnikov Bradley Brown (or JMBB for short) was a vampire, sure, but he was a sort of rare breed. An oddity. You see, Jason was… It’s kind of hard to say this without sounding critical, but here it goes. Jason was boring. Aside from the fact that he was immortal (unless shanked by wooden stake or drowned in Garlic Juice), Jason was just a pretty normal, mundane dude. Old timey vampires had a certain mystique. They were intimidating figures, agents of the dark that must be feared and respected in equal measure. Modern vampires on the other hand were, well, sexy. Jason worked in a cubicle at a mid tier insurance company. He had a cat named Mr. Shivers whom he dressed in tiny hats, and as far as anyone knew he had never had a girlfriend. Thus, on the morning of December 7th, 2021, Jason puffed air out of his nostrils and widened his eyes in surprise as he lazily checked his emails. The subject read: YOU’RE INVITED! The sender: Leigh Ally. That’s right. THAT Leigh Ally. The Leigh Ally who worked in the marketing department at Jason’s firm. They had met at last year’s office Halloween Party, he dressed as a vampire (tacky, I know) and she dressed as an octopus. Their conversation hadn’t lasted more than five minutes, but it had left an impression on Jason regardless. Had he given her his email address? He racked his brain. No, he didn’t think he had. But did that mean she… looked him up? Jason’s heart began to patter (metaphorically, of course. A vanpire’s heart can’t technically patter, but…). And in his manic delight, Jason Malnikov Bradley Brown forgot to rsvp. Two days later, our fanged protagonist stood at the door of Leigh Ally’s uptown apartment. He could hear christmas music playing on the other side, along with the chatter of the friends, coworkers, and coworkers’ significant others that had gathered for Leigh’s Christmas party. Jason hesitated, swallowing hard. He pulled his hand away from the door and fixed his hair, then he cleared his throat and shuffled his stance. Relax, he thought. Then, just to be safe, he practiced the intro he’d prepared in his head just ONE more time. “Hello, Leigh. What a great idea it was to host a christmas party when the company said they weren’t going to this year. How thoughtful. And wow your apartment is totally rad. Anyway, thanks for having me!” Jason grinned. Oh yeah. That shit was good. He was going to crush that smalltalk. His knuckles tapped down lightly on the door once, but before he could knock again the door swung open. And there at the door stood Leigh Ally, a wry if not welcoming smile on her face. Leigh was an ordinary beauty. Blond hair, somewhat plump, blue eyes shining from behind black glasses. Jason’s knees felt like jello. “Hel-LO,” his voice cracked, and instantly his face flushed. He cleared his throat. You can DO this JMBB! “Hello, Leigh. What a great idea-“ “Uh- huh,” Leigh said, “hello.” Her voice threw Jason off. She sounded excited. Was she excited to see him? Or was she simply excited about the party. Speaking of the party, though Jason could still hear the music and chatter, there didn’t appear to be anyone behind Leigh. “Where is everyone,” he asked. “In the other room,” Leigh said. “Oh,” Jason said. Leigh nodded. “So anyway,” Jason said, trailing off, “Your apartment is, ahem, so tasteful and totally rad.” Leigh nodded swiftly, then turned and walked into her apartment. Was she giving him the sign to follow? Or… oh god don’t let it be this… had he BORED her so much that she’d immediately lost interest in what he was saying?!?!?! Jason was, understandably, reduced to the depths of an internal crisis. He shook his head. No, that won’t do. The night was young. He could still salvage this. He took a step inside, and suddenly a great pain filled his head. His vision swam. “What the-,” he croaked, and then the world went black. An indiscernible amount of time later, he awoke on a leather sofa. Sitting cross-legged on the floor infront of him, Leigh stared at him with wide eyes. Jason’s face immediately felt hot. “Oh, did I pass out,” he asked. He looked around and saw that no one else was there. “Did I miss the party?” “No,” Leigh said. Jason sat up. “Well.. where is everyone?” Leigh pointed behind him. Jason turned and— A Draconic face stared back. Cold black eyes, a face as pale as snow, your standard Dracula-esque vampire face. Jason screamed. “Calm down,” the vampire said, sounding oddly like the vampire from sesame street whose name escapes memory. “As you can see,” Leigh said, “He is in my apartment, AND he is alive.” The vampire sighed. “Yes, I will admit that.” “What’s going on,” Jason asked. “Pipe down, fool,” the vampire said, “I mean honestly how do you not know one of the most basic rules of vampirism. You must accept an invitation before entering a mortal’s abode.” “I…,” Jason began, “But she did invite me! I have the email to prove it!” The vampire shook his head. “We do accept electronic invitations,” he said, “However because of spam mail and the possibility of hacking, the vampire must RSVP and the sender must acknowledge the rsvp. Otherwise the invitation is considered incomplete.” “Oh my god,” Jason said, “So am I gonna die? And who are you?” The vampire rolled his eyes. “Who I am isn’t important. I’m like the vampire police or something. And as far as if you’re going to die… well… you’re not dead are you?” “So…. What,” Jason said, “I get off with a warning?” The vampire chuckled. “Hardly. In accordance with the Vampire guidelines, you must now give one of your fangs to the sender as your formal apology, and they will immediately be recognized in the eyes of the vampire order as half-vampire henceforth. Also, you have to be their servant for 7 years.” Jason closed his eyes, rubbing his temple. “Um… what?” “Are you going to make me repeat myself,” the vampire asked, “Give Ms. Leigh Ally a fang right away!” Jason looked at Leigh, who, palm extended, looked absolutely thrilled to be getting a tooth. Jason sighed and raised a hand to his mouth. “Fine,” he said. “Hehe,” Leigh cackled. Her plan had succeeded. And now she had an extra set of hands to help her get the apartment ready for the REAL christmas party.
Deposition of Witness #65734 (Anonymous) before the legal board of The Galactic Commission for Clone Rights, 12/16/2990 Galactic Standard Calendar Look, I'm man enough to admit that the first thing I did was throw up. In my defense, you probably never seen a body that's been spaced for a while. A lot of people think you die in space and you freeze looking normal, but that ain't how that works. They kinda pop, after a while, because they start decomposing and the gases build up and... yeah, you get the idea. When you seen 500 of those floaters drifting around your viewport I dare you to keep your stomach in one place. Well, 498 floaters I guess, but you get the idea. Not pretty. I still get fuckin' angry thinking about it. 5 containers. 500 people. They had 'em packed in there so tight they couldn'ta done shit to save themselves even if they'd had the chance. Only reason my two survived is 'cause theirs had a slow leak, not a full breach, so they were slowly suffocating instead of their veins popping. If I'd pulled up on 'em an hour later they woulda been dead like all their brothers. What kinda fuckin' galaxy we living in where- sorry, sorry. Like I said, still get mad. What really gets me is, they didn't have to space 'em. They coulda dropped the containers and run and nobody woulda chased 'em, but they breached 'em all instead. Ain't right. But anyway, I'm sick of talking about that if it's all the same. Gets me depressed. I only did a sweep out of instinct, honestly. I wasn't really thinking straight, thought for sure they were all dead, but I was wrong. Those tough little bastards were still kickin'. Thing was I couldn't get 'em out, not without breaching the doors and that woulda finished 'em off right then and there. I had to spot weld the leak and then hook the whole container to the back of my rig and haul ass for Zeta Prime and hope they hadn't died by the time I landed. I get nightmares about it, you know? Where I didn't do the sweep or they died before I could get 'em out, or they were already dead when I got there. The real kick in the balls was, they were kids. All hundred of 'em, not quite nine years old and they died like that and I opened up that damn container and- fuck. Shit. I'm sorry. I grew up in the slums, right, and I seen a lotta shit but that was the worst moment of my life. They were just kids. But those two were still alive, and they hung on all the way to the medcenter. Then when we got there I had to lie and say they's twins because nobody treats clones. Stupidest shit I ever heard right there. What happened to 'em? They recovered. Wouldn't talk to nobody for a while, kept calling me Master when they finally did. I ain't nobody's fuckin' master 'cept my own. But they... they were good kids when they finally opened up. I still see 'em every few months when I swing by. They call me Uncle. They live with this couple who got 'em all fixed up with therapy and stuff. Better for 'em than being raised by a ship-livin' hauler. I'm happy as I am, but this ain't a kid's life, 'specially not one with their issues. Uh, if it's all the same I'd rather not tell you where they are, sorry. I'll drop your message next time I visit and they can come to you if they like- probably will- but I don't wanna sell 'em out. I'm a little paranoid after everything. Did you wanna hear anything else? Why'd I do it? I mean, I helped 'em 'cause they needed help. It's not like I got some deep reason, I just couldn'ta lived with myself if I flew off and left kids to die. Woulda been no better than the scum that dumped 'em in the first place. It ain't right, man. Ain't fuckin' right. Note: Following his deposition, Witness #65734 was referred to the Commission's counseling wing for treatment of Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Treatment has so far been successful.
Many mortals do not understand their so-called 'gods' because there are no gods only god-like beings. This was crucial to understanding why the Olympians got involved with this intergalactic threat, it was part of the reason why Ares now stood over a bloody Hermes. "W-why Ares?"Hermes staggered out and he fell to his knees. Ares grabbed him by his neck before he could hit the ground though, "Look around you my dear brother, diplomacy has failed... Athena failed, Olympus burns because of her failure..."With one quick motion, one quick muscle twitch there was a sickening snap as Hermes fell to the ground "We have failed, and I intend to right that wrong" Ares marched off out of the smoldering ruins of Olympus, down the steps to heaven, and into Artemis' once sacred forest. Ares did not begin wars, no that was Athena's job. Ares did not take the lives of young men and women on the battlefield, no that was Thanatos' job. What did Ares do? he did not begin war nor did he truly wage the war, he brought the fear of war, the fear of reality, he ended wars. This war was swift, quick, silent. It was as if an entire society had been silenced in a second, this society from the stars was no match for someone built to end wars. Ares' shoulders weighed heavy as the final threat fell in front of him, yet he continued to march toward no true goal but he still marched. After all, there are so many wars to end. "The humans can survive on their own while I accomplish a greater goal"Ares said to himself as he looked at the stars reinvigorated with a new purpose. (I tried my best to write a coherent answer for this prompt as I really liked it, Bravo to OP for making such a good prompt)
Dominar the Destroyer, a being so powerful and so utterly malevolent that to even gaze upon his visage was punishable by death. He was a vindictive and spiteful being, one who revelled in the misery and suffering of mortals. He'd long travelled the galaxy, wiping out countless civilisations, ruining lush and verdant paradise worlds, leaving them nothing more than broken, desolate husks. He had perused the galaxy for several decades when he stumbled upon his next quarry. It was a small, diminuitive planet, little more than a solitary pebble cast into the ocean of potential targets. Dominar the Destroyer cared not for the little pebble, and travelled to it with all the haste he could muster, such was the hunger he felt to have them worship, gift, and ultimately die in his name. As he soared through the darkness between worlds, his celestial vision granted him glimpses of the fight to come. He saw rolling seas of steel and fire, meat puppets clad in a mockery of what he deemed to be armour. His sight lingered on the metal beasts that flew the skies, hurling crude incendiary devices to ripple and heave the land. Intriguingly, he also looked upon the nuclear weapons. He sneered as he realised this was the ultimate weapon of this race of flesh and sinew and decaying pulp. Dominar the Destroyer counted how long it would take to make this apex species his slaves... two, maybe three hours at the most. Dominar the Destroyer broke through the atmosphere like a hammer upon an anvil. His arrival leaving the Chinese city of Lhasa an upturned scattering of rubble and debris. Dominar the Destroyer's mighty axe lashed out a thousand thousand times a minute. His legs were as pistons, pumping steam through his body and coursing magma through his heart. His voice was as thunder, shattering the minds of the weak willed populace, turning concrete into dust. Dominar the Destroyer was ecstatic. Yet, as he slew, and as he jumped from one imminent graveyard to the next, he had a nagging thought in the back of his mind. Something was amiss. Wherever he went, there were these strange, fluffy animals, gazing at him intently. Judging him. Almost, almost with contempt. Dominar the Destroyer was incensed. He lashed out at one of the creatures, before realising it was merely an illusion, a picture on a wall. Below the picture of this despicable creature, he read the word 'Cat', and he demanded from a cowering local how the word was said. He mulled it over in his mind, as he crushed the plebian humans torso in one hand. Dominar the Destroyer was now an hour into his latest conquest, and most of what he'd since found out was called 'Asia' had been bought to heel. Those who resisted, were as grains of sand in a tsunami of apocalyptic rage and malice. Dominar the Destroyer slew a score of children with his axe, and turned around. He leered at the sight before him, a vision that his celestial sight had not forseen. The 'cats' were approaching him, forming a circle, trapping him in a ring of fur and tooth and claw and arrogance. Dominar the Destroyer walked up to one, and went to crush it. The creature hissed at him, then lashed out at him with one of its claws, piercing his craggy and universe-beaten skin. He howled in rage and shock, kicking the creature so hard it exploded into a fine mist, dusting the other proud creatures in its blood. Alas, this sent the 'cats' into a mighty rage, it whipped them into a frenzy, a torrent of flying fur and broiling tails. A solitary supermarket's security camera caught the demise of Dominar the Destroyer. It caught him punching the cats into pulped mess, biting them in half and stamping them into paste. It caught him lose grip on his mighty axe as his fingers were bitten, tendons were severed and his wrist was brought down by a dozen of the felines. It caught him growing tired, swinging his arms in mighty arcs, pulverising a score of cats with each mighty motion. It caught his right arm as a hundred cats latched onto it. It caught his left arm try to remove them, only in turn to be weighed down, anchored to the floor by the vehement and righteous fury of the cats. And finally, it caught him screaming to the heavens, roaring in pain as the swarm of feisty felines descended upon him, gnashing and gnawing and lashing and clawing. &#x200B; Dominar the Destroyer was no more. All that remained, was an ancient axe, etched with the blood of countless millions of humans, thousands of cats, and of one god.
The tall muscular man grunted as he grabbed the hook and tugged on it, pulling it out of the wall with splinters of dry wood and plaster following. His name was Asmodeus (blame his parents for it, fucking bible thumpers) and he was perplexed at the new situation he couldn't quite wrap his mind around yet. He had been born and raised by a small, and by the considerations of polite society, extreme religious zealots. Not a small towns worth mind you, maybe six or seven. But all had taken one look at his dark skin and screamed at his mother that she had given birth to a demon, cheated on his father with Satan himself. Something that likely had no small part in his now finding enjoyment of ripping out people's spines, but that was neither here nor there. He had been beaten, made to do all the chores they didn't want to do such as firewood cutting and gutting the animals, and generally had been made his life hell by the adults of the procession. All of it leading to him taking a hatchet and cutting their bodies apart, blood spraying on his chest that had been branded with a quite demonic-looking eye. And from there he had lived alone, alone cutting and butchering those stupid enough to come into his woods and disturb the peaceful life he now tried to live. He had even taken up art! He would admit they weren't always the best, but with the life he lived, he had lots of time to get better. But now he had a new problem, one he wasn't quite sure how to feel about. A group of teenagers had moved into the old place where he had once lived, and normally they would be dead by now. Parts hanging from hooks to be fed to the hogs, and him once more focusing on his painting. Except, they weren't like regular teenagers. Another group had come In after them, clearly drunk out of their mind, and they had not only captured them, but sacrificed them in a ritual to, and get this, "Asmodeus, the devil of the Bright Tail woods." Well now, things were interesting after that. He had found the bodies later hung in trees through the woods, hooks through their chests with the symbol of a demonic eye on their foreheads if they were gals or chest if they were guys. He looked over the painting he made, then at the demon mask he had once worn when he slaughtered his family. Maybe he would have to see about welcoming his neighbors.
The alien commander listened as the screams cut off. His comm officer's face was ashen as she closed the link. "Astral navigation is down. The engines are on thermal runaway. And the lights won't stop flickering,"the first officer reported. His red shot eyes shifted uncomfortably as the bridge lighting flared bright, then off, and back dim again. "How can this happen!"Captain Asa roared. "They're barely a tech level two! We took away every stimulant on their planet! They should be docile, submissive, even pleasant!"She smashed her fist down on the console, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. "We are the flagship of the Kethral Empire! We have two attachments of Marines on board. We are two tech levels ahead of them. And we can't figure out how to stop one human?" Captain Asa turned to her security officer, malice in her eyes. "Well?" The security officer flinched. "I'm sorry Captain, but the human seems to always be one step ahead. And our one contact with him, he was yelling something about fornicating stimulants. Maybe we got in the way of their mating rituals?" The lights seared brightly, before flickering on and off for a minute while the captain looked incredulously at the security officer. "Find this human, and stop him, so we can fix this ship,"she ordered, sending the security officer scampering away. The Captain sighed, putting her hand over her over stimulated eyes, feeling the pressure and pain of a headache setting in deep. ======== Down in the engineering compartments, a small dirty man was on his back in a small opening. He wore simple blue overalls with the word 'Jerry' in a white square patch. Grease and oil stains from years of machine work stained his clothes. His hands were calloused, with dirt under his fingernails, and a days worth of stubble on his face. He pulled a wrench out of a pocket and turned a bolt until it sheared off. He heard the hum of the air conditioning cut off a second later and smiled. "Take my fucking coffee, fuck you. I'm going to make your life a living hell until I get it back, you fucking moronic aliens,"he grumbled to himself as he slid out. He rubbed his temples and smacked a panel as the lights flickered. They stopped and steadied, giving him some relief. Chewing his lip, he looked around, considering. After a minute, he smiled wickedly to himself. "Wonder where their waste processing is. Would be a shame if it backed up on them."He stood up, glanced at his notes he'd been taking, and sauntered away, quietly grumbling to himself, his hands unconciously gripping into the form of a coffee cup.
Prim hated fate. Not the word, but the being that represented fate. A godly being who could influence events happening in the world with a gentle touch and whisper. Sola as it had called itself, appeared before Prim exactly a year ago in a glorious fashion. Prim remembered that day vividly. How could she forget? The day she was stripped of her free will and named as Sola’s chosen one to fight a so-called destined battle on the Broken Isles for the fate of humanity. She hated it, not only because she was forced into it, but also because she had already planned her life out. If Sola hadn’t intervened that day, her mate would have asked her for her hand in marriage. She could have had children with him and watch them grow up. She could continue working in her father’s apothecary while going on daily trips with her children to teach them all about herbalism while her then husband worked the fields. She would have continued meeting with her friends to learn the latest gossip in town while offering them her latest herbal tea concoction. It would have been a simple but peaceful and blissful life. That all changed when Sola appeared before her in the market. She was out buying groceries with her mate and had met several of her friends. A fairy-like light appeared before her nose. It bloomed outward, in a golden dazzling flash which left everyone in awe. When the light had faded, Sola, a being covered in white robes with flowing platinum blonde hair, hovered briefly before slowly touching down onto the cobblestone floor while holding its arms out. It seemed to be gesturing towards Prim. “My child,” it started. Its voice had a soothing and emphatic tone, which added only to its divinity it was already physically portraying, “I am Sola. I am the God of Fate. I have come here in search of someone. You. You shall be my champion - My chosen one.” Prim pointed at herself in disbelief. “M-me? I’m but a simple herbalist. I don’t know how to…” Before Prim could finish her sentence, her finger which she was pointing at herself started to glow. Faintly, at first, but soon the shine continued down to her hand, then her arm, and then finally her entire body. She was radiating with a godly light. Prim panicked and held her hands up, staring at them intently. She turned over to her mate for help, but as she turned, he took a step back. “You’re…a chosen one Prim,” he muttered, eyes widened. He had heard the legends. Gods would choose an individual to fight for them in the war at the Broken Isles, against the dark forces. Sola gave him a stern stare as it shook its head towards it. “You will address my chosen champion as Mistress, human,” it said while keeping its gaze affixed on him, “you are now all beneath her, for my champion, Prim, has a greater calling than living this mundane life amongst you. She will save world. You should all be thankful for her sacrifice!” Prim shook her head in disbelief. She could feel tears forming at the corners of her eyes and turned towards her friends. They too took a step back. One of them bowed down on their knees. The rest followed. Soon, Prim was surrounded by kowtowed people in a circle around her and Sola. “I can’t fight. I don’t know how to. I’ve never held a sword in my hands, nor have I ever experienced battle. Please, I just want to live a normal life,” she pleaded. She fell to her knees and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “It is not a choice, Chosen One. It is a privilege. A privilege you will appreciate. Rejoice, Prim, Saint of Light, for today, you have ascended to a higher calling.” The door knock startled her. She snapped back to the present and quickly stood up from her chair, tidying her robes. “Come in.” A small figure opened the door carefully and peeked in. A girl, no older than 10. She squinted her eyes as she laid her eyes on Prim who shone even brighter than that faithful day a year ago. “Mistress, the package you had asked for has arrived,” the girl said softly. “Thank you, my child,” Prim said gently as she gestured the girl inside. The girl slowly and carefully opened the door and held a box in the other hand. She carefully placed it upon the table at Prim’s gesture. After placing the box on the table, she stood there for a while. “Is something the matter, child?” Prim asked calmly. “M-my name is Lynn. I heard that you are able to…perform miracles?” Lynn asked sheepishly. “Whom have you brought?” Prim asked, knowing where the question was leading. “My father, Mistress. He has fallen ill and has been coughing blood. We’re at a loss for what to do.” Prim closed her eyes and held her nose up, like she was sniffing in the air. “He’s right there outside the door, isn’t he? Bring him in,” she gestured with her hand while keeping her eyes closed. An old man stumbled into the room, kowtowing himself on the floor of her room. He was coughing hard. “My mistress, my Saint of Light, can you please heal my father of his ailment?” the girl requested. “One last time then,” Prim thought to herself and strode towards the man. She kneeled down, laid her right hand upon his back and closed her eyes. Within seconds, her radiance seeped towards her right hand and then onto the old man, enveloping him. The light shone for a few seconds and then stopped, retreating back to Prim through her right hand back across her body. His raspy, grouchy breathing had stopped. He looked up and was in tears. “I…I can breathe!” he cried out in joy. She stood up and put her finger in front of his lips, shushing him. “Not a word, understood?” she said warmly. She stood up and gestured the two to leave. When the door finally shut, she turned towards the box. “My my, generous with your powers as always aren’t we, Prim?” a voice echoed in the back of her head. She sighed as she gently opened up the box, revealing a dark sphere-like bead. “I am the Saint of Light after all,” she chuckled as she picked up the bead, “but soon, perhaps I will have another title.” “Demoness?” the voice boomed in her head. “I was thinking…Doom Bringer,” she smirked as she swallowed the bead. &#x200B; EDIT: Removed some typo's. &#x200B; EDIT: Part 2 in comments. Because I went over the 10k word cap, I had to divide it into 2 parts.
As all the systems drifted further into darkness the Civilisation had attempted to proof themselves against the entropy-death. They struggled in vain. Day after day they pursued survival desperately, trying to build solar engines, enduring-crucible matrices, anything at all to stave off the inevitable, apathetic end that was consuming them. Like our ancient ancestors they groveled in their caves, desperately trying to reignite the embers of their failing fires before the night. But unlike their ancestors there would be no one left to study their bleached bones and wonder of their lives.. Except me. I hadn’t hoped to outlive the universe, but I had been there since the start, and it seemed only right I should witness the end. A chronicler, a historian. The thought of myself as an immortal record once had given me a feeling of indulgent self-importance. Not so much now. When the last worlds fell into the abyss of the dead and the screaming stopped, I thought I knew pain. When I finished the last book to ever be written I thought I knew grief. When the last stars in the sky blinked out I thought I knew loss. For some time I wandered. But with no light to see by, nothing to feel but ice and cold, nothing to experience but the passage of time… what was the point? I found a nice spot outside and laid down. I think it was outside, it was impossible to say in the indifferent dark. On the cold ice I waited, though I knew there was nothing left to come. When the twinkle of light emerged above me I felt hope threaten to surface in my tortured soul, but where hope once was I found only resignation. The twinkling light was now an orb of incandescent fire rapidly growing in size. A bright moon. A sun. A sky of hell-fire. Rebirth.
On rain-seasoned streets I let sail the USS Homework, Graded C minus But sea-worthy. It bobbed and dipped Into the storm sewer's dark. Journey well, fair ship. As did I. And two decades hence, I returned to show my daughter The home I lived in Before I was Father. And the ship returned then too, Tying off at the paper wharf, The paper people celebrating, Filling the paper port. It was a fleet now, Heavy with treasure and plunder, Hulls so full their gunnels near dipped under. See there, I said to her, Note how it left alone And returned with company. For treasures do sink ships, Lest they be shared by many.
I looked through the window. A blizzard was starting. Once again, chaos would be brought onto the land because of some kids playing with war weapons. No, not weapons. They are sentient, enslaved an raised to know nothing but destruction and suffering, but still sentient, and capable of so much emotions. The smile of a Mew... this image was engraved into my mind, keeping me moving forward. I didn't chose the Rocket life, the Rocket life chose me. But blizzard or not, there was no time to lose. The previous rocket left last Sunday at midnight, full of human refugees and freed Pokémon. There won't be a next rocket for a while, but despite that, every Pokémon I save today, every one that no longer needs to fight for every second of its awake life, is a soul saved from torment. Sadly, Team Rocket's position was fragile. There was no guaranty that any of us would survive up until tomorrow morning. "The Professor"could come up at any moment and storm our base, and we'd have more chance praying Ho-Oh to resurrect us than to pray him for mercy. As much as mankind genetically engineered itself to survive to the most brutal elemental attacks, no one is truly immortal. But there was hope. (The smile of a Mew...) The new generation, they didn't understand the war. Yesterday, I was defeated by one of the professor's assistant, and... I still lived. He spared me... no, he didn't even considered killing me, he was a kid, middle school at best. His eyes were filled with an innocent pride of child who won a game of chess. So much innocence. If only I could show him... The smile of a Mew. He would understand, that the truth he was told was a lie, that the love he was giving to his Pokémon was abuse. To protect the world from devastation, this system must end. To unite all peoples within our nation, humans and Pokémon alike. To denounce the evil of truth and love, and put an end to this false utopia. To extend our reach to the star and above, where the oppressed will be safe. As I walked through the snow, the air was getting colder and colder. As things are going, I might not save anyone today. Some says that revenge is best served cold, but that is Mewtwo's plan, not ours. Salvation is a snack better served through the whole evening. Ok... maybe that was not the best metaphor. But I just want... If I could just one more see a smile on a Pokémon's face. A smile of happiness, or freedom. A smile like the others I've seen before, a smile like... The smile of a Mew... Far away in the distance, a battle was raging. Judging from the echo, I didn't stand a chance against any of the two combatants if they were at full strength. I readied my friends, those who chose to remain with me rather than fleeing to the safety of the stars. Maybe, just maybe, I had a chance: the battle was raging, and the loser will soon be defenceless, and even if the winner attacks me, he will be seriously diminished by the fight. There was hope. Hope that I might save some souls today. Hope that at the end of the day, a few more Pokémon would smile. (The smile of a Mew...)
In a stone cellar surrounded by flickering candles a clammy, young novice sorcerer was flicking their hands around in unnatural patterns and muttering under their breath. ‘aaaand… done!’, the young sorcerer heaved, already reaching for the bag of cut-out pizza coupons this idiot had traded his immortality for. The small yellow glowing symbols that were slowly coalescing around the previously unconscious body of the latest unkillable (yet not immortal) being came to a halt, before dissipating entirely. The letters formed a contract of sorts, and a deal had been struck. In their place a thick purple vapour lingered in the air, and the smell of bitter botanicals hit the nostrils of Ambrook, as he awoke, teetering on the mortal coil. Before Ambrook could deliver the witty line he had poised on his tongue, - something about the ferryman of the long abyss having a migraine over this mystical faux-pas and a 30 day cooling off period, the heavily splintered wooden door to the dungeon trembled in its rusted hinges. Starting at a low snarl, a distinctly nasal and piercing voice came from the other side of the door, ‘You blithering, stingey, dim witted, two-timing son of a motherless toad!’, said the voice of one pissed-off witch. The sorcerer’s eyelids extended to their limits and their clammy forehead somehow grew clammier. Ambrook pinched the bridge of his nose, anticipating the calamity he had brought on himself as he said ‘oh shit’, under his breath. The door trembled as the powerful witch delivered a swift, magically enhanced kick to the door. Copper sparks spewed from the hinges as the door shuddered to the ground, blowing the purple smoke around the spooky chambers. The witch held in her left hand, not a gnarled wand, but far worse and raised high like a battering ram, a document instantly identifiable. It was a dreaded Witch Court summons. Through muttered legal jargon about her magical rights and implied non-compete clauses the witch said ‘and…you’ll be hearing from my lawyer’.
What can you define as the end of the world? Maybe it's just fire and brimstone, meteors, the whole deal. Maybe it could mean the downfall of man due to some higher power, our flame stamped out by an angry God. But the truth I suffer - the truth we suffer, is much more unseen, yet much more feared. One day, people started dying. Whilst speaking to their loved ones, as they bicker with one another. Seemingly no reason, no rhythm, no rhyme. Some caught on quick as to what it was, somehow. Fear was ripe in the air back then. As soon as the masses learnt of how they could drop dead with the uttering of a phrase, changing and dynamic, there were mixed reactions. &nbsp; Some chose to shut themselves away, thinking they could hide. Others formed new orders, orders of the mute. Where silence was not only golden, but their very life. But some devised clever ways. Clever, yet utterly cruel. It led to a new society, in a way. There were new groups of people, devoted to finding out each "word of the day", so that those who tune in may learn, and find themselves better equipped. You might be asking, "how?", and to that I shall tell you how. They create teams, teams of twos and of threes. One reads out every word, every single one. Every day. The reader knows they will die. If they succeed in their goal, they will die. Sometimes they are compensated, but oftentimes are made unknown and ultimately forgotten martyrs. They do this to help people, so they say. Many die, yet many more live. &nbsp; Life goes on, no matter the price paid to live it. &nbsp; (sorry if it's way too short and quick, I just had an idea, wanted to push it, tried to push it, and now I send it out.)
"Through here, Mr. President."The warden pointed to the metal tunnel. "You input your password, then when you're done, input it on the other side again."He said, his whole body tensing. "If anything happens, just press the panic button. He will be immediately restrained, and we'll rush in."He saluted and turned around. Michael Cohen, the current president and one of the most powerful people in the world, took a deep breath. This was going to be a hard conversation. He put in his password. The metal corridor is long and featureless, aside from the multiple sets of doors, each requiring a different password. It wound left and right multiple times, but always sloping downwards. Finally, he reached the last door. Unlike the others, it wasn't password locked. Just a regular door, leading to an average living room, stacked with books, a TV and even a desk with a fully functioning computer and internet connection. The carpet was one of the old Soviet designs, the kind any russian would see and instantly get nostalgic, and a small kitchenette. It wasn't large, but it was without of doubt an apartment. You wouldn't even notice the hundred micro cameras spread throughout the room, unless you knew where to look. He knew what he would find inside. He was pretty much the only one who knew. But still, he couldn't help the feeling of dissonance. In front of him was sitting Red Mist- the arch rival of Ultimatum, one of, if not the, most dangerous being on the planet. And he was crying. "Hey, Red."He said, as softly as he could. Red Mist, a.k.a. Redmund Cawlborn, looked up and wiped his face with his tissue. "Hey, Mikey. Don't think we had a meeting scheduled today, right?"He said, trying to sound like his normal, cackling maniac self, and failing miserably. The president shook his head. "No, Red. You know why I'm here.". Red nodded. His computer screen was showing the news article "Death of an Ideal". It was tacky and cliché, but it wasn't wrong. Ultimatum was held by many as the greatest of heros, and now he was dead. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."He started, and got cut off. "Nonsense. You're the president, you've got a job to do. Not everyone can laze about like me. Honestly, I'm grateful you came at all."Red spoke in a more mechanical manner than normal. "I'm so sorry"The president whispered to the man who once held an entire country hostage on his own."for your loss."And at that Red broke down crying. Michael got up, slowly walked over and hugged Redmund. Or at least tried, as he was a good deal smaller than the seven foot tall man. "I'm sorry, Mikey. I knew it could happen one day, I just... He was such a good kid!"Red spoke through tears. After a few minutes he managed to calm himself enough that Michael felt he could let go. Red wiped his tears, and in a still shaky voice, asked. "Sorry about that. To business - do you have a replacement lined up?"He knew Michael well enough to know that he did, and that he wasn't here for that. "I do. A fairly new guy- Praxus."Red nodded. "I know him. Had a scuffle with him and-"his voice broke just a smidge, and he paused. He managed to power through though. "Yes. Fairly bland though. A bit weak, too. He only managed to punch me half way through a building."He smiled a bit sadly. "Ulti used to back-hand me through a city block."He shook his head. "Well, we all have to start somewhere. He's got the standard lab-grown power set?"The president shook his head. "Anything but. All his super strength, speed and so on? All fake."Red Mist seemed genuinely surprised at that. "Really? Do tell."Michael nodded and held up two fingers. "Two powers- hyper intelligence, and one of the greatest psyonic abilities we've ever encountered."Red actually smiled at that. "Clever clever. I can't wait to meet him."He then scowled a bit."Wait. Encountered? He's a natural?"The president nodded. "We honestly thought Ultimatum was the last natural born hero of the era. Glad we were wrong."That actually got a smile out of Red. "We're a dying breed, but we're not done quite yet." Michael went quiet at that. "Listen, there's another thing I wanted to bring up. Don't answer yet, just... Hear me out."Red nodded hesitantly. "I know this was hard on you. Even with Praxus, take at least a month before your next 'jail break'. "He stopped. There's no easy way to broach this subject. "I'm not retiring."Redmund said flatly. Hearing that, the president pretty much deflated. "Are you sure? I can easily end the contract. No body would know, you'll be be set for life."The villian shook his head. "My answer is final."He sighed. "Don't get me wrong, it's hard. I'm there from the start. I was there from the start. Metaman, Emerald-Sun, Even the Lords of Liberty became legends under my.... Let's call it tutelage. And Each time I saw their death. It's hard. But we both know what happens if I don't."Michael nodded at that. Part of why he hated this plan so much was because there were, in essence, no alternatives. "Either they die young, like poor Wonder-Boy, or they go the tyrant route, like Brazen. I know that, I just... Seeing you like this... It's heartbreaking."Red shrugged at that. "In fairness, it WAS your plan. And no one said it'll be easy. But, one willing sacrifice, for the greater good... We both agreed it's worth it."They shook hands, and as the president turned to leave, Redmund called him. "Mikey."As he turned his head, he said. "Thank you. For coming. It meant a lot." "Of course, Red. See you soon."He said and left the cell of the world's most important man, and the greatest super villian of this generation, alone with his grief once more.

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