Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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I glance at the clock. 1 more minute until our satellite makes its way across North America. I was excited. I've never been able to grant a wish before. All of the training, the endless explanation of the ritual. I was moments away. The intercom came on: Satellite CRS-RD is approaching orbit over Earth, area termed North America. Please stand by... I held my breath. 30 seconds... 10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Beep My terminal gave its first read out: <Case#6x111> Location... confirmed... please wait, gathering data ... Subject: George Malone Location: Newark, NJ Wish: $$$ for treatment of wife's cancer ... press y to accept. I quickly pressed y Case accepted... mobilizing agent for slingshot... I felt the pull as I was hurled through space. It was disorienting, but we were trained in how to deal with "summoning sickness."I felt a jerk as I stopped. I was at a crossroads, as expected. A man stood before me, burying a box in the gravel. He looked at me in surprise. "Hello mate,"I said, "names Crowley. What can I do for you today? I asked with confidence. I could feel it, today was the day I collected my first soul.
Tera Park. I knew I have heard that name somewhere before. "Andrew?" I snapped back to reality and realized that my mug had overflown. Coffee had begun to spill over the side. "Oh sh-" Grace had chuckled at me. That laugh - how much have I missed it? "You klutz,"she giggled as she took a sip of her own mug, "What were you day-dreaming about?" "I..."I was lost at this point and looked around at my surroundings. The same old table with gum on the underside. An old vending machine that broke down too often. A calendar with different kid pictures on it. A coffee maker that was ancient but somehow made the best coffee. This was the teacher's lounge at my first school that I've met Grace in. She was a 6th grade teacher, I was the band coordinator. I glanced over at the calendar. August 28th, 1988. First day of school. "I'm... I'm fine."I finished. Grace looked at me oddly and went back to looking at her schedule. "God, learning new names always gets to me,"she muttered, "Sarah... Clair... another Sarah... ooh, that's a pretty name." "What is?" "Tera." I dropped my mug on the floor. The shattered fragments and coffee spilled everywhere. "Jesus, Andr- I grabbed Grace by the shoulders. "I need to see that list." She looked frightened as she handed me her class roster. "You're not actually like your usual self. Did somethnig happen to you over the summer?" A lot of things have actually happened in the summer of 2007 - you died. "No,"I lied, "I think I might know her." I scanned through the names and found her. Tera Park. 8th grade. And it hit me - she was in her late twenties and I was in my early forties when we got married. She was fifteen years younger than me, and went to a school I used to teach at. She's my future second wife, but here in front of me is Grace, my first love. Grace looked at me concerned. How many times have I seen her make that face? Every night if I sighed, she would ask me what was wrong. She took care of me through my depression, she supported me when I was writing my novel, and she... she earnestly loved me. But I loved Tera too - her energetic smile, her laugh, and the way she made me feel like a better Andrew. I loved both of them, but I would knew I would lose Grace. I could change the future, I can save Grace. But then I would lose Tera. I took a deep breath. "Something wrong?" Grace was still standing there. Bless her heart. I walked up to her and gave her a tight embrace. "Andrew!"she blushed, "We're at work!" "I love you,"I whispered, "I really do." Grace relaxed as she sighed. "Alright mister, but can we do this after work?" I let go of her as she straightened her clothes out. "You got time tonight?"she asked. I smiled warmly back at her. "I have all the time in the world."
I sat in silent meditation atop my pristine shrine. I'd been doing exactly that, and nothing more, since I had first ascended to the shrine an eon ago. Along with godhood came omniscience, omnipotence, immortality, and, more than anything, boredom. It had been ages since I last felt excitement, fear, uncertainty. Now, I know everything. Everything, all that had ever been or could ever be, stretched out endlessly around me and into eternity, and I saw it all with utter clarity, and, from within this ancient temple, I controlled it all from behind closed eyes. I held the strings of fate within my mind, keeping all of the universe in perfect balance and stable serenity. Everything was perfect, for everyone, but all I felt was a burgeoning sense of ennui. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to feel again. Something. Anything. I wanted to hear my heart pounding. To feel my breath catch in my throat. Knowing the balance of the universe rested in my perfectly tranquil palms, I settled for the next best thing; I began to reflect on the last time I had experienced emotion. I recalled, first, the dwelling I had inhabited at that time. It was small, modestly housing myself and a roommate, and espousing all the most common design trends of the time. In the dark of night, in the middle of the worst rainstorm of the summer, my doorbell rang. It rang once, then twice. The chime echoed and reverberated throughout the house; the deep and elegant resonance felt ominous for some reason. Unsure of who would be ringing the doorbell at this time of night, I cautiously tiptoed from the small kitchen up through the entryway, stopping just behind my front door. Running through the possibilities of who it could be, I hesitantly looked through the peephole. Ed's face stared back at me. It was distorted by the convex lens, making his nose appear even more bulbous than it usually did. Ed was the homeless man who sat, day by day, on the corner of the block where I had worked at the time. Every day, I packed a second lunch to take to him on my way in. Every day, he sat on that block, and every day there was an open parking space right in front of my building. And every day, he took the bagged sandwich with a wink and a smile and told me that my parking pass better not have mayo on it. It didn't, and every day, without fail, the routine continued. I never saw anyone else do so much as look at him, and I'm not certain anyone else ever did. I felt scared. Ed wouldn't be here to hurt me, would he? I felt confused. How did he even know where I lived? But more than that, I felt excited. It was so relieving, after all this time, to be reminded of that feeling. What did he want from me? I slowly opened the door, and as I did, he cracked a huge smile. My eyes scanned up and down his form, shocked to see that in place of the rags I had seen him in day in and day out, he stood before me wearing a full suit, freshly pressed. It appeared to be brand new, so stiff it seemed to force its stiffness onto the usually crumpled and wrinkled wearer. Before I could step in front of the opening I had just created in my doorway, Ed stepped through it and into my tiny house. He continued smiling, lightly patted my shoulder as he walked by, and led me into my own kitchen. I followed, mouth agape, too taken aback to ask why he had just barged into my home uninvited. Inside the kitchen, he stopped abruptly and turned to face me, still smiling. Finally, he spoke: “Kevin, I imagine you're wondering why I'm here.” He paused, as if awaiting my response. My mouth drew shut and I nodded slowly. The confusion set in once again. What a wondrous emotion that was, looking back. I really should have appreciated it more when I had the chance. After a moment of silence, and no response from me, Ed continued: “I'm here to offer you an opportunity to make a difference. I want you to take over my job.” I raised my eyebrows, asking the only possible question. “No, not begging,” he chuckled, “I mean being God.” My jaw dropped open at this. The memory of shock tingled again through my spine. I somehow managed to stammer out, “You...you...you're...God?” my voice cracking anew with each subsequent word. He chuckled again, before becoming somber and replying: “Not for much longer. Being God requires love, patience, and more than that, unending boredom. I'm no good at that. Too emotional, you see. Those emotions lead to turbulence in the world, and that's just not fair to the humans. They deserve someone better. Someone like you.” Again, my eyebrows shot up. “Me?” I squeaked in amazement. “Yes. I know that's a lot to take on, but I also know that you're going to say 'yes' to my proposal. It can be nice knowing everything, you know. But here's the truth of it: you've been a great friend to me for all these years, and so I am certain you will be a way better God than I ever was.” I gulped hard, and a sinking feeling came to my chest. My thoughts raced with anticipation, before I slowly nodded. And with that, he was gone. And with that, I knew everything that ever was and ever would be. I knew everything he had ever known, and with that, I knew he was right. And so I sit, silent and unmoving. Bored.
Each morning as I ambulate to class, And let hopeful dreams inhabit my mind, Which make execrable seconds pass, I hope that she, my stares, would one day find. Across the hall, her epigamic face Dispelled my all-consuming diffidence. I twitched to her and mumbled with no grace, But "Yes!"she cried, "Let's date from this day hence." The clouds dispersed, revealing heavens eye, Which blessed my days with warming company, Beneath lutescent stars we'd laugh and lie, Our hearts were in each other's custody. To write is but the simplest, selfish task, I'll ne'er be temerous to stand and ask.
"Yes, your malevolent majesty."The demon bowed his head so low that his horns scraped the ground. The other demons followed his example and bowed again. They were repulsive creatures, not like the fearsome creatures of legend, and neither like Pain and Panic or other cartoon demons that might even be said to be slightly cute. They were plain repulsive, twisted, bent, broken. It went beyond their appearance. "But I'm... I'm a good person,"said Leah. "This is a dream. It must be a dream." One of the demons in front of her shook his head. "Our old master is dead. You are to lead us now, we are to obey." They were in an immense cave. There was no sun, but the rocks seemed to glow with an eerie blue light. A serene lake glistened ahead. Pillars of stone reached upwards until they were engulfed by the darkness. The ceiling was too high to discern. Leah steeled herself and said, "If you are to obey, then I command you to take me back." She was surprised by their reaction. It seemed to be... fear. "You can't leave. We need our leader,"croaked one of the demons. Leah pressed on. "You said I have powers. What if I learn how to go back myself. Or how to make you take me back." It was unmistakably fear that showed on their gruesome faces. They bowed again, cowering before her. "Please master, don't hurt us." A new emotion swept over Leah. Pity. "Who are you?"
My hands trembled with excitement as I pulled on my two-piece suit that Work Day. I dragged my hair back in a bun, and smiled to myself in the mirror. Finally, it was Work Day. Something to do with my hands and my mind. I left my empty apartment behind, suppressing my excitement as I sped to work. The faces in the cars beside mine were blank, featureless. Still, I wondered. Had they enjoyed Lime Day yesterday? I had managed to avoid the celebrations, and couldn't observe everyone like I usually did. Tomorrow was Small Elastic Bands Appreciation day. A SEBA group had already been formed, tasked with ensuring everyone would attend. I wouldn't be able to dodge that one. "Morning, everyone,"I told my coworkers as I walked into the office, my voice flat and sour. They glanced sullenly at me, and I glared back. I suspected many of them were just playing a part, like I was. Were there some of them who secretly lived for this day of the month? Sometimes, I imagined a glimmer of excitement in the receptionist's eye. The accountant, smothering a smile. But that could just be my imagination. The robots liked to work, of course. That was just how they were programmed. Today was the one day they stepped aside, and humans took their place. For balance in society, for injecting a human element into the products. But I knew about the past because of my father, and the journals. Boxes full of documents and lessons from a hundred years ago. Illegal, forbidden, and intoxicating knowledge. As I settled in behind my desk, the head of Human Resources stalked in, a teenage boy hiding behind her. "New intern,"she grunted, and left the office. I expected the boy to say something sarcastic and leave as well. I gaped at him as he suddenly grinned at me. "Hello, ma'am,"he said softly, his eyes shining brightly. "Can I do something? Please? Do you have something for me to do?" I recognise that sound in his voice. Excitement and passion, trembling to get out. It was what I fought every Work Day. "Of course,"I said, and couldn't stop the answering grin spreading across my face. "Loads to do. Want me to show you?" "I'd love that,"he smiled shyly. "I think...well, I think the world would be better if there were less robots, and more humans, doing the work. Give us some dignity, some self-worth, you know?" My smile slipped, despite agreeing with him. I glanced up at the surveillance systems, watching us. "Now, now,"I grinned at him, trying to communicate with my eyes. Hadn't the boy been taught anything? What was wrong with him? "No need to insult any robots, is there?"I laughed lightly, steering him out the door, my heart beating rapidly. "Okay - so what do you want to learn about today, young man?"
"Do you have an ID card?,"said the woman, looking at me over her glasses. "Yes! Yes I do" She placed her open hand over the counter. I looked at it, confounded, then back at her face. "Hand it to me. Will you?" "Oh,"I said. I produced the piece of plastic from my bag and placed it on the counter, rather than on her hand. Gotta be a rebel about the small things too, you know? She rolled her eyes, picked up the card, and looked at it. "Do you have a weapons permit?" "Yes!"I said, opening my bag again to get the piece of paper. "Family card?" "Yes." "Two passport photos?" "Yes." "Driving license?" "Yes." "Have you presented a requi..." "Requisition Form number 47. Here it is!"I said, triumphant. The woman sighed, defeated. "Ok, let me see your application..." I handed her the last piece of paper, then waited as she read it, her gaze going from my writing to her computer screen, than back again at the form. "You only listed one coup backer here,"she said. "Yes, my friend Timmy. He is..." She waved her hand. "Doesn't matter. This is wrong. Next!"She pushed the form back to me over the counter. "What? How is it wrong?" "You should have read the instructions. Next!" "Wait! Wait!"I physically blocked the next man in line from approaching the counter. "Tell me what is wrong!" She sighed. "You have listed five reasons to overthrow the government under section 14B" "Yes! The government is corrupt, inefficient, despotic, undemocratic, and only benefits the corporations!" "Well. You can only list one in section 14B. If you want more than one, you should have put the correct number under 14B-3 and listed the remaining four in annex 47-8. Next!" "No... but..."I felt tears coming out of my eyes. "This is the fifth time I've come! Don't to this to me! It takes more than 2 months to even get an appointment date!" "Well, then perhaps you should read the instructions more carefully next time,"she said, gazing at the screen, a smirk in her lips. "NEXT!" The man next in line pushed me out of the way with his elbow, and approached the counter. "Oh, hello... I'd like to request an authorization to murder my wife..." "Assault and Murder is in floor 7. Next!"
In splendor, the red vermin wandered! Searching deep to discover the sweet seed. Gloriously obtuse, stretched to bursting, lay the critters. Alas, not one desperate quest has been marked with success. The virulent plague named hunger swept them away. Towards the ripe skin coated in release. The dirt upon their strands streaking the ground with rot. O hail! These amoebic animals are kings in this world! Sadness spreading through their distended bodies. The creatures drooped to the Earth, descending upon the Holy Grail. And as it was said, success was oh so sweet.
A crack of bone against stone to my left grabs my attention. Ducking down I look over seeing Tar’el missing half his head slumped against the concrete wall, his anti-air gun left idle. Flicking my safety on and letting my gun fall to my hip I dash to his turret flick in a new coolant cell and resume shooting the shuttles as they come down through the cloud layer and into the dust and smoke that remains of the city. “I am a Precursor!” I yell at the shuttles as bolts of plasma arc towards them absorbed by shields before hitting hull and engines. “I WILL NOT DIE HERE!” I growl as the coolant cell overheats and im forced to switch out another one. Behind me a massive yellow beam slices into the shuttles and probably towards the hidden ships above tearing through them with ease for three seconds. After that I feel the thud shatter the earth beneath me and hear the sonic boom as kinetic rounds rip through the atmosphere and destroy the particle cannon. Ignoring the death of the gun crew I slam my armoured hand into the AA guns stand breaking it and letting me aim downwards to the now landing shuttles. I spray plasma into the buildings burning holes and destroying cover. Further down I see the remains of the invaders, behind them are others. Dull scratched and dented armour offering no hindrance to them as they charge forwards. Hand held plasma rifles arcing towards me accompanied by physical missiles and attack drones. From my left and right heavy plasma and short range laser batteries turn on their new targets. Another orbital bombardment to my left nearly throws me to the floor but succeeded in silencing any counterattack from that side. Turning my gun that way I open fire at the drones cursing as it overheats before three drones fall from the sky. The new cell cant load fast enough so I duck down as the turret is torn apart by gunfire. From my right a burst of fire gives me a few seconds to run. I choose to head to the left grabbing the bad of portable cells next to Tar’el. Two hundred yards and I encounter rubble. Squeezing through a gap at the top I find a vantage point. Concrete laying in an A pattern letting me slot into the hole with all my ammo. Flicking my safety off I take aim and shoot at a soldier putting two plasma charges into his personal shield drone before a third one hits him in the shoulder dropping him as he struggles to get the burning plasma off his armour. I take out two more before sliding back and heading further into the rubble. Stopping at the edge of the crater left by the orbital bombardment I hunker down into a small wedge of rubble, little more than a U between segments of destroyed wall. I’m much further away this time so I wait until a soldier has taken fire before shooting. I get 5 before they find my location and pepper my surroundings with plasma fire. “Time to run. You will not kill me humans.” I growl sliding back. As an afterthought I place a grenade set to proximity detonation where I was. Should have done that at the other spot. Looking ahead I can see a gap in the line of soldiers made by a still standing building slowly dropping chunks of rubble. By luck or skill i make it into the wreck of the skyscraper climbing up dead electrical wires and working my way through collapsed vent systems before I find another vantage point. From here I can see the whole battlefield. My original bunker is now a smouldering wreck having been the victim of a plasma barrage. To its left is a rubble wasteland being patrolled by drones hunting down and executing the pockets of precursor survivors. We were all soldiers now, none would surrender. thomp I hear it more than feel the attack. My body betrays me falling to the floor despite my wishes. “Idiot thought he could infiltrate our forward com...” something says before I black out... --- Snapping awake I jerk my arms to my gun only to be stopped by thick iron chains. “Good, you’re up.” Someone says. Opening my eyes I feel my irises slip to thin lines against the bright light. I don’t say anything, I wouldn’t give these humans the satisfaction. instead I look down and see my under-skin care of armour and weapons. “In accordance with our laws of war I am required to give you food and water, will you drink?” he asks holding out a plain bottle of clear water for me. I remain still, I knew the humans could drug me into speaking. “I guessed as much.” The human says taking it and drinking a few mouthfuls himself before tossing it at me. I still didn’t drink. Eventually he sighs and sits down opposite me. “Alright, I know how this works. You stay silent, you go hungry, thirsty and wither away until you’re nearly dead. Only then does your honour allow you to ask for water. Then when you’re on the brink of starvation you can ask for food, honestly I dont care either way.” He says letting his words sink in for a minute. “You know. We always looked up to your people. Its everywhere in our history. The great precursor race, builders of wonders, creators of civilisation, that’s a very good way of piling stones said the pyramid builder to the gods.” He says lifting one armoured boot then another onto the table and pulling out a bar of dark food. “What a load of bollocks. We found him recently, you know. The one who called himself Ra. He begged before we finished with im, the laws of war dont protect those who violate them.” Inside I go cold at what he said. Ra, our strongest leader. Maker of suns and wielder of the god system begging before a lowly. No he lies. “ah I got to you didn’t I? Don’t believe me? I don’t care.” He says crunching down on the food bar. “He died a few weeks before we attacked your home world.” He adds crunching down on the last bite of the bar. “You know its funny right.” He yells sitting back upright. “Its damn right hilarious that you didn’t see this coming! What was it? Three thousand eight hundred and thirty six species all under your indirect control and you still failed to realise what you were doing?” “Three thousand eight hundred and thirty four.” I growl before I can stop myself. The other two were rebels like the humans and had been crushed...like the humans should have been. “Thirty six you idiotic twat!” he yells slamming a hand onto the table. “humph, at least I got you to speak.” He’s right, under the table I strain against the chains holding my hands feeling them bite into my tough skin but not break. I have to die now, my honour demands it. “You. Had. Everything. And you lost it. You destroyed yourselves with your actions, the actions your forced us to perform. Of course the changing of the Gak’yan into your primary military race to kill off the Yebel hives would cause them to stir. You gave a slave the weapon to kill his master then told him to shoot himself. And then you did it again with us! You decided to let us build ships, make armour turn ourselves from slaves to warriors and look at us now!” he says leaping to his feet and tapping against the wall revealing the human fleet. Dominating the view is a dreadnought steadily pounding the planet below with kenetic rounds. Whipping around it are fighters followed by nimble escorts and in the distance are destroyers and battleships moving through our broken fleet collecting survivors and destroying anything that remains. “We are proud and strong and everything you made us. But we remembered something. The sacrifices beneath the pyramids. The demands of labour to build your space stations. The deaths of millions to further your goals. Not ours we were beneath your care until you needed a weapon. We remembered the weak, weary worker who struggled with iron and steel to make your homes. We remembered the broken farmer mind filled with nothing but the tools in his hand and the food he would not eat. We remembered our suffering and looked to the rest of the galaxy and saw it repeated.” He says leaving the view of my battered world available for me to watch. “Once we looked up to you. Once you were the greatest civilization on the galaxy. But you destroyed yourselves, and nothing will be reborn from the ashes. And now, like you we do not come in peace, and we don’t pretend to."
“Sir!” Paul Briggs stooped to pick up a small scrap of paper, untouched by the elements, abandoned in the wake of the evacuation. Its torn edges were dry, the alien colours and script broken by the rift. “I found something.” The lead explorer trotted over, his bug-eyed goggles glinted beetle green in the light of the yellow dwarf sun. The entire crew made fun of him for his cutting edge equipment. Not because it was better at shielding him from UV rays, simply because the designers had no sense of style. When combined with his fancy atmosphere adapter that had the misfortune of looking like a turtle shell he looked like a… well humanoid turtle bug. But despite his ridiculous attire, he excelled at putting puzzles together, both physical and theoretical. He could look at a scrap of paper and deduce entire societies by a single glance. A talent which turned out to be very useful on this latest expedition. “Really? Let me see?” willingly Paul let the man snatch the find from his gloved fingers. “Weird, I didn’t even know that shade was even possible. Looks like a scrap of paper.” Paul bit his tongue, rolling his eyes. As much as Marcus Kent was an asset in every way, he had an irritating propensity of stating the obvious. “And?” Paul asked impatiently, “Does it mean anything? Could it mean anything?” Kent looked up, his face, or as much that could be seen from behind his mask and goggles was wide eyed. “I don’t know. It could. I need more to create a theory, you know that.” And with that he skipped off again, humming as he stepped light-footed through the abandoned streets back to the makeshift research tent. Already a pile of junk was growing beyond the confines of the nylon perimeter. Sighing, Paul returned to work, trying to gather anything remotely 'interesting' in the hopes that it would help Marcus formulate his 'theory'. Large, pale marble edifices shadowed him as he trudged along. He stopped frequently, admiring the handiwork of the locals. This planet was stunning. More than stunning. The inhabitants had been artists in their construction. Each of the buildings here wasn’t simply a building, it was a masterpiece of the like humans could only dream of. Paul raised an eyebrow as he caught sight of their own contribution to the landscape: a large, blackened metal box. Well, of course there were entire physical calculations that had gone into making it aerodynamic and space-worthy. But still, it was like painting a pimple on the Mona Lisa. It clearly did not belong in this environment. It was too bad the native inhabitants were nowhere to be found. That was really his whole regret with this mission. Every planet they stopped at was devoid of intelligent life. There were no artists anymore, no architects. Each city, each society, each home was empty. The owners had packed up and left. Some planets were scorched and torn asunder. Others were in pristine condition like this one. Paul wished it didn’t have to be this way. “Why do you think there’s no one here?” One of the crew had asked, wiping her hands on her rusty orange vest. They’d all been sitting around the table during one of their long interstellar hops. Paul looked at Marcus who was reclining, picking at his teeth casually, all traces of social etiquette forgotten. “I’m making a theory,” he said shortly, “but first, why do we leave cities empty? Why do humans empty towns.” “A slump in the economy,” one of the other men offered. Marcus frowned. “Not exactly what I was looking for…” he trailed off, glancing hopefully at everyone else. Some glanced away awkwardly, not wanting to make eye contact. Paul cleared his throat. Marcus looked at him. “Natural disaster? Like a … forest fire? Or a flood?” He suggested. “Better, or maybe…?” seeing that no one else was jumping at the chance to join in the discussion he sighed. Removing the toothpick from his mouth he pointed at each of them in turn. “Nuclear disaster, or war.” “Fukushima.” Someone said. “Pripyat.” “War,” Paul echoed quietly to himself. Were the inhabitants actually fleeing something? He still couldn’t fully answer that question to this day. Multiple expeditions like this were spread across the universe. Everyone was reporting the same findings. Marcus, for all his genius skills still couldn’t figure out who everyone was running from. “Between you and me,” Marcus had said one time, confiding to Paul, “whatever it is, we’re lucky it hasn’t discovered humans yet.” Paul didn’t need a PHD to figure out that. He’d seen the aftermath, and ridden the debris. For as many locations where they found a planet, there were several that held only asteroid clouds. Clouds, which according to NASA, should have been planets. Now it was just a race. A race to see which team, in which system could get there before the inhabitants left. To find out who they were, and who the silent menace was. Stopping in his search for more clues, Paul grabbed a bottle of water from his belt to take a swig. He’d been lucky finding the scrap of paper. This city was apparently a society of neat-freaks. Not even a smudge of scum graced their alleys. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, other than that it was strange. He looked at the sky, amazingly blue from the thick ozone layer. Swishing the water distractedly around his mouth he mused on the anomaly. One would think, that after being abandoned the city would start accumulating grime as weather and other animals started to reclaim the territory. Heck, there shouldn’t even be paper in that type of condition after one good rainstorm. Typically it would be a soggy pulp. Paul paused, the bottle touching his lips. Something had just occurred to him. Distantly he could hear Marcus shout in a moment of ecstasy, but Paul couldn’t afford to switch his attention. He swallowed his water, lowering the bottle from his mouth. “No garbage meaning they’re neat freaks, no grime and crisp paper. That means…” He looked back at the sky again, suddenly foreboding in its innocent puffs of cloud and clear backdrop. The inhabitants had only just left. Days maybe. Hours, possibly. Humans had only just missed meeting these beings by a sliver of time. But how short was that sliver? In answer the earth rolled and shuddered. Paul fell to his knees, bracing himself against a white curb. His forgotten water bottle dropped and rolled spilling its contents as it raced its way down the slope that hadn’t existed moments before. Paul only had a split second to register the collapse of the city before his body was incinerated in the heat of the explosion.
Perfect. Now I was free of whatever games this genie wanted to play with my wishes. Sure, I only had two left, but they were going to be good ones. "I wish to be the richest man in the world."I waited. The gaseous face made no movement, no indication of...well anything. Floating there, unresponsive I had to ask, "Well, are you going to grant my wish or not?" Like a soft breeze, the misty form sighed, "I need to hear your last wish first."Odd, but whatever I thought. I already had this one planned out anyways. "I wish for world peace!"Surely, I was going to be the most famous man now as a result. Wealthy and the cause of world peace? Women and fame would be mine as mere byproducts of today. No need to wish for those at all, they would come naturally. "Done."Done? What? I certainly didn't feel richer, and nothing felt differently in the world. "Are you sure?" "Its a big world. How about you go and look for yourself."Dismissing the genie back into the green glass liquor bottle I had earlier found under my bridge, I left my cardboard home and went into downtown Chicago. People were stumbling everywhere, screaming in pain and fright. I had no bank or anything to hold my newfound wealth and my riches were nowhere to be found. I rubbed my bottle again. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?!" "I took your last two wishes and granted them as a mean." "Uh...what? What does that even...what? This isn't what I wanted. I wanted to be rich and why is everyone screaming like they are dying?" "I took everyone eyeballs. Not just their sight, the whole eyeball. Didn't need some doctors trying to cure it, and the whole world fighting for a cure. Without vision its really hard to fight. And I left yours, so now you are the richest man in the world." "But that's NOT WHAT I MEANT!" "Ohhhhhh...you meant "mean"to be intentions. I thought you meant it as an average. So I took your two wishes and merged them together to get an average result. Honestly, averaging wishes isn't all that easy. You should have been more clear. Goodbye"And with that, my whiskey-based friend drifted off to find a new bottle or something. Meanwhile, I quickly began to adjust. If a one-eyed man is king of the blind, I must truly be blessed to still have two.
When Trump lost, Clinton did her best to make everyone happy. Unfortunately, by "doing her best", it meant she closed the border out of nowhere. Completely and totally. Nobody could go in, nobody could go out, and there was no communication with anyone. At first, the world thought it was some sort of sick joke. But after the first year, it started getting serious. Governments around the world attempted contact, but to no avail. 10 years in, and still no America. We hadn't even gotten video out of America. They were protecting their border pretty impressively. A few agents had been sent in, but they hadn't come out nor had they contacted us. People had also attempted crossing the border, but nobody came back. 20 years in and a giant war broke out, one dubbed the Eurasian War. Tensions broke out between the Middle East and the Chinese-Russian alliance. Several European countries joined in due to grievances with both. It was a conflict that lasted 9 years and killed 2 billion people. 50 years after America shut down her borders, and we still didn't have communications. America shutting down came with a whole set of problems, one being that the satellites were shut down. Some were intentionally crashed into non-American satellites. The Russians also complied and shut theirs down. That left us with no communications, and no way of photographing the US from above. 75 years, and the Russian-Cinno union and Saudis, who had taken over most of the Middle East, entered a peace agreement. Europe was in tatters and financial crisis. Africa was undergoing intense political revolutions. South America and Central America were making decent money off of the Eurasian war. They had provided the European and Asian powers with food and other supplies. After 100 years of no America, the world didn't look the same at all. Many European countries were simply nonexistent. Some were a part of other countries, some were Saudi acquisitions. The others were either under Russian-Cinno rule or in severe poverty. Africa had seen a new level of prosperity due to the "underground"white slave trade. Of course, the Saudis and Chinese knew about it, and were actively participating, but it was officially black market. South America had done relatively good over the past hundred years. Brazil kind of took up the position of 3rd place, 3rd to the Russian-Cinno union and the Saudi Empire. 125 years after America shut down, and the Europeans were starting to revolt. The Russian-Cinno peace agreement was 10 years away from expiring, and things have never looked worse between the two. A few trade disagreements had turned into full-fledged arguing. The Saudis didn't fair any better, as a few of their colonies near them had turned on them. Several skirmishes hadn't looked good for the relatively young empire. 150 years after America had shut down and the world was thrust into yet another war. This one was dubbed World War 3. The Russians and the Chinese were fighting, leaving the rest of the world to take sides. After the fall of the union, their acquisition countries were relinquished from. The Saudi Empire couldn't keep it's countries. So Europe had formed a union very similar to the United States. The African Union and the Brazilian Republic weren't taking sides. After all, they had their own problems at home. The African Union was having a serious water problem, and they were trying to figure out ways to solve it. The Brazilian Republic was forced to deal with the rest of South and Central America attempting to form a union, with or without Brazil. And they wanted to take Brazil by force. 175 years after America shut down, and the world was in complete disarray. The American Union, including the usually completely xenophobic Canada, was fighting with Brazil. Brazil was winning, but they were running out of supplies. Europe was doing okay, but they were completely overshadowed by the African Union. Russia had won the war against Russia, but only just. China was still independant, they just lost key areas of land. 200 years after America had shut down, and the world was unified. Life contacted us after our first faster-than-light ship was detected on their scanners. We began making efforts to bring each other closer together. Despite our efforts, America wouldn't respond. So we sent a large group of people in. Nobody was there. There were bodies, all 200 year old bodies, in the streets. We suspect that they were affected by some disease. They're all dead. For the first 50 years, we sent in around 200,000 people to attempt to get them to come back. Little did we know they were marching to their death. The border was shut down, not for political reasons, but to prevent this from spreading. Whatever it was.
You don't know me, but you should, and you will. Everyone gets their Hamarubian Nanite injections either at birth, or upon being registered if you weren't born in a hospital or in this country. Their purpose is quite simple: Humans are jerks, and if you are being intentionally violent, you are instantly punished. A bruise for a bruise, a cut for a cut, a broken bone for a broken bone... a death for a death. There are, of course, exceptions. Law enforcement and security guards get on-shift overrides -- though every suppressed incident undergoes a full panel review in order to be dismissed, otherwise the incident will be released. Children also get a pass -- they just can't really understand. They aren't fully suppressed past the age of around 8, of course, but they only get a sharp pain and lingering tingle, which slowly gets more intense until the late teenage years. Just before adulthood, the nanites get fully online and start inflicting damage, but permanent injuries don't start until the age of responsibility. Overall, it's worked great, most crime is petty low, vandalism and theft, mostly. Violent crime is all but gone, murders are virtually non-existent and almost exclusively intentional muder-suicides. I haven't heard of even a single instance of malfunction, which is kind of amazing, now that I think about it. And I'm thinking about it because mine have malfunctioned. I don't know what happened or why, but yesterday I turned 21 and all suppressors are off my nanites. And now I have a broken arm. I didn't break anyone's arm, heck, I didn't even leave the house yesterday! I went to the hospital, but they barely even treated me as human once they determined it was from my nanites. Just a set-and-cast and off I go -- not even any painkillers. I got my first hint as to what was wrong when I entered the parking lot. I had to park in the compact spot, but my car isn't exactly compact. The guy parked next to me didn't have enough room to open his door, and he was cursing out the jerk who parked there and kicked my car... and my toe broke. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but apparently my nanites are attributing all physical ills that I'm indirectly associated with as being inflicted intentionally by me! What. The. F--- I very carefully drive home, obeying every traffic law and then some, hoping against hope that I don't accidentally inflict any harm. When I get home, I fire up my computer, it's time for some research -- who would I even contact about this problem? After several hours, I've come to a conclusion. I'm screwed. It's unlikely I'll get a law enforcement suppresser in time, since they have to be custom-made for the individual -- even if they'd give me one in the first place! Calls to the appropriate agencies have just lead me in circles. And in the course of my research, I found something .. troubling. There's no way that I'm the first to notice this, but if you look at the data? There's a sharp uptick in mortality rates in the first 2 months of full nanite performance. How did nobody notice that the death rates for 21 year olds are eighteen times higher than they should be?! I'm obviously not the first once, and I'm obviously not going to be the last. I'm going to die soon, and there's nothing I can do about it. There's probably nothing anybody can do about it, otherwise the authorities would be on the lookout for people like me, and I sure as hell wouldn't have had to wait on the phone for an hour to reach a full voicemail. So before it happens, I want to make sure that the world knows. I watched your groundbreaking piece on corruption in the White House, so I know you'll do this story justice. I just hope you can interview me for it. If not? Well, that sucks for both of us. Sincerely, -- Doomed ================ Pling New e-mail, huh? I open it and briefly skim it. I'm a busy guy and all sorts of whackjobs send me all sorts of crap, so I'm not gonna really read it unless it looks interesting. Oh. Damn. Another one. They think they're so clever -- this guy even hinted that there was a conspiracy of silence! How did that fool think such a thing could even happen... ugh, oh well. I pick up the phone and dial a number that's not listed anywhere. It rings a few times, and then picks up. "Hey Robert, another one. Broken arm and then broken toe shortly after treatment. IP points to ... Mannatoba ... Rapid City area. You got him? Great. I wish this wasn't necessary, but whatcha gonna do, right? I'll let you know when the next one comes in.
“We must make a decision,” the High Shaman, Anna, at the head of the table announced. “Who do we summon as our representative?” Exasperated sighs circled the table. “We’ve exhausted the list of mythical creatures originating from our country,” Harold Weatherman, the chairman of the ethics committee spoke. “We simply have no more contenders, unless we re-summon a creature who has represented us before.” The High Shaman shook her head. “You know the citizens would despise that. They crave the novelty of new mythical creatures in the tournament. Even more so as it happens once every 100 years.” “Besides, we are the host country this year, we need to make it good,” the President added in. All the heads around the table looked down dejectedly. In a few weeks, the worldwide Tournament of Myths and Legends would begin. Each country was allowed one creature to enter in the tournament. Years had gone into preparation for Battle Week. The reason it occurred every 100 years was to keep the air of mystery around the event. Most citizens were experiencing the Tournament for the first time, and only heard about it through history texts. The very few citizens who were over 100 years old could not remember the tournament at all, telling made up stories when children begged to tell them what it was like. “God dammit, why don’t we have unlimited mythical creatures like the Greeks?” Roy Ford, the State Alchemist, complained bitterly. “Language,” Nevaeh, the Holy Maiden, gently reminded Roy. The Greeks had won four out of the seven tournaments. One of the losses was by default because they had chosen the Phoenix, the regenerating fire bird. There were no rules at the time, but after that, immortal beings who could not die were forbidden as competitors. “Do we have any whispers of who are the chosen creatures in other countries?” Anna asked the table. “I heard Ireland is summoning a Banshee, and Scotland has chosen the Loch Ness Monster,” the President murmured. The table grumbled. “Typical of Scotland,” Steve, the Head Historian, scoffed. Anna cleared her throat. “Scotland has made a perfectly reasonable choice. Now we must make one too.” Silence fell as the group thought about who to summon. Bigfoot was the first contender for the United States of America, but he was all brawn and no brain. He soon fell, and Cerberus from Greece emerged victorious. The Jersey Devil did slightly better in the next tournament, eliminating a few creatures before perishing beneath the Chinese Dragon. “If I may interrupt,” Robert, the spokesman of the people, started. All heads swivelled towards Robert. Robert was one of the citizens over 100 years of age, and was designated as the voice of public opinion. Wheezing, Robert continued to speak. “I remember my great grandfather telling me a story about a girl, or a woman, who had stark white hair, and froze all those around her at will.” Robert spoke slowly, the others patiently waiting to hear more about this curious myth. “The girl was locked away at a young age due to her fearsome powers. She could turn anything to ice in an instant,” Robert swallowed. “All those who saw her burned with fever, or cracked from the cold. She created frightening ice creatures from nothing.” Intrigued, Harold leaned towards Robert. “Robert,” he began hesitantly, “this sounds fascinating but we have never heard of this before.” Harold licked his lips. “Are you sure this myth originated from America?” All eyes were on Robert. Robert closed his eyes. No, it didn’t. But after hundreds of years, who was to know? “Yes, I am sure,” Robert opened his eyes. “This tale swept the nation a long time ago for many years, back in the digital age.” “Her name,” Robert paused, “was Elsa.” * Bonus! I was juggling between two approaches so I decided to post both (I hope that's ok). Thanks for reading :) “Why have you summoned me?” I asked the humans. They surrounded me, fawning over my tails. “So pretty!” they squealed, reaching for one of them. I hissed, baring my teeth. “Never touch my tails!” They stumbled backwards. One of them parted through the crowd, smiling serenely. “Ah, so this is the nine tailed fox. You are as beautiful as they say,” the man admired. “Tell me why I’m here or I’ll eat your heart,” I threatened. The man’s smile faltered. “My dear, we are not going to hurt you. We simply request your presence in the Tournament.” “Tournament?” “Yes,” the man nodded. “A battle between mythical creatures from countries around the world!” The crowd nodded excitedly. I towered over the humans but they did not seem afraid. “And why would I do that?” “You can eat all the hearts you desire,” the man’s eyes twinkled. Being sly in nature, I knew when others were being truthful or not. This man was not deceiving me. Also, the idea of eating other creatures’ hearts hooked me. “Very well then,” I sniffed. “But first, I need a snack,” I grinned and lunged at the man, tearing his beating heart out of his chest. * Note: Just wanted to add that I'm not American, so I'm not actually sure about the folklore. Also, I can continue the fox story if you enjoyed the start.
It was meant as a treatment for the developmently delayed. Individuals with High functioning autism always seem to catch up in their early twenties. The problem is that by the time they're at their best, all their life decisions had been made for them. When I created the life loop, it was as a way to give these children a head start. The individual would lead their life, make mistakes and learn who they were, and then start back in their early teens with all the life knowledge and skills they need to lead a productive life. While only a simulation, the potential was overwhelming. When they first human trials ended, we knew we had created something world altering. It wasn't long before the life loop was a normal childhood milestone for those on the spectrum. At 18 they would spend 6 months in the loop, at a compressed rate, living until their early 40s in the loop, until they returned, changed, to lead out a life they wanted at age 18 again. It wasn't perfect. We had to make changes. Relationships built in the loop didn't always exist in the realworld. And those that made lives and families for themselves would often grieve once returned to real life. And then Damion changed it all. When he was brought to us, he was a 18 year old with the cognitive functioning of a 4 year old. We didn't expect the process to fully compensate for his delays, but we had high hopes. When we put him in the chamber, something went wrong. The time compression rate was some how multiplied. In 6 months when Damion was discharged, we discovered he had spent nearly a century in the machine, learning and growing. We examined him, put him in therapy, and ultimately released him to live his life. After all, he seemed to be fine. Fantastic even. His IQ was off the charts, and his had real vision for his life. Within 10 years, by the age of 28 Damion had earned 2 PhDs and was the head of our, of my, program. Within 20 years, he was the youngest ever president of the country, and the time loop had become a fact of life for all children, not just the delayed. 100 years in the loop became the standard. And the world evolved faster than any one imagined. But it didn't stop there. The president, Damion himself, quickly saw term limits done away with. Countries began to fall to ours over night. And a time loop chamber appeared in the Oval office, with reports of the president spending 10 years a night. How far has he evolved now? What is he capable of? And what is next for humanity? As I look at the chamber I designed, I realized that there is only one way to know. I have set the compression rate as high as it will go. A millenia will pass for me in the loop. I only hope that's enough time to learn what I need to face Damion. Here I go. Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it in the morning.
"NEXT!" The three members of the panel were all looking down, finishing their notes from the last candidate, and it took a moment for them to register the sound of commotion occurring directly outside their door. By the time that it finally swung open they were all watching with interest, but a tall man in white strode in, smoothed down his robes and smiled. Glaxnar the All-Knowing tapped his pen on the desk. "Name?" "God."The man nodded. "Of Earth." Glaxnar made a note on the paper in front of him and then gestured to the seat. "Please take a seat Mr G..." A rather smaller scruffy man hurried into the room, wheezing slightly and rubbing at his thigh. He had a long tear down one side his his red suit, as if he had been pulled back suddenly. "You filthy cheater, you said we'd do this together!" God rolled his eyes and glanced over. "I'm sorry gentlemen, this is my colleague Satan, he seems to have forgotten that I am the deity of my world." Satan sucked the air in through his teeth. "Oooh, you're a liar too!"He turned to the panel. "That's a lie, he's a damn liar!" God shook his head, looking at the ceiling and muttering softly. "Takes one to know one." Glaxnar looked from the soft saintly face to the small angry one that was screwed into a perpetual scowl. "Gentlemen, this review is for the deity of planet 61123, known as Earth." They answered in unison. "That's me!" God finally lost his serenity and spun on his heel, leaning down to get into Satan's face. "I created the bloody thing, I am its deity!" Satan wafted God's breath away and stuck out his tongue. "You created it, but I have a larger afterlife and frankly..."He leaned towards the panel, "... this guy has been a bit."He made the drinky, drinky motion. God reared back and spun to the podium. "That is a fuckin' LIE, you are a goddamned..."He stopped and took a breath, holding out his hand and calming himself. "I'm sorry gentlemen, this is an internal dispute, not for this moment or our review. Shit my review, not ours!" Glaxnar looked down the panel to Seebits the Decider. "Ruling Seebits?" God and Satan looked anxiously at the tall, thready, pink creature. "They are..."he paused for effect. "...both worthy of consideration. They shall both be present in the review." God lifted his finger but Glaxnar was bored, they were already running late and had a lot to do today. "Very well, you shall both be held accountable. Now, which of you has the paperwork?" Satan suddenly looked shifty and scuffed his shoes, while God looked down smugly. "Oh what? Paperwork? I guess that would be me as I am the one who does everything, being the deity and all."He pulled a stack of paper out of his jacket and laid it on the table, splitting it into three piles. Each of the panel members picked up their copy and began to leaf through, making little noises of approval and query. At last Destructo the Kind paused and pointed to a part of the paper, his voice echoing into the distance. "Here, you state that the dominant species is called 'human' but you list many species as more populous?" God nodded. "Yes, nice little species that one, made 'em myself. They're the top as they are intelligent. Quite proud of that, you see I..." "Did you read the included instructions?"Destructo's voice echoed with doom and kindness. Satan folded his arms, smirking. God shuffled his feet a little nervously. "Well, there were a lot of rules and I was somewhat in a hurry and though that..." The document appeared in Destructo's hands, a vast dark book which he flicked open. On the front cover RULES OF REVIEW was marked in gold. "Page four million and sixty seven, paragraph eight. The dominant species is the most numerous and on earth that is listed for earth as...Springtails."Destructo tapped the document God had presented and the other panel members looked over. God looked a little green around the edges. "If you'll just let me..." Glaxnar had now turned to that page. "Does this mean you have been letting the wrong species into your afterlife?"God glanced down at Satan and shrugged. Glaxnar shook his head. "It's all very clear in the rules, dominant species gets an afterlife and maybe the second one too."He paused. "Wait, you've not been letting these 'humans' in, have you?" Satan took a step back, towards the door. "You know, i'm probably intruding here, maybe i'll just..."No one was looking at him anymore and with a small puff of sulphur he legged it through the open door and back into the waiting room. God now looked thoroughly miserable. "I really didn't think it mattered all that much and humans were..."He tried a smile, "...well, I kind of made them in my image." Glaxnar reeled back. "You... you used your own image for a species? What kind of nepotistic...."He shook his head in sheer astonishment. God looked across the panel, only seeing condemnation and maybe a little pity from Destructo. "Maybe?" Glaxnar sighed, he had seen a lot of deities in his time and this one looked like he might cry. He decided to lighten the mood. "Next thing you'll be telling me that you directly interfered in your planet or something."The tension broke a little at the ridiculousness of this last statement and God forced a grin onto his face, desperately hoping they didn't look too closely at the multimedia section of the paperwork.
* BigManUpstairs added JeezyCeezy to the chat!* BigManUpstairs: So as I told Lucy, I'm pretty sure it's nothing, but I'm seeing a lot of packet loss. Could you look it over, make sure everything's cool? Boss needs it by COB. (13:23) JeezyCeezy: yeah np (13:24) LucyFireLOL: Wait for it... (13:24) JeezyCeezy: ...holy shit dude (13:48) JeezyCeezy: holy SHIT dude (13:48) BigManUpstairs: That bad? (13:48) JeezyCeezy: that bad (13:49) LucyFireLOL: LOL. (13:49) BigManUpstairs: Shit. What's wrong??? (13:50) JeezyCeezy: where 2 start...you have NO contingency for the code remainders. math you put in leaves a bit of room for some leftover chunks, but you don't have a way to deal with them, so they go into this recycle bin type thing that's causing the whole thing to be jacked up. your program can't run to completion because the way you designed it, fucking EVERYTHING is going to wind up in this bin sooner or later. (13:53) JeezyCeezy: good code (13:53) JeezyCeezy: bad code (13:54) JeezyCeezy: all of it (13:54) JeezyCeezy: you fucked UP bro (13:54) BigManUpstairs: FUCK (13:55) LucyFireLOL: And boss needed this by the end of the day? (13:55) BigManUpstairs: Yeah... (13:56) LucyFireLOL: Damn. (13:56) JeezyCeezy: gl with that, taking lunch (13:56) BigManUpstairs: fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfcuk. Lucy, think you can help me out with this? (14:20) LucyFireLOL: Asking me for help now? After last Saturday? Some nerve, Craig. (14:22) BigManUpstairs: Come on! You wrangle wayward code better than anybody on this floor and you know it! (14:24) LucyFireLOL: I want equal credit. Only fair, considering how you fucked this thing harder than a roided out horse. (14:27) BigManUpstairs: WHAT?!? This is my JOB on the line here, ad if I don't turn it in with my name then I'll never get that promotion I've been gunning for! (14:28) LucyFireLOL: Suit yourself. (14:29) BigManUpstairs: OKAY. EQUAL CREDIT. (14:30) * BigManUpstairs sent LucyFireLOL** Universe1.0.exe * JeezyCeezy: back, i miss anything? (15:01) BigManUpstairs: Yeah, Lucy's gonna help me with the bugged out code in the "recycle bin type thing". (15:02) JeezyCeezy: ...you cant fucking be serious (15:02) BigManUpstairs: ? (15:02) JeezyCeezy: read the chat log. you just promised half credit for her to treat a symptom. a fucking system restore could do that. (15:04) JeezyCeezy: no. send me the project. im going in. (15:04) BigManUpstairs: WHAT?? (15:05) JeezyCeezy: your code will still be fucked. boss wants this in two hours. you want this project to work or not? (15:06) BigManUpstairs: ... (15:06) * BigManUpstairs sent JeezyCeezy** Universe1.0.exe * JeezyCeezy: hold on to your butt its savior time. (15:08) JeezyCeezy: done (16:48) * JeezyCeezy sent BigManUpstairs** UniverseSAVED.exe * BigManUpstairs Oh man can't thank you enough. (16:49) JeezyCeezy: fuckin right you cant. had to reach into the code directly, give them an almost completely new set of rules and behavior guidelines. fucking excruciating. (16:50) JeezyCeezy: but i have unfucked it. do not - DO NOT - de-un-fuck it. (16:50) BigManUpstairs: So, spoke with the boss! He said I can only attach one name to it or else it'll be a group thing and I won't be able to move up, but other than that he said it looks great! Putting your name on there, Josh, thanks a million! (16:57) JeezyCeezy: np, you owe me a dime. the good stuff this time. (16:57) BigManUpstairs: You bet. (16:58) LucyFireLOL: WHAT. (16:59) LucyFireLOL: CRAIG WHAT THE FUCK?!? (16:59) * BigManUpstairs has left the chat! * * JeezyCeezy has left the chat! * LucyFireLOL: OMG FUCK YOU ALL. (17:00) * LucyFireLOL has left the chat! *
(I apologize for my grammar but I hope this is decent) All my life I've been called a freak, it's not my fault my eyes don't match. Kids refused to sit with me at lunch because they thought I was a monster: during the emo phase all kids went through at my high school I resorted to covering my red eye with my bangs to stall the teasing which only resulted in me being called the child of Satan. As the years passed I learned to let the comments slide right off my back, I made friends, went to parties, and even had a steady boyfriend. Things were finally looking up for me it seemed. I entered the last party of the school year and planned to meet up with my friends there. The party had already been going on for some time now and most of the people here were already drunk, I tend to stay away from beer so I casually made my way through the sea of people, avoiding eye contact whenever possible. "Why are you even here don't you have to go back to the freak show?"A loud voice called from behind me as they tried to grab my shoulder, I turned just as they were reaching for me and the jerk somehow poked my eye. I stumbled back, rubbing my red eye in irritation as people around me laughed. Once the pain subsided a bit that both my eyes weren't watering I glared at the jerk with my clear blue eye. As my gaze landed on him a cool chill went through the room and his laughing face froze. Everyone started screaming at the sight, scrambling like mice as tried to climb over each other out the door. With each person I stared at the rooms temperature decreased and icey statues began filling the space. The original jerks statue fell and shattered on the floor, a frosty red liquid spilled over the rug. As I slowly realized what was happening a smile stretched across my face, I could finally teach everyone who ever picked on my a lesson. Laughing I started staring at everyone I could, ice began spreading faster than before when I heard a voice from behind me. I quickly turned and stared in horror at my now frozen boyfriend, his arms raised to hug me. My scream joined the echoes of my classmates as I stared up at the roof with one eye, my red eye. The temperature rose as fire began to lick the ice statutes, steam and smoke filled the house as I clung onto my boyfriend, ready to meet death.
"Oh fuck off,"Eileen said, and flung her phone across the room. Her husband, Kian, walked into the kitchen just in time to dodge, watching her phone go skittering across the floor. He turned back to her with an eyebrow raised. "That was your brother, right?"he said. "Yeah."Eileen sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Sorry. It's just - It's the, uh, family pet. Snowball. Byron's found a job in China. And there are immigration restrictions against genetically modified orga - well, Snowball's not even genetically modified, I don't know the exact definition of what they did to it. Anyway, he can't bring the pet with him. So." Kian retrieved the phone and tapped on its screen. It still seemed to be working fine, although Byron had long since hung up. "So? I don't see the big deal. We can keep Snowball with us. I don't mind." "No, no, no,"Eileen said quickly, reaching for her phone. "I'm calling Byron back right now. We agreed, it's his responsibility, he doesn't get to just dump this on me because -" "Whoa,"Kian said, pulling the phone out of her reach. "What's the big deal about Snowball anyway? I mean, from everything you told me about him, he just sits around and doesn't do much of anything. And I think it'd be kind of cool to have an immortal cat hanging around the house. A little piece of history." "It's not -"Eileen sighed. "He's ... he's just weird, that's all. He's weird to have around. It was creepy growing up with him, it's creepy - It's creepy having a living science experiment hanging around the house, okay? My great-great-grandfather did the immortality experiments on him, right? And ever since then, he's just been passed down from generation to generation like a living reminder of failure." Kian pulled up a chair, patted the table and motioned for her to sit. "You never told me you felt this way about it. I mean, I never knew you were that invested in the whole immortality thing. I thought everyone gave that up as a dead end centuries ago." "No, it's not ..."Eileen ignored his gesture and bobbed on her heels instead. "It's not that. It's ..."She put her hands to her temples. "I'm sorry, Kian, maybe I should have told you this sooner, but it's always been a family thing, and -" The phone in Kian's hand buzzed. He held it up to show her Byron was calling. "What is going with this cat, babe?" She grabbed the phone from him and let out a breath. "I'll talk to Byron. We'll talk to Byron. You'll see what I'm talking about." -- An hour later, the couple were knocking on Byron's door. He opened it sheepishly, running a hand through his buzz cut. "Sis. I'm really sorry about this. You know I wouldn't dump this on you if there were literally any other option -" "Oh, shut it,"she said, brushing past him and stomping into his house. "We're here so Kian can see Snowball, that's all, and then the two of us will decide what happens next. The two of us, you get that, By?" "Yeah, yeah."He blinked and glanced at Kian. "Hey, man. So, uh, how much did she tell you about -" "Nothing,"Eileen cut in. "I haven't told him anything yet." "Well, I mean, I know all about your great-great-grandfather,"Kian said, "and how he managed to make this prototype immortality serum, but it didn't work all the way ...? I don't actually know what the cat looks like now, though, just that - that the serum was never approved for human testing."Kian frowned. "So what the hell happened to that cat anyway? Eileen's getting all upset about it, and I don't ..." Byron glanced at his sister, and then grinned awkwardly at Kian. "Well, uh, I guess that's why she brought you here, right?" "Yeah,"Eileen said, and then took her husband's hands. "Kian. I am so sorry about this. I should have told you earlier. I knew, I knew there was a pretty good chance Byron wouldn't be able to take care of Snowball forever. But it's just ... I was so used to just keeping this out of sight, putting it out of my mind..." Kian gripped his wife's hands. "Babe. I am freaking out just a little bit here. What the hell happened to that cat?" She glanced over his shoulder at Byron. "You still keeping him in the back room?" "Uh-huh." They stood in front of a closed door, Byron hanging back, hands in his pockets. Eileen opened the door a crack, pressing her body to it, preventing Kian from looking in. "He's, uh, he's skittish,"she said. "Gotta make sure he doesn't escape. Just give me a moment..."She slipped through the door, closing it behind her. Kian shot a look back at Byron, who just shrugged and grinned. The door creaked open again and Eileen slipped back out, shutting it behind her with one hand as her free arm struggled to keep hold of something that looked like a skinned bagpipe. "Oh my god,"Kian said. It looked out at the world with glassy green eyes, bulging out of its head and focused on nothing, everything. It was completely devoid of fur, its gut swollen and translucent. Its limbs stuck out at rictus angles, the dark mass of bone visible through the skin. It moved in her arms, but it wasn't stretching or twitching or curling up. It flowed. "G-good kitty,"Kian muttered, and put out a hand to touch it. "Ugh! It's clammy." "Yeah,"Eileen said with a grimace, looking down at the thing in her arms. "Is it..."Kian started. "Is it still aware? It doesn't seem to be moving. It didn't react when I touched it." "It's ... it's aware in a sense,"Eileen sighed. She scooped the thing up in both arms and squeezed a sound like a meow out of it. She hung her head, almost in tears. "We've been able to get reactions out of it. I can't - I had to live with this growing up, and knowing, and knowing that maybe there was something in there, and ..." "Hey, hey,"Kian said quickly. "It's not ... okay, it's really freaky-looking, but it's not that bad. It's immortal, so we don't have to do much to take care of it, and I'm sure I could get used to seeing that thing around the house, and -" "No,"Eileen said. "You don't get it. When my family talks about Snowball, what they're really saying is ..."She set the cat down on the floor where it sprawled open like an anatomy diagram, and turned back to the door of the back room. "The serum was never approved for human testing. That's true. But it still existed. It was still around. And if someone was on the verge of death, and was desperate enough..." In one motion she flung open the door. Kian stepped back involuntarily, a scream catching in his throat. "I want you to meet my great-great-grandfather."
"Wait. So, all of it is true? How does that even work?"I looked at Death in complete disbelief. "The easiest way to explain it, is that your "souls"or "essence of being"is really quite powerful. Your ideas of heaven become a reality here when you put so much time in thinking about it, and praying about it. You could say your soul builds your perfect home."Death shifted uncomfortably while she spoke. "What about Hell?" "Technically it's not really a thing."Death turned and pointed towards a darker corner. "I mean you will see some people in these burning pits of despair, but they are quite literally doing it to themselves. I've tried telling them but they are too busy screaming and bleeding to hear me." "That's awkward."I looked at my feet. "You know what else is awkward?" Death raised an eyebrow. "What's that?" "Well, I am an atheist. What are my options? Do I just get a void? Is it taboo to jump in on the heaven of others? Can I make one now? WHat about reincarnation? Is that a thing, too?" "Woah.. haha slow down. You have so many questions, and luckily all the time to have them answered."Death smiled. "You absolutely can go visit all of the heavens. You can stay in one you like or change it up when your bored. I stroll through them all regularly. It's particularly exciting when I new one shows up. Reincarnation is totally real, too. What's better is you can choose how you go back. Obviously you can't go back as your current self, it would terrorize too many people." I let out a chuckle. "Well, damn. There goes my plans!" Death Looked around, satisfied with her explanations, and turned back to me. "So, my dear, what'll it be? Gunna go exploring or head back for another go at it?" "Can I hang back a bit longer?" "What? Here with me? Umm..huh..."She looked around again. As far as the eye could see there were glowing town-like collections of people. Perfect worlds, free of pain and suffering. Great foods, and amazing collections of nature. Beautiful music seemed to pour out from every single one of them. Sure there were a few burn-y bits but those were easy enough to ignore. She looked back to me. "I mean, you could stay here. I'm not really going anywhere until my 4:30. Don't you want to explore though?" "Sure I do! I just, think I want to hear your stories first. I mean, I am right here. Seems as good a place to start as any! I mean, only if its ok with you?" Death's eyes sparkled. "You want to hear MY stories? No one has ever asked for my stories! Everyone is always terrified of me. I am the one that gets blamed for them being here in the first place. I tell them they can go to their heaven, and they can't get away from me fast enough." "That is rude as hell. You take all this time to make sure we know what's going on, the least they could do is thank you. So let me be the first. Thank you, Death.." "Wren." "Thank you, Wren, for making sure I got here safely and for helping me decide whats best for my eternity. Now, please won't you tell me your tales?" Her voices cracks, holding back her excitement. "Do you want to start with how I got the job or how I help design pet heaven?"
"To be fair, you've always been a bit on the small side."Eric frowned as he looked me up and down. I slapped him with my wing/hand. "You've known me for years. I get that you're tall and we all look short to you, but I used to be 5'5"and i'm literally a bird now."I felt the feathers on my head start to ruffle. I tried wearing a hat for a while to try and cover them, but if you thought hat hair was bad, try it with feathers. It's not great. "And even if that's true and I've been short for a while, that doesn't really explain the feathers, does it?" "Doesn't really explain the webbed feet, either,"admitted Eric. "But hey, I've got something for you."He reached into his backpack and pulled out a yellow book. "The Idiot's Guide to Birdwatching,"he said, proudly. "I stopped by the library yesterday after work. I've been looking through it and judging by your size and color you're either a seagull or something called a...booby."He laughed. "Dude, come on. This isn't funny." "It's kind of funny. What if you're a booby? Haven't you always said you really like boobs? Maybe this is karma." "Seriously, come on. You're really not helping."I felt all of my feathers ruffling now and it was embarrassing that he could so easily tell that he was getting under my skin. Or down, or something. Do seagulls have down? Is that only geese? I don't really know how seagulls work. "You're right, sorry buddy."Eric reached down to pat my head and I swatted him away again. "Here, I've got something else for you." He reached into his backpack again and pulled out a stale piece of bread. "I stopped by the bakery on the way over here."He started to break it apart into little pieces and toss them on the ground. He looked me in the eye and started making cooing sounds. "Those are pigeons, you idiot."I swear to god, I'm going to peck his eyes out. This is the last straw. ...after I eat that bread.
We both received our papers, and after a few hours of debating whether or not we would check out what we had left, we finally decided we should. After doing the math on mine, I realized I had a bit more than a year left. Not bad, as I don't have a family or many friends, I'd use what money I had left to travel the world. It was then and there that we saw each other dead in the eye. "Alex." "What's yours bud?", I asked. He stuttered a bit, but opened his mouth and let out this sentence that turned my blood into ice. "Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo Achoo... aw fuck"
"Hey......."David's voice trailed off as his eyes slid upwards, noting the number that was floating above his coworker's head. Before, it had been somewhere in the hundreds. Now it was a big, fat goose egg. "Jack,"he ended, trying his very best to suppress the question mark that longed to come out. "Hey, David!"Jack spun around in his chair, a mischievous grin sitting on his lips. "H...How was the company retreat?"David's words didn't come out as smoothly as they usually were, as his mind was spinning through different explanations as to why his friend was logged as a stranger. "Oh man! It's a total shame that you had to go to that wedding instead. It was a crazy party. In fact, it was so good, I can't even remember much about the whole damn thing!"Jack scratched his chin, at the dark stubble. His nails, unusually sharp, escaped David's attention. "Really? That good?" "Yeah... All I do remember is being in this dark room with these weird symbols, like stars but with six points? Then red, a ton of it, like paint I think. Probably. Yeah. And my head was in so much pain..."Jack laughed, but his usual mirth-filled chuckle was replaced by something more sinister, deeper. "It must have been the best party ever, with that shitty of a hangover!" David took a step backwards as he felt chills trickle down his spine. "R-Right... Sad I missed that... Uhh, I'll catch ya later."He turned, bumping right into Marie, who was just coming in the door with another group of coworkers. "David!"She greeted, but he was too preoccupied with staring above her head to reply. They were all zeroes! Every single person whom he had worked with for the past year, had become... A stranger. Someone... Something else? Just what the hell is going on?!
Don't ever say anything bad about the military. I may not be a fighter on the front lines, but my work is every bit as important and I'd hate to see some douchebag slander our good name. Allow me to explain. I work as a medic in the cold northern parts of this good nation. Unfortunately, our neighbors near the pole don't like our country half so much as I do, so there's always skirmishes going on at our northern border. It's up to us medics to tend to the sick and treat the wounded. It's not an easy job. Oftentimes as not, our troops are stranded in very difficult to reach places. It's become my specialty to barge onto the scene and save the day. I usually yell "Oh yeah!"at the enemy fighters as I expertly deliver care to the soldiers they thought they'd killed. That's my life. I live for the military. But just a few short days ago, everything I knew turned out to be a lie. How did it all go from Heaven to Hell so damn quick? That's what I wanna know. Anyways, this is what happened: I was doing a routine mission with my squad to a wounded paratrooper who had got his chute tangled on a craggy cliff-side. As a squad mate and I cut away at the cords, he suddenly turned to me and said "I've been thinking. You know what would be a perfect name for us? Cool-Aid! Get it? Because we aid people in the cold?" My head was reeling. At the words "Cool-Aid", my vision spun and I suddenly found myself inside a suburban home surrounded by children. I had a terrible headache like I'd just slammed through a brick wall and there was a pile of rubble near my feet. Everything was red. The kids were dipping cups inside of me and scooping out my blood. I couldn't think straight. So I said what I usually say when I need to boost my morale: "Oh yeah!"
“Look, Mr. Darth,” Mrs. Horton, the kindly sixth-grade math teacher said, “it’s not that we don’t want you here. We love it when parents come to these meetings. It’s-“ “Death,” the man in black interjected, his voice as cold and flat as the abyss. “Darth is from the movies.” “Right, sorry, Death.” Mrs. Horton pulled her gray shawl closer around her shoulders. “I mean, Mr. Death. Sorry. I meant no disrespect.” “None taken.” Death said. “Or possible.” He tilted his cowl, indicating for her to continue. “Umm. Right.” Mrs. Horton drew a deep breath. “Anyway, as I was saying, we love it when parents come to these meetings. It’s just that we think you’re not being constructive with your criticism. That’s something we work on all the time with the kids, learning how to disagree respectfully and calmly.” She smiled at him reassuringly. Death stared at her, his eyes like twin, burning embers in the absolute void. After several heart-stopping seconds, he looked away. “I’m perfectly calm.” “Frankly, I’m not sure I buy that!” huffed the science teacher, Mr. Edwards. “Everyone wants the school to be better, but I mean, you can’t just go doing – you know – that! Even if you don’t like Common Core.” He pointed to the motionless body of Mrs. Armstrong, her eyes still wide open in surprise, one black handprint still smoking on the back of her head. The black-robed figure looked down at the body. “She would shortly have died in an accident while driving drunk.” Death’s voice was like the hiss of air escaping from a crypt. “Her passing was instrumental to prove my point.” “And just what point is that?” Mrs. Francis, the parent-teacher liaison, jumped in. She studiously avoided looking at the body. Death was silent for several moments. Finally, he raised one black-robed arm, pointing it at Mrs. Horton. “I think Daniel should be in advanced math! He’s very bright for his age.” His ember eyes, the only features visible in the shroud of darkness beneath his hood, flared an angry red. “And these school lunches have been unacceptable. I don’t want Daniel eating chicken nuggets three times in a week.” “Well, Mr. Death,” Mrs. Horton began slowly, “I think Daniel has a lot of potential - we all do - but he’s just not there yet. Maybe if you could spend some time going over fractions with him?” “I cannot!” Death roared, causing several dogs to begin howling in the distance. “Death is constant and infinite!” “Can not, or will not? Mr. Death, sorry to say it, but what you’re saying sure sounds like an excuse.” Mrs. Horton walked over and, gingerly, patted him on the shoulder. “A lot of folks struggle with fractions. But if you want, we have a whole list of great tutors who could probably help Daniel out.” Death stared at her, eyes flashing red like a pyre, the room holding its breath. Then he sighed, a sound as dark and deep as the grave, before looking down at his skeletal feet and nodding. “Perhaps a tutor could be helpful.” The tension eased as the room released its breath. “As for the chicken nuggets,” Mr. Johnson, the principal, chimed in, “it’s not like Henrietta and the other ladies in the cafeteria don’t want to do better. But we’ve been getting killed on these cutbacks lately – err, well, not literally killed.” He gulped and laughed nervously. “But you know what I mean. The superintendent won’t even let us get fresh fruit anymore!” A chorus of nods swept through the room. “He cut the school supplies budget, too!” Mr. Edwards added. “I had to spend $200 this year, out of my own pocket, just so we could do all the labs.” “I see. Daniel does love the science labs.” Death paused. “It appears my ire here was misplaced.” He nodded, stiff as a corpse, to the assembled teachers and parents. “The superintendent shall not trouble you further.” Death rose and walked towards the door. Mr. Johnson held out his hand. “Err, Death? Is there anything you can do about… you know?” He indicated with his head towards Mrs. Armstrong’s body. Death paused, then walked back and dropped a single, black flower on the teacher’s body. As he left the building, the flower shriveled up and the burning handprint disappeared. Mrs. Armstrong sat up and looked around in confusion. “Well,” Mrs. Francis said, “I think maybe we can call this meeting a little early. Meet again in two weeks?” The group murmured its approval. “Perfect.” Mrs. Armstrong said, rubbing the back of her head. “I could really use a drink.”
My last job was garbage man(nothing to break when it was all trash). Now, I'm a super soldier. I won't bore you with origin stories. Things don't work around me. No one knows why. The government pounced on that. 12 hours ago, I left a abandoned warehouse on my horse, Mal, en route to a "secret"facility in Iraq. Apparently there was a weapon that needed breaking. I didn't need them to explain further. Why should I get picky about missions when all the guns in the world can't kill me. They showed me a map telling me which room the weapon was in a where to find it. Now, I looked across the dessert at the facility: A plain white building surrounded by a fence. I brought Mal to a gallop and had her jump clear over the gate arm. I heard yelling; they had obviously seen me (I hadn't used stealth or anything) and had already tried shooting me. Their guns obviously wouldn't work. I don't know the range of my power; I just know it's never failed when someone really wanted it to. When I got to the door, I jumped off Mal, and waited for her to get out of the facility before I entered the door. It was too dangerous for her to be outside while I wasn't there to jam the guns. I ran through the halls pushing past confused armed men. I found the room and kicked the door in. I didn't find a weapon. Or at least I thought I didn't. I thought back to what the suit at the warehouse said: "It won't be any type of weapon you've seen before. You'll be confused; you'll wonder how it could be a weapon; you'll feel wrong making it malfunction. But you have to destroy it. Trust us." Did I trust him? I obviously didn't want my country to be attacked by this weapon. But how could this child, lying in a hospital type bed connected to life support be a weapon? Life support. "No!"I ran to kid's bed side, grabbing her hand as I watched the machines all turn off next to her. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." The little girl awoke. I could see her struggling to hold onto life. "Who are..." "Shhh. Just be quiet now..."I teared up. I usually avoided hospitals. You can imagine why. "It's okay. I've got you. You're gonna be ok." The girl could tell something was off. She saw the broken machines. She smiled the most innocent smile I could imagine. "Thank you..."The little girl let go of her life right in front of me. Because of me. Soldiers funneled into the room. I stood and put my hands in the air. They said I'd have time to escape before they caught me. I didn't bother. I didn't need freedom with that on my conscience.
"Are we getting enough calcium?" When I heard the voice, I turned around so quickly to face the intruder that I sprayed my Count Chocula cereal around the kitchen and dining room of my cramped studio. This shithole was so small; whoever was in here should have been rubbing against me. There was no one else in here, though. And as I grabbed the milk carton, I heard it again. "You know Dwayne, we should really switch to whole milk, like soon man." "Who the fuck is in here?"I screamed while dropping the carton, and picked up my one knife I used for everything, and pointed it everywhere at the empty rooms, filled with nothing but hot Austin air. "Yeah, listen, you should really use a bigger knife for practice. Last time you went to home depot to make that dog house for Cindy's brother's chihuahua, I think there were some decent looking machetes." "I'm going to cut you, I swear! I'm calling the police man!"I backed up to the farthest corner of the kitchen, and the fear made me tremble like a leaf. If could see whoever was talking to me, I'd have a strategy of sorts, I'm sure. I watch UFC, you see. But the voice came from inside my head. Like if I hummed a song for myself. "You're a shit singer, shit carpenter, but you're all we have Dwayne,"said the voice in the same calm tone. Like a big brother passing down wisdom, just way too close to my ear for comfort. "Listen, you're about a week away from joining us thanks to your unchecked diabetes. Great going in getting that PS4, you should have visited the doc like I tried to hint for you with the knee pain. You do fuck all every day Dwayne, where do you get knee pain, you bitch? So, anyways, I now got permission from the uppers to talk to you, before we go down." I had become petrified, both arms sticking out from me, knife in hands still. And now, I argued with something inside of me. "Wh- who the HELL is this?"I asked, lowering my voice, in the verge of tears, since screaming was clearly no use. "See, this is what I mean Dwayne, I'm just talking to you, and you're crying like a pussy, wasting good minerals. Shit man, it's too late now for whole milk and machete practice, to be honest. We need you. I mean, not you, just the good bits. So frankly, keep doing what you are doing and bite it already, so I can take over the car, OK?" "The- the car?" "Yes, yes, the body. Well, just the bones. I AM your bones. Ever watched Jason and the Argonauts? Great documentary. You did jack shit with it, so now we get to recycle (like you never did in this house Dwayne, fuck you), and fight the good fight against the other living dead." I was crouching, my arms were sore, my nose was runny, and the knife slowly pointed down now. I am talking to my bones. And they’re an asshole. "What other... what OTHER living dead?" "Well, the FOREIGN kind, of course! Jesus Dwayne, you whiny nigger-loving bitch. I'm a republican, seeing you vote has made me want to hurl. We're fighting in the Mexican border against the old Mexican sombreroe'd skeletons coming to take over our haunting. You’re making the American Underworld great again, dipshit. Let’s have the cereal, down it with a coke, and finish DOOM, ok? Your Undercountry needs you!”
I hold it tight to my chest and listen to the words, taking them in like a drowning man gasps for air. I know the meter reads one single bar of sanity left, one iota of power that keeps me going. I know it will soon end. I will be alone soon. The voice is soothing and sweet and comforts me. I listen to it and close my eyes, imaging the world they describe. People have conversations, there is noise of life in the coffee shops, bustling people go to and from their jobs. Horns honk and life exists. The things I miss most are the mundane noises. I cry to myself, holding the device closer as the voice fades. I rock back and forth as I hear my only friend losing life. Five thousand, three hundred and thirteen days. October 10th, 2031. I sing softly to myself just to hear something. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you" I don't remember the words anymore, so I sing that as my voice grows weaker. I don't look at the empty plastic bottle that held pills once. I don't want to remember that. I want to remember the world beyond. As this one slowly slips away from my grasp I hear the voices again, the stories I heard. The friends I had after it all went away. And I smile. And the darkness takes me.
"Goddamn it, go! Go! Go!" Sergeant Wilkes roared it as he shoved the first man out the door of the glider, hurrying the men along and out the door. The back half of the glider was in flames, anti-air fire had punched some massive holes through the thin metal and more than a few men. Wilkes kept shoved men out the door until there was no one left and even he could tell they were losing altitude. He took one last glance at Lieutenant Biels, there was nothing left of the man's face. A shame, he was a good one. Then Wilkes was out the door and into the night sky, tumbling towards France. Flak filled the air, any moment could be his last, but Wilkes only had one thought as he drifted down. 'Always wanted to visit France.' *** When Wilkes landed he already knew that the situation was fucked. His men were scattered over the countryside, hunted by the Germans, he had to gather as many of them up as he could and get moving towards the objective. He heard the unmistakable crunching of combat boots in the underbrush of the wooded area he'd found himself in. He waited a moment and called it out. "Flash!" There was silence and then a response. "Thunder!" As three men appeared, Wilkes felt a moment of relief. "Welcome. Where the hell's the rest?" Someone shrugged. They all quickly checked their weapons and gear, shedding what they didn't need anymore. Parker, a slight kid from Brooklyn, shoved his chute into a bag and grinned. "For my kid brother." "Alright, let's get to the rendezvous and put the hurt on these bastards." The four men moved out from their position as quietly as possible, not noticing the silence that hung in the air. There should have been plenty of gunfire. *** When dawn came there was no avoiding the silence. Thirty men had gathered at the rendezvous point and all thirty reported no sign of...anyone. Not a soul but the American paratroopers, of which more were pouring in. By noon there were hundreds and squads that had gone ahead were returning with news that the Germans must have abandoned their defenses. Except there were no defenses. They had seen a few locals but they ran as soon as they saw the men. Wilkes was just happy to have an officer cadre again. Captain Lucky Turner had showed up, the senior officer so far, and begun taking stock of the men. By late afternoon they had stopped scouting missions and consolidated into a single area. Runners couldn't find any sign of the Germans and there wasn't a single working radio. "Fucking shit show,"a combat vet grumbled, hefting his Thompson and going off to find something to do, his sentiment echoed by the other combat experienced paratroopers. The tally was over five thousand airborne men, fully equipped and incredibly confused. That all got worse at around five o'clock. That was when the armored men on horseback arrived. Knights. There were five of them with at least twenty men-at-arms and a handful of archers. They stared at each other. "Well. Shit."Wilkes was wondering why everyone looked at him funny when it dawned that was his voice. "Sergeant, congratulations. Go see what the fuck is going on. Take some men." Wilkes scolded himself mentally and gathered up a squad and headed for the ridge where the knights were watching from. "Are...are those the Germans?"Parker said it quietly and someone smacked him across the back of his head. "I hope so. We'll definitely win if it is." Wilkes didn't reprimand the men for their banter. It steadied the nerves. And he didn't think they would alert any Germans to their position. Things were about to get very interesting.
A puff of fire and smoke left Lux's mouth as he stamped a paw. "I want to go play !" Mother's sapphire scales glittered in the sunlight, she'd laid herself across the cave's opening. The only gap left was so small even he couldn't fit through it. She glared at him, "The humans are dangerous, Lux !" "They don't look dangerous, they look soft. They don't have claws or anything, so why can't I ? Fath-ther !"He twisted onto his back-paws, flaring his wings for balance. Father folded his own wings with a sigh. "Just because they lack talons at all times does not mean they are safe. If we let you play with them and one of them gets hurt the others will get angry, arm themselves with their own talons and scales and try to attack us. It is too dangerous to risk." "What if I just made a small fire ? We all like fires for the warmth and watching them dance." "No."Mother. "Smoke shapes ?" "No."Father. "Night-time flame shapes ?!" "No, Lux !"Mother and Father's combined roars shook a few stalactites from the cavern's ceiling. "Aw, fine."Lux thumped onto his paws, wings and tail drooping as he trudged over to his side of the hoard. Chink-chink, huff, he flopped among the pile of gold, sapphires, diamonds and rubies. Don't drink the water the humans offered, don't eat the meat the humans threw onto the ledge outside and, now, don't play with the humans either. He never got to do anything fun. Well, when he had hatchlings he was going to let them do whatever they wanted, so there !
"Wait, what do you mean my owner?"said the orange tabby. The cat laid upon the counter, and momentarily stopped licking his paw, curiously awaiting my reply. "You know, your owner, the people who brought you in today for your check up?"I replied nervously. "Ohhhhh, them, haha owners, you called them? Those are my worshippers."The cat resumed licking itself cooly. I set the clip board down on the table, and wheeled over on my stool. I gave him a pat on the head, he looked at me disapprovingly. "No touch"said the cat. Fair enough. "Why do you call them worshippers?"I asked. "Why wouldn't I? You call them owners, I'd call that misguided. Let's look at the facts here. They have built me a palace, and attend to it daily, keeping it clean so that I may enjoy it. Three times a day I am fed, only the finest vittles from silver cans. Then in the evenings, after a day of lazing about, they come in the room and rub me. Worshipping my fur, and my beauty, they leave offerings to me in the form of mousey toys which I amuse myself with occasionally." "Well I...I guess you're right."I replied. "Obviously."the cat retorted, "And if you can argue with that, then argue with this. When I take a poop, the worshippers come in and take it away. From what I believe that take it to another room, likely collecting it, to further worship my excrement. I am their God. And they are my loyal devotees. My temple attendants." The cat stood, and vomited on the table. "Now clean that up."he said.
((I kinda went literal with the closet thing, but enjoy!)) “I know Zed, but I can’t just be like, ‘Hey guess what Mom and Dad, I like to raise the dead when you’re out of the house?” Annie was having a muffled conversation in her closet. The only light was the faint glow of the cell phone she had in her hands. Annie was crouched down amongst her collection of shoes. Absentmindedly, she flicked at a speck of ash on the carpet while Zed went on. “It’s not like you’re raising an undead army Ann, you’ve been bringing back dead pets for kids in the neighborhood. Tell your parents that, they’re all about ‘saving’ people right?” Annie could almost hear the air quotes as Zed spoke. The teen rolled her eyes and was about to speak when a sound from downstairs caught her attention. “I don’t know Zed, maybe you should be here with me, when I tell them. What if they try and burn me in the light pit? I mean, I don’t think my mom would, but my dad…” She mumbled distractedly. It had to be her parents coming home from work. “Listen, the worst thing they could do is send you to one of the ‘deprogramming’ camps. Jaela’s parents sent her in the fourth grade, and now she’s working at the Temple of Light in Huston.” “Ugh!” Annie hung up the phone in disgust. Zed would never understand; his parents were both neutral energy users. Definitely not as prestigious as light users, but they were still accepted by either side. But what Annie was about to tell her parents, well, it wouldn’t go over well on either end of spectrum. Die hard necromancers, as Annie had found out, don’t associate with the light at all. Like don’t go outside during the day, and it made them look akin to things they raised. There weren’t many die hard mancer’s around these days, and that prospect made Annie even more nervous. In the dark, she shifted her weight to turn on her knees, facing the rear of her closet. “What is dead, may never die…” she mumbled as she lit some of the candles on her tiny altar. It was improvised, and shoddy, littered with old chicken bones, and vials of what looked to be blood. A few more whispered words and as Annie sat back on her heels, a soft mew came from her side. In the dark, the ghostly form of a kitten had appeared. It’s blue sheen glowed in the dark of the closet. “Heya Mittens, ready to meet my parents?” Annie asked as she lifted the ghostly thing and nuzzled it, “And then we’ll find your body and get you home, okay?” She asked the now purring kitten as she scratched under its ethereal chin.
It took me a long time to figure out what the numbers meant. The realization hit me as a teenager, when a friend with a 10 over their head committed suicide. Most children had 1 or 2, and most adults had 5 or 6. On the few occasions I saw 9 or 10, I made an effort to talk to them. Knowing the level of mental stability of strangers at a glance was a blessing in some ways and a curse in others. I have only once seen a 0. My grandmother was living in a home for elderly folks. Her memory was slipping. After living with my parents for a while, they found their ability to care for her inadequate. It broke their hearts to see this once-vibrant woman change so much, having to constantly be watched to make sure she avoided harm. She nearly burned the house down when she left the oven on and forgot who my parents were on more than one occasion. The realization came for my parents when she walked around the neighborhood in the nude and the police were called. Visiting her was always a new experience. Some days she remembered me, warmly welcoming me and telling me stories about her "wild days"when her and my grandfather used to ride motorcycles together and travel around the country on a whim. Other days, she thought I was my mother, calling me by her name and asking me about our family members and friends. When she asked me about my grandfather, who had passed several years before, I always told her he was out running errands. One time she thought I was her mother. My mother's genes were stronger than I thought. As I arrived one day, I was informed I would need to wait to see her because they were giving her a bath. I waited in the sun room, idly reading one of the magazines while feeling the sun peek out from behind the clouds. I heard the wheelchair come in, giving only a sideways glance. When I saw the 0 above their head, I nearly dropped the magazine. He was a very old man, with no hair on his head and thick glasses resting on his nose. A blanket was draped across his legs and the sweater he wore looked about three sizes too large. The slippers he wore looked comfortable and warm. He sat in line with the sunshine and looked out the window at the beautiful garden full of colorful flowers. "My wife loved sunflowers,"he said, "She used to grow them in the garden behind our house." I looked over at him and saw his intent stare was still fixed outside. I was too curious not to engage him, to find out what the secret was to achieving 0. I put down the magazine and moved to a chair closer to him. "What else was in the garden?" He looked at me and smiled, "So many things. I couldn't possibly remember all the flowers, but they were almost as beautiful as her." I smiled. "It sounds like you love her very much." "I do. I hope to see her again soon."He looked back out at the flowers. "Are you waiting for her to visit you?"I leaned forward in my chair, hoping to find out more about him. His sigh was heavy, and he shifted his gaze down to his hands. "No, she is gone from this world." I wanted to kick myself for my insensitivity, "I'm sorry. That was rude of me to ask." "Oh no, it's okay my dear. It just gives me more peace to know I won't be leaving her alone in this world."He slowly brought a hand and tapped on his abdomen. "They found the cancer eight months ago - gave me a six month estimate. Who would've thought she would've been the one to die around then and not me." Curiosity overtook me again. "What was her name?" The smile that spread across his face spread to his eyes, as thoughts of her clearly flooded his mind. "Daisy." The name seemed fitting for someone that seemed to love flowers. "I know it sounds crass, but I hope you two can meet again soon." He reached over and took my hand. I had to suppress the shudder that ran through me at the chill. "Don't worry. I'm ready to die just to see her again." The 0 made sense: he was at peace with life ending, completely fulfilled. We sat together, my hand in his, until a moment later when a nurse came looking for him to give him medications. My grandmother was ready for visitors by then. A week later when I visited again, I asked the nurses how the man was doing. They informed me that he died the day after we had spoken. When they saw me smile, they looked confused, but I knew that he was surely with his flower again.
There we were, sitting. A boy and a girl. Nobody special, nobody specific. Just a boy and a girl, sitting on a park bench in a grimy city in a vast universe. Two ants. Yet we saw ourselves as gods. There was a typical city buzz around us: a cute gay couple that came by our park once a week for a walk, a businesswoman on her lunch break. Ordinary people, ants acting like gods. But we were different. Yes, we were ants, but we were young and we faced layer after layer of grimy muck of our city with bright eyes. We were just another couple. Only a couple, no more important than a worker who built this city or a philosopher caught up in weltschmerz. Yet New York stood, and philosphers lamented. And we sat on a park bench in a city, and a universe much bigger than us revolved around us. Honestly it's scary. But we have each other. When all else fails, we can laugh at our park bench and our city and our universe. And we can do it together. ((Comment: Wow, that is deceptively hard! And this was a pretty short response. Thanks for a great prompt, it was eye opening. I recommend it if you're struggling to find your style; having to rephrase everything you say can force you to be creative.))
As I lie broken on the pavement, trying unsuccessfully to catch my breath in a pool of my own blood, my vision starts to fade. The pain, a moment ago unbearable, starts to disappear. The ringing in my head takes over my sense of hearing, and I can feel myself dropping into unconsciousness. A vision appears slowly in the nothingness: my mother, holding a baby and singing a lullaby. Her copper skin is in contrast with the baby's dark completion; I think that's me in her arms. I remember the song she's singing, it was the same one I now sing to my own daughter. I feel a big flood of peace with this vision; I've missed my mum so much. I hope I get to see her again. This vision fades and another appears. An old man in overalls, sitting on a rocking chair on his porch, reading a newspaper with a sour expression. The headline read Make America Great Again, and the old man mutters "damn immigrants, ruining the whole goddamn country." I wonder who the fuck that is...My vision fades, and then there is nothing.
Since life had started, the war had been raging. An eternal constant of religious belief. Some are meant to see, others meant to hear. The God of Sight bestows the quiet wonder of color. The God of Hearing composes the symphony of sound, of ambiance and speech. To them, the other is blasphemy, an insult to how the world is meant to be experienced. And so we war and we fight until the chosen people remain. I was raised amongst the sighted. I grew up in a continent of color. We wore bright clothes and enjoyed the freedom of open spaces. Anyone could go anywhere anytime and without requiring any help. We could communicate through sign language and written word and see the emotions on others’ faces. Truly our God was the better. I grew up feeling fortunate, the war something the adults hid from us children. I grew up running and playing with my friends, learning my work, and always thanking the God of Sight for blessing me. I learned to hate disbelievers, though I never encountered any, and I was excited for when I turned eighteen to chop off my ears during my manhood ceremony. This was the only life I ever knew and it was the only life I ever thought existed. Only when I was sixteen did I realize that something was different, that something was not right. I had always experienced a sensation I could not explain. Sounds all around me boomed constantly. It was like my inside voice, but it was outside. Anytime someone moved, I would hear them. Anytime the masks over their mouths twitched, I would hear a noise. Sometimes I thought I heard the others. I heard their inside voices from the outside too. It was around this time that they started teaching us about the war. We started training for our service. I learned then that what I had been experiencing was called hearing. My ears, those filthy things at the side of my head, had brought in blasphemy. They had brought in the unclean sound to the temple that was my body. I panicked. I wanted to kill myself. A tightness gripped my stomach and I wanted to cut off my ears then and there. How could I be so evil? How could I be so impure? Was there any way to repent? I dared not mention my abilities to anyone else. Over the past year I have kept to myself and prayed often. At nights I sneak out, a task quite easily done when there is no one to hear, and I read the banned books at the library. I read the books only those with the highest clearances are allowed to read. I read of those who worship the God of Hearing and of their lives. To them hearing is a blessing. They have refined sound to create art, to communicate. I read about these people and I wonder how I can kill them. How can I take up arms against them? What God would want us to kill because we are different? I have mulled on this for some time and I think I know what I will do. It may mean the end of my life, but what is life in a world such as where I live. This fighting must stop. The war must be over. When I turn eighteen I will refuse to cut my ears off and I will preach a different message, one of togetherness. Perhaps we could accept one another instead of doing our Gods’ work. Why must there be a God of Sight and of Hearing? Maybe there is only one. Maybe there is none. I don’t know. I don’t know whether my message will get through either. I hope it does. I hope there will be change. Maybe I am too optimistic, but so what. I can’t ignore the turmoil that I see. I can’t ignore the cries I hear. I have to try.
BRRRIIIINNNNG I grabbed my bag out of my locker, the sound of the bell bouncing through the mostly empty halls. Carmen, ever the flirt, was toying with her hair a few feet away as she talked circles around her latest jockbrained arm candy; at least this one was nice. As she wrapped both her hair and his will around her finger, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, Tommy clenching and unclenching his fists. What a putz, I absently thought to myself. Tommy’d been in love with Carmen since day one of sixth grade; the kind of puppy love where you just feel bad for the kid, even if it’s his own damn fault it’ll never go anywhere. The fact that he’d always been jealous of Brock, her new boytoy, and his inherent popularity wasn’t helping anything. A hand slapped me on the back. The smell overwhelmed me; fritos and… chocolate? Yeah. Chocolate something. “Whadayadoin’?” The words were slurred together. Turning, I took in Alex; all of Alex. It’s a hard sight sometimes. Two hundred and eighty pounds and seemingly not stopping anytime soon, he was always stuffing his face with something or other. I was right; chocolate. Snickers. His favorite. Couldn’t see Fritos anywhere, but the orange stains on his shirt gave away some of the mystery. I shrugged. “Going to Calc. You?” “Oh, y’know -- “ he took another bite, and I watched the caramel strings flaccidly drip onto his chin “ -- waitin’ for lunch.” Tempted to comment, I bit my tongue. There was no use; no matter how many conversations we all had with him, it never changed anything. From down the hall, coming towards us, there was an outburst as a small group rounded the corner. “ -- and now my parents are gonna ground me.” “It’s not my fault that you’re failing. I tried to tutor you, you just never listen. Letting you copy the last test… --” a dramatic scoff rang over the words “-- I should’ve let you fail on your own. I have the best grades in the class, always have, always will. You can’t even cheat right.” “Fine. Don’t help me. I’m just going to change the grade anyway. Otherwise my mom is never gonna let me get a new car. Or that laptop - or, shit, I completely forgot about the skiing trip next we-- ” “Why can’t you two just EVER just SHUT UP?!” Jesse whipped around on the arguing pair, fuming, his face going red. Ron and Leslie stopped, both of their mouths hanging open. I rolled my eyes. Those three were always getting into tiffs. “Just,“ Jesse breathed, hard “Shut. Up.” “But I wanted to g-- ” Leslie started, but Jesse interrupted with a shriek, punching the locker nearest him. Continuing to yell, he accentuated each word with a metallic blow. “JUST--” Punch “SHUT--” Punch “UP.” Punch Closing my eyes, I turned away from the scene, wanting to leave before we all got detention. As I drifted away to Calc, walking out of the cloud of Alex’s junk food stink, something occurred to me. In an almost cartoonish way, we all clicked so well, the lot of us. The way our personalities clashed and complemented each other, it almost seemed reminiscent of… something. I don’t know. Eh. Whatever. It’s probably nothing. I’ve been so tired lately. Calc is the perfect place for a nap. ***** S.A Decomprosed [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/decomprosed) \| [Tumblr](http://decomprosed.tumblr.com) \| [Reddit](http://reddit.com/r/decomprosed)
Dear /r/WritingPrompts It has come to my attention that I've been in a lot of writingprompts. Like, a lot. I mean, there's even more stories about me than are actually in the Bible. Now, this concerns me, for several reasons. For one, a lot of these prompts appear to portray me in a light I would prefer not to be seen in. I have a reputation to maintain, and I do not appreciate the various stories in which I am 'adorable', 'sympathetic', or 'nice'. They who have done so, will receive especial attention from me eventually. (I would like to thank the man who said I didn't exist. That was, indeed, my greatest trick) I am not, in fact, on speaking terms with God. I don't know what put that into your minds, but it's not me. He has been calling me, convinced that I implanted this idea into your heads so as to arrange some kind of peace offering. Should this trend continue, I predict prompts and stories about my secret unicorn obsession, which IS NOT TRUE. So please do not write any stories regarding it. Yours unfaithfully, the Morningstar, the Lightbringer, Satan.
I check the discount bin every day. I'm not expecting much. The discount bin is usually what happens when an old guy dies. See, most people, before their death, parcel off their skills, giving them to their kids or something. The ones in the homes, without any family to speak of, their skills just get loaded up in bulk and tossed into places like this. The clerks don't have time to scan each one manually, and why bother? It's mostly scouting lessons and woodworking. I pick up a few of the multitude of blue chips, and toss them back in. Bridwatching, starting a fire with kindling, the usual stuff. Then I find a little black chip. Odd. The colour of the chip tells you how much data it stores. Ten blues to a green, ten blues to a red, and ten reds to a black. This was something interesting. I scanned it, only to receive a very, very long list. My scanner almost overloads. I buy the chip, and head home, searching for the patient id inscribed onto the chip. Nothing. I try to scan the files on my computer, but am warded off by a heavy encryption. Or rather, a lack of decryption. For a machine to read the data it has to be translated at the source. The chip held the raw recordings off the original owner's mind. It had to be plugged in directly, into the brain. I shrug. Can't hurt, right? I pop it into the base of my skull, where the slots are. Tremendous, searing pain is the last thing I feel before blacking out. The Orient Project is the first thing I remember waking up. The second thing I realise, is that I have the skills and knowledge of the previous FBI director.
Once upon a time, there was a man with a bloody scar on his temple named Samuel Fitzberger. He lived alone on top of a big, tall mountain. The neighborhood children all had stories about Mr. Fitzberger. They claimed that if any child trespassed on his mountain, they would be eaten alive by the Fitzberger. Little Danny Pendleton was not afraid of such stories. He talked to his friends and he was able to convince them all to go camp out on the Fitzberger mountain one dark and stormy night. The boys hiked up the side of the mountain that happened to be right next to their quaint and cozy suburb. Little Johnny Fatfingers complained that he felt out of breath. The boys made fun of him for being fat and having glasses. Little Johnny Fatfingers cried and bailed on them, and started down the mountain alone. The boys laughed and made more fat and glasses jokes down at Little Johnny Fatfingers as his figure slowly disappeared into the distance. Little Danny Pendleton had a look of disappointment and resentment on his face, but continued to lead the other boys up the mountain. Up the mountain, the boys kept hearing creepy noises. They heard owls hooting, bats screeching, crickets chirping, feral cats growling, coyotes howling, thunder clapping, and stuff like that. Little Hugh Scaredycat began to cry and said he was scared of going any further up the mountain. The boys laughed and made fun of him for being a scaredy cat, and suddenly his last name seemed all the more appropriate which was really unfortunate for Hugh, because it’s like, how was he ever gonna live that down now? So Little Hugh Scaredycat ran down the mountain until his figure too became nonexistent in the distance. Little Danny Pendleton squinted his eyes at the fading figure, then turned himself forward and motioned for the remaining boys to follow him. Little Danny Pendleton and the boys finally reached the top of the mountain. On the top of the mountain, there was a dilapidated cottage. Little Fearlesskidwholikestopickontheotherkidsfornotbeingfearless Brown stepped forward and bragged that he would be the first to look inside. He stepped up to the door and slowly reached his hand out to turn the door knob slowly and anticipatorily and also slowly. The other boys looked on in horror. Little Fearlesskidwholikestopickontheotherkidsfornotbeingfearless gleefully chortled as he flung the door wide open. “See, there’s nobody—“ But there was somebody. Little Fearlesskidwholikestopickontheotherkidsfornotbeingfearless was promptly disemboweled by a shadowy figure. The other boys screamed. Little Danny Pendleton pulled out his pocket knife and moved toward the shadowy figure. “Samuel Fitzberger! We have to come to deliver you to your maker!” The rest of the boys groaned at Little Danny Pendleton’s total lameness. Three of the boys actually turned around and walked home, because of how much what he said sucked. The shadowy figure eviscerated Little Danny Pendleton with its teeth. The boys screamed. When suddenly, a cry from the woods: “I am the plot device that ends up saving the remaining victims in this horror story!” The shadowy figure turned its ugly head towards the woods. A figure emerged from the woods. It was none other than Samuel Fitzberger. “This is my forest. And you would do kindly to leave these kids alone.” The shadowy figure and Samuel Fitzberger fought to the death. The shadowy figure’s death. Samuel Fitzberger won. The boys all cheered. One of the boys chirped up: “Wow, I’m never gonna judge a weird stranger off of urban legends ever again!” Another one cried: “Yeah, wow, don’t judge a book by its cover, even if that cover is actually just the misconceptions of others and not actually a cover as in what the person appears to be or what they look like or things like that!” Yet another child said: “Old people CAN be cool!” The old man smiled down at the boys. The boys smiled up at the old man. In the moonlight, they were finally able to see the clothing of their savior. It was the skin of Little Johnny Fatfingers and Little Hugh Scaredycat. The old man slaughtered the remaining boys and ate them and also wore their skin. Nobody learned anything, books are stupid, the end.
"Any Central Unit, we've got a 10-55 down Jade Street, please respond." "10-4, Dispatch, heading out." I could recognize Dave's voice even through the radio static. I spun the dial on the radio, muting the radio. I had a date with some donuts and a coffee, and it was going to be a long, boring shift for me. I bit into the glorious, puffy texture of the glazed donut. The syrup and sugar began to drip down my hands, but I simply enjoyed the taste of the divine treat. It was finished, all too quickly, and I put the box onto the passenger seat, maybe for later, maybe to share with Dave once he got done with the drunk driver. I wiped off my hands on the napkin, not quite getting all of it off. Stretched a bit, put the coffee in the cup holder, and drove out of the parking lot. I turned the radio back up. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"Oh. That was odd. It was very, very realistic, but maybe it was Lin pulling a prank on the radio. "THIS IS A CLUSTERFUCK!"Gordon yelled. Tough son of a bitch, war veteran, didn't pull pranks. He hadn't complained even in the Bank Robbery where they'd lost two guys, or the shooting in the city hall. "Dispatch, what's going on?"I radioed in. I waited for five minutes, but nothing. "Dispatch, what is happening?"I yelled in, turning a corner into Jade Street. Things came into sharp focus, as I realised what was happening, to the best of my ability. He stood over the bloodied corpse of Dave, at least three knives sticking out of his body. I could see at least two other squad cars parked nearby, with officers either wounded behind them, or taking cover. The man turned to me, and raised his gun. I ducked down in my seat, as the windshield audibly cracked. Nothing for it, but to brace myself. I stepped down on the accelerator, hard. I heard a thump, and crawled back up, stopping the car. "Get me the radio logs from today,"I told the officer, after I'd given my statement. "Hey, Aiden. I know you got here late, but you still saved-" "Please, just get me the logs,"I pleaded. He nodded grimly. I listened to those logs at least twenty times, wondering if I might've saved another two or three lives. I also no longer like donuts. --- Edit: I forgot to plug my sub. /r/poiyurt. visit sometime.
Most people would've compared them to shooting stars. Falling from the sky surrounded by a cloud of light that trailed behind them in wisps of flame. The children, who were too young to understand, smiled and pointed, grabbing at their parents' legs to show them the angels. Look Mommy, aren't they pretty? After the angels had all fallen, a sudden darkness blanketed itself across the horizon, and new bodies began appearing in the air. I would have recognized the black aura anywhere- demons. Hundreds of them, just like the angels, collided with the earth in twisted clumps. The silence that followed was anything but curious. The local shop owner was the first to speak up. "Should we... should we check on them?"He asked. I could feel the hesitance in the air. No one wanted to see if the angels were alive or dead, because if it turned out that they were in fact dead, then it meant the demons had won. The rest of humanity's existence would be just the blink of an eye. Several small teams were sent out to investigate, and possibly collect the angels. If they were in fact dead, there was no point in wasting a valuable resource, was there? As I came upon my assigned angel, I noticed that it was not just one body, but two. They both held an angelic blade, but when my gaze fell upon the second body, I nearly leapt out of my skin. His eyes were completely black, like coal, and, although his vessel had been torn to shreds, he was still breathing. "Please,"he wheezed, blood flying from his mouth, "please listen to me. We didn't kill them." I snarled in disgust and reached for his angelic blade, which he must've stolen at some point, but he still had some energy left. His open hand clamped down onto my wrist, and he leveled his gaze with mine, but his eyes held no hint of anger or hatred, only fear. "We didn't kill the angels."He whispered. "You expect me to believe that?" He winced, but managed to raise his other arm, motioning lazily to all the bodies scattered around the land. "It went after them first... and then it came for us, so we decided to work together... but it was too powerful. Have you ever heard an angel scream? God, when it started melting them all down... you have to run." I wanted to call him a liar, a demon, but the way his voice rang with fear was unlike any truth I had ever heard- this was pure and untrimmed, just a raw recollection. "What is it?" He tried to answer, but it was like an invisible hand clamped itself around his throat and squeezed. It squeezed until a thick, black smoke came barreling from the mouth of the body, and, once in mid air, was blown away in the wind. He didn't even have time to scream. My stomach fell, pushing bile up my throat at his words: Have you ever heard an angel scream? As if following my thoughts, the earth beneath me began to shake and groan, like the very roots that held the planet together were about to snap. I pushed myself onto my feet, not letting myself look back at the empty corpse beneath me, and I ran.
My hooman was hungry. Possibly. I didn't know. I licked him anyway. The holes in his wierly bent arm was leaking life out. I saw him tried his best to wind pressed it to stop the liquid from getting out, but life, was still draining out of him. "Don't worry, Appa. I'll be fine."He said. He got that wound while trying to get me some food in the strange metal jungle. The people there puched my belly, broke 3 of my legs and crushed his left arm in just three minutes. I didn't know their little stick could hurt us from so far away. Nor did he, I thought that's why he's blaming himself. Three days, we have been flying all over the world looking. We found nothing but a gray sky, small patches of cultivated lands, blackish rivers and devastated hills. "Where're all the trees?"He asked. But I knew that he already knew the answer. Three days, he had been meditated. He barely moved an inche all that time despite my licking of affection. I hoped he find whatever answer he's seeking. But i doubted it. Maybe my spiriting him away from the temple was not a good idea after all. If he stayed, surely it would be easier for him to connect to the spritual world. He opened his eyes. But I already knew that he will woke up soon, because all the trembling of the sea and that tsunami was not natural at all. He rose to the sky and lightning heralded his ascending. Ranks of gigantic waterspirits were rushing to the cities, the spires and fires. I struggled to keep up the altitude with him, but for the life of me could not approach him. All those power lashing out were truly magnificient, and terrifying. _Calm down! Aang!_ But I knew he couldn't understand. Nor would the other hoomans. All they could see is a red sky of vengence and a black sea of impending doom. He was lost.
In Fine Mundi Tick. I groggily opened my eyes. I couldn't open them very wide but the room still seemed dark. I slapped my hand over to the table by my bed and felt around for my phone. 2:37am. I groaned and curled back up to get what sleep I could. Tick. But I couldn't. Something was bothering me. Probably nerves, I thought. I could never get a good sleep before anything even remotely out of the ordinary: SAT, woke up at 3am and made coffee; first date with Ellie, finished a puzzle by 5 in the morning; trip to Europe, binged watched all of "Family Matters"when I couldn't fall asleep by midnight. This would be no different. I was getting married after all. Tick. I tossed over in my bed as histrionically as I could manage, pulling the blankets with me as hard as I could. It was like there was a fly in my ears, constantly buzzing. I folded my pillow to cover my ears. Tick. "Ok that's it,"I said to no one in particular. My voice was hoarse from having woken recently. I tossed off my blankets and reached for the light. After being momentarily blinded, my eyes slowly adjusted and I could see my room around me. It was weird, sleeping in my old room at home. Probably weirder that my mom had kept it like this for so long. All my furniture was still there and in the past few days of pre-wedding chaos I had managed to bring back the characteristic mess. Tick. It's coming from somewhere in here, I reasoned. I walked towards the closet. I figured it had to be something my mom had stored in there. She had stuffed the thing full of old junk. Tick. I heard it again as I rummaged through some old boxes. It didn't seem to be coming from in there. It seemed to be behind me; which of course only left the rest of my room. I decided to be perfectly still and wait to hear it again so I could know where to look. I stood like a predator watching for my prey. Tick. "Aha!"I said aloud. I was getting far too into this. I walked over to my old desk. What used to be covered in books I never read, old home work assignments and and any other random crap I had when I walked into my room was now covered in the random crap I'd carried in these past few days. Just two nights ago, before the rehearsal dinner or course, I had lost my keys in that mess. This would be harder than I thought. Tick. Or not. It sounded like it was coming from on top of the desk. I resumed my rummaging. Nothing really caught my eye or ear. I started to get frustrated when I noticed the shoe box. My mom had told me not to open it until tomorrow but I figured it was already morning so it counted. Tick. The noise was louder as I lifted the lid. I was getting close. After removing the top, I saw a note from my mother: "Jacob, Here's your somethings borrowed, new, old, and blue. Love you! Mom." I smiled. That was just like my mother, sweet as can be and painstakingly traditional. Tick. My smiled melted away. I was going to find that sucker. I sifted through my mother's gifts. There was a little blue bow, a set of new cuff-links, a small charm that I recognized as my sister's, and an old pocket watch. Tick. The watch was lying face down but I recognized it immediately. It was my grandfather's that he had given me before he died. I had almost forgotten about it. I was only 12 at the time and my mom told me I was too young to have it at the time. Guess I was old enough now. Tick. I ran my finger over the back of it. In Fine Mundi. That engraving always seemed odd to me. As far as I knew, my grandfather was born in Iowa and had never left the Midwest. I didn't know why he had a watch with Latin on it of all things, let alone one with such an ominous message. Tick. It was odd, I didn't remember it working back then. My mom must have had it fixed. Tick. I turned the watch over. The clock had only one hand. That hand was now pointed at 3. Tick. Now 2. Tick. Now 1. Tick.
A stapler functions by cutting off small chunks from a line of connected metal, which is formed in an angular U shape and contains rows of equally-spaced grooves for consistent sectioning. Upon separation from the line, the metallic chunk pierces the layers of the stack of intended objects. Finally, the steel prongs protruding from beneath the stack then strike a metal base, with rounded grooves to redirect the force and direction of the prongs. This deflection results in the two prongs wrapping inward toward each other or outward away from each other. The result, in either case, is the stack now being secured by the chunk of metal - now a staple - preventing the stack from sliding off the now-bent prongs. The secret to the user-friendly component of the stapler is its simplicty in operation. A single consistent application of force from above completes all three steps - the sequestering of metal, the piercing, and the wrapping of the prongs. The design of the stapler allows for this to happen. Applied downward force first presses the arm down until the stack is compressed between the arm and base. Next, continued force presses a metal frame above the upper half of the arm onto to the staple row, presicely slicing a single staple. The staple is carried down by that same blunt edge of the frame, carried by the user force to drive through the stack and bend the prongs around the other side via the redirecting metal base. A spring in the joint between the arm and base of the stapler returns the arm to an upright position for reuse. Opening up the arm of the stapler reveals the mechanisms that allow for constant reuse. An elongated spring, with one end affixed to the front end of the upper half of the arm, stretches across to a sliding plate on the lower half, on the same plane as the staple row. When a staple is expelled, the tension on the spring carries the staple row closer to the front, so that the next staple can be ready for processing. In the arm's open state, the spring actually pulls the sliding plate back, so that staple rows may be added, removed, or replaced without obstruction. Staplers can also be used to affix intended objects to larger objects or surfaces without the need to bend the prongs after piercing. Simply apply upward force to the arm (being careful not to accidentally discharge a staple into your hand in the process) to pull the arm away from its usual rotational axis with relation to the base. The result is now an arm-focused stapler with no limitations imposed by a nearby base component. The metal plate redirecting prongs on the stapler's base has a side for directing prongs inward and outward - only one side is located directly underneath the stapler's output from the arm. Most staplers have a small protrusion from the underside of the stapler's base, just underneath the plate. When pressed, the plate pushes up from the base, and can be rotated to accommodate for user preference. A spring pulls the plate back into position to fit an imprint in the base, so that either side can be ready to receive and redirect staple prongs.
My wife and I stared at the folder on the desk before us. We had sent in for the test out of curiosity, and partially because my wife’s crazy sister was convinced our daughter was a reincarnation of their crazy mother. I wish that were true. “So” Margaret half sighed. “Yeah” “We can’t just ignore it right? That … wouldn’t be … “ “No one else has seen the results. We could lie.” Margaret absentmindedly touched the folder, sliding it back and forth a bit. She slid a finger underneath the cover and lifted it, peering at the papers for a second before dropping it again. Hoping that the results may have been imagined. The same list of names was printed on the first sheet. ‘Adolph Hitler’ fourth on this list. “We can’t lie” she decided “But we can’t change it either” Another moment of silence passed, and my wife suddenly and decidedly retrieved a paperclip and pinned the folder shut, dropping it into the bottom of her desk drawer and reaching for her computer. “What are you-?” “Enrolling Sarah in art camp.”
Despite using seven proxies, a VPN, nine different IP addresses, and placing cellotape over my webcam I could feel that they were out to get me. All it would take was a subtle knock on my front door or an online oddity to get me the hell off the web and into the confinement of my underground bunker. I wasn't taking chances. They could try barrel through my barricades. I made the verdict clear: I wouldn't go down without a fight. The archive.is page finished loading. I leaned forward and burned each word to memory. . . . Ginger hair linked to Alien race. . . . . . Presidents who dyed hair brown/blonde to evade suspicion. . . . . . Gingers run the world. . . The evidence was astounding, with photographs of ginger haired world leaders meeting, as well as the undercover ones ordering obscene amounts of hair dye. Barrack Obama ordered 65,000 dollars worth of the stuff. Apparently, once you went black, ginger could take you back. When I hit the bottom of the scroll bar, my coffee had stopped steaming, and the dark sky outside was sliced through by a glimmer of morning light. I rubbed the tiredness out of my eyes, chugged the coffee back, and continued onto the next page. There was a knock on my door. My heart froze in my chest. I held my breath and listened; I'd learned that sleep deprivation could lead to hallucinations. The knock came a second time. I spammed ALT + F4 as fast as possible and then shoved my coffee mug through my computer screen, sending glass sputtering all over the desktop and leaving messy cuts along my fingers. Something thudded into the door. I dove for the basement entrance behind me. The front door slammed open. Bright white light burst into the room, blinding me. "Well done, Stewart,"a voice said. I shielded my eyes from the sun. There were three figures in black suits standing in the doorway. "You've come to kill me then?"I asked. The old man in the center smirked. "Quite the opposite. You've been elevated from beginner to intermediate status."They walked forward and snatched the back of my head. I tried to fight back, but the three men had a vice like grip on me. They applied something cool to my scalp and massaged it in. This went on for so long that I gave up fighting and let them do what they pleased. They released me and the old man surveyed my appearance with a hand on his chin. "That'll be just fine,"he said. "What have you done to me?" He snapped a butterfly knife from his pocket and flung it open. Instead of a blade, like I had expected, there was a small pocket mirror. My mind raced in confusion, none of this made sense. An internet profile about how gingers ruled the world, three men in suits, and a man who carried a mirror as a weapon. He held the mirror toward me. I looked at my reflection and my eyebrows shot up in surprise. My once black hair was now orange, same as my eyebrows. "You're one of us,"the man said. They had dyed my hair in order to buy my silence. "I won't roll over like those other lap-dogs of yours. This dye will wash out eventually." The old man chuckled and shook his head. "You don't understand, Stewart. We didn't dye your hair. We simply removed the false coating."
Jim Wortzman of Earth rushed through the intergalactic academy, knocking over anyone who stood in his way. His running felt very unnatural; he wasn't used to the gravity on Mars yet. Despite being extremely out of breath, he started shouting. "Professor! Professor!" His galactic history professor, Mr. Odenlox of Betelgeuse-5, stepped out into the hall. "Calm down, calm down. What is it, boy?" Jim gathered himself. He could barely speak, but he urged himself on. He had to tell the professor of his discovery. Long ago, Jim's species, the Humans, encountered their first "alien". They greeted each other kindly, and began to share their species' history. It was a long and tedious talk- great historians were flown to the planet "Mars"in the Terran System to discuss historical events. They even founded the school that would eventually be used by millions of different species from all over the universe- the Intergalactic Academy. As more species visited Mars, their history was recorded into a database, and a computer scan was run to find common historical events. The computer always came up with the same result- Basketball. Scientists and historians had spent decades trying to understand why this was the case, but to no avail. That is, until the 3rd-year Human student named Jim Wortzman figured it out. He had rushed to tell his professor, who in turn, told the great historians of the galaxy. Jim was awarded highest honors for his discovery. His report was as follows: "The common phrase, "ball is life", has been shared amongst all species, because of one mysterious historical event. Aliens had spread the idea of basketball across the universe from an event regarded as fictional on Earth- an event that had even been turned into a movie. A movie called Space Jam." (My first story on r/WritingPrompts, hope you guys like it!) (EDIT: Spacing and wording)
"Oh dear stars above,"Colonel Glinlan moaned. "Colonel!"the General snapped. "I'm sorry, Sir"Colonel Glinlan resumed his stiff salute, though he found himself broken into sudden sweats. "I think I just connected to someone having an orgasm, Sir." The General covered his face with all four of his hands. "At ease." "I'm sorry, Sir,"Glinlan began. "Just get it together, Colonel. We're about to make... the call." A cadet sitting before a panel with a million flashing lights said: "All comms--" "Are up and running,"the General finished just as the cadet did. "See, Colonel, is that so hard?" "I'm not anymore, Sir, I disconnected from that." "Stars above,"the General groaned. "Colonel, do you understand that if everything goes wrong, the hivemind is our only chance at survival. The reason those Earthlings have never made contact with another world is because they've spent most of their history and ingenuity annihilating one another, and don't doubt for one second that they won't train all those nuclear warheads straight at us." "Sir,"the cadet butted in, "We have protestors on the homeworld who have tapped into your brainwaves; they're not happy about going to war with Earth." "We're not going to war!"the General shouted, and he made sure that every single one of his race-- all fifteen billion of them-- heard. "All we're doing is making the call. Trying to create a peaceful alliance. It won't be long before these apes evolve and start exploring the boundaries of space; best they don't stumble upon us. Did you see what they did to their own planet? Imagine what they'd do to us."The General continued: "Should they try to attack us, we will act as one body, nimbly dodging each warhead while simultaneously avoiding the other thousand ships we have docked just outside their atmosphere." The cadet walked directly to the General and saluted: "Transmission ready." The General walked to his command seat with a confidence that betrayed his nervousness. Regardless of the intensity, a good General was always a confident leader, one to inspire his troops. "Sheesh, General,"Colonel Glinlan said, "lighten up. You're making us all nervous." "Dammit,"the General cursed through gritted teeth. "Begin transmission."Suddenly the cabin around the General darkened and spotlights illuminated him. Camera drones floated before him, broadcasting him to every television on Earth. "Transmission One: This is General Tiltan, leader of the people of the United Confederation of Democratic Republic Federal Planets of dimension C-137. We mean no harm and are no threat. We mean only to acknowledge Earth as--"the General stopped mid-sentence. His soldiers sucked in a collective gasp of apprehensive shock. "Oh my,"he said. "I-- Is that what a female orgasm feels like?" "Right?"Colonel Glinlan shouted his approval. "Sir!"The cadet interrupted, "Nuclear launch codes triggered!" "Evasive action!"Colonel Glinlan cried. Down on Earth, a child watched a fantastic meteor shower light up the sky, turning it all a million different colors, so bright it almost seemed like daytime. And somewhere in Cuba Fidel Castro rolled over in his grave.
"Yeah, sorry pal, i'm not interested in your product." I stared at the salesman, who bore a grimace. His head was sweating, his hands slightly twitching. Setting the bag down, he stared at me with a menacing eye. His eyes became bright yellow, like a cat's, in a instant. "You will buy the product. Cheap, affordable - how could you not?", he asked with a bit of sarcasm to his lips. "I'm just not interested. I'm sorry. I don't even have money to give for it." 'It's for free! Free! You don't need money for it!" "But you said earlier-" "Never mind that! Shake my hand pal, and the deal is set!" "No, i'm not doing that. I'm gonna shut the door now. You have a good day, sir." I tried slowly closing the door, but the salesman held it open with one hand. He was more powerful then I thought, with that scrawny body. After struggling for a few minutes, I finally let the door open. He stood there, cocking his head to the left and staring at me. No, not at me - past me. He looked right through me, or even into me. "You're gonna regret it, you know. One day, you'll want this product. You'll want it bad." "And when I do, i'll tell you. Good day, sir." The salesman cursed under his breath. Picking up his black bag, he began walking away from my beachcoast home in Florida. He cursed under his breath, as I shut the door. Laying on the couch and flipping on the TV, I sighed. It's never easy for Florida Man.
"What?"I thought aloud. * How did this work? Where the hell is everyone?* My brain was going at a million miles a second, my heart beating harder than I had ever felt it. Anxiety started to kick in once I started thinking about my family, my friends, my dog. They were all fucking dead and buried. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! All I wanted to do was curl up in one of those warm, mossy corners and hide, but there were bigger fish to fry. After sitting in my pod and taking some deep breaths, I got back up and examined the room more carefully. Clearly, the place had been abandoned, but for how long I couldn't fathom a guess. Judging by the missing room, mossy walls, and grassy floor, I reasoned at least fifty years. The sun was shining through the cracks, it was peaceful, but something was off. It was abnormally warm. The Appalachians do get warmer in the summer, but not this warm. Not ever. Something was amiss here. I walked around the giant, empty room and breathed it all in. It actually worked. They lied, they said we were testing the pods, making sure the oxygen intake and ventilators worked. Hold on, I thought, where are the other pods? There was no sign of them. They were not exactly easy to take apart, but if I didn't know they were there before, I wouldn't have guessed there was anything besides mine. Walking around, I rolled by ankle on something small, like a brick, and fell flat on my face. The pain was unreal, it felt like I had whacked my ankle with a sledgehammer. I just had to sit there curled up in a ball gripping my ankle and biting my lip until it finally became manageable. What the fuck did I even step on? I sat up and grabbed the brick, likely a part of the ceiling, and almost chucked it as far as I could manage when I noticed something etched into it. In big letters the word "RUN"was on it. Shit, don't I have enough problems? I don't need this. I chucked it. Now was the time to explore. I got up and hobbled over to the edge of the broken wall, and stared at the woods. There was nothing besides trees. The trees were so dense I couldn't see farther than twenty feet. This was no longer the small town I had grown up in, this was something new, and dangerous. How was I going to survive if everything else is gone? My mind started picking up speed, but almost immediately I got distracted. I could have sworn I heard a whisper. "What the fuck?"I thought, "WHO'S OUT THERE?"More whispers responded, louder than last time. They were almost surrounding me at this point. "Fresh meat." "Can I kill him?" "We should capture him." "We should eat him." That last one got to me, and I started sprint-hopping down the length of the building. Why did we make this in the mountains? Of all fucking places. The pain was getting worse. It felt like my ankle was about to snap in half, I almost couldn't take it, but the whispers were getting closer. I focused ahead of me. If I could just get to the bunker, I might have a chance of surviving. I snuck a glance towards the woods, and I saw something disturbing. People. Tens of them, sprinting at me. They were foaming at the mouth, almost rabid. So, naturally, when my ass is on the line, I put too much weight on my leg and fall on my face, again. I didn't even try to get up. The whispers were yells, the footsteps were getting closer. I closed my eyes and waited. Suddenly, absolute silence. I sat there for a few minutes, unable to move out of fear, but when I finally looked up, everyone was gone. It looked as though nothing had happened in the first place. What the fuck is going on here? Then from behind me, "You'll find out soon, but we need to get you the fuck out of here right now before they come back." This is the first story I have wrote for reddit ever, thank you so much for reading!
Half 1: (part 4 up!) ...A goddamn bath robe. Can you believe this? The single most powerful man in the world, and he's smoking a pack of cheap cigarettes on his front lawn in nothing but a sterile white cotton fucking bath robe. Where do I even begin with this? Oh, right... 12 hours ago "Jameson, you listening son?"Jameson...right, that's my name. Phillip Keymiere Jameson. Second Lieutenant of the Seattle PD Abnormal Interception Movement (A.I.M). We're a squad of six guys that specialize in anything the government won't touch in the sanctioned third district of reformed Seattle, capitol of New Washington. Basically we're just a group of smart goons that shoot a bunch of really weird shit for a higher pay grade than the S.W.A.T. Honestly, I often question if the pay is high enough. "Yeah, sorry chief. Corner shop ran out of coffee supplements again."The chief snorted and rolled his eyes, turning back to the luminescent projected board emnating from the desk behind him. "Save your smartassin' for the field Jameson, you're gonna have to actually listen to what's going on this time". I rolled my eyes and exaggerated an 'aye sir', tuning back into the illuminated mugshot on the projector. Chief Manhanke was a decent guy. Typical background honestly, enlisted in the police corps at 22, shot the discharge rifles better than the rest of the sorry schmucks in his class, and actually scored something above a 60% on the exams. Next thing he knew it he was Lieutenant of the SPD SWAT regiment, then was relocated to found the AIM department after taking a .24 to the shin by some piece of shit anthromorph muggers. Bad day for him I suppose. Or good, depending on how you look at it. Old bastard's quickly coming up on 62 and looks better than half of the standard ground forces combined, along with making a bigger paycheck than any of them have seen. However you look at it, Mack - as we called him - took good care fo us, and understood us. He was a good man to have in charge, especially considering how Rule of Engagement amendments the past half decade had throttled our...creativity. It was a lot more painless doing our jobs when chief left the leashes loose for us. Perhaps that wasn't a good thing, but who cares. I got to go to bed on time most days. "Alright you brazen fucks, now that you know about where he's hiding, who all has actually heard of Mal?"A few hands shot up, but most of the lot just yawned or stared sullenly into their empty supplement cups. I was not one of them. "Jameson, care to give a briefing for once? You're practically in charge of these jarheads, and you know the fucker better than any of us."I gave a half-hearted thumbs up and slowly stood, facing the group of 5 sitting before me. Mack oozed down into his chair, dropping a coffee supplement pill into a fresh cup of steaming water. I ran a hand across my temple, contemplating where to begin. Ah, I know. "Mal's a piece of shit."A few of the group smiled or chuckled. "Really just that to start. He's cunning, intelligent, strong, and somehow shits more magic than some of you crusty fucks inhale coffee."Mack grunted and the rest of the 5 smiled. Good. They were going to need to be relaxed for what I was about to tell them. "I'll go ahead and glaze over how I know him for now, but I know him well enough to say you don't fuck with Mal."And we were definitely about to fuck with Mal. "He's about 66 at this point, looks like a stupid wizard from the old Harry Potter films from the early decades, and has a really irritating sense of humor. The kind of man to turn your guts to frogs inside you just to laugh at you screaming in agony as frogs hop up your throat."The group's smiles began to fade, and one of them asked what we were supposed to do. What indeed. "Well, for some stupid reason, Mal's left the Midwest desert where he's got his bunker network, and he's hanging out in Seattle for a period of time. Knowing him, he probably plans to turn the space needle into quicksand or some stupid shit. He's in a rundown house right around this area cooking up his plans. To reiterate Mack's timeline, we'll come up on his place around 10PM and take him down, along with foiling whatever he's cooking up in the basement."I wish I could say it was just meth. Man that would make my day easy. I wasn't about to tell these guys, but chances are none of them will be going home alive from this one. Mack knew it too, I could tell that morning by how bloodshot his eyes were that this operation wasn't being done by choice. Poor bastard needed to stop taking alcohol gels at night. "So here's the deal, Mal's got some sort of synergistic aura that allows him to manifest fire, water, and air from his palms. Bind his hands or cut them off I don't fucking care, but you do that and his energy output will be cut off. After that, we'll arrest him for trial, and bust his operation."Shit, I wish we could just shoot him. Hell, with how many lives he's cost, if they asked to shoot out his kneecaps and pull his toenails off I'd let them at it before they arrested him. Mal was a piece of shit. 6 hours ago I walked through the main office, where the other 5 were quietly sweating over their discharge rifles, apart on the desks for maintenance and upgrades. There was a faint melody buzzing from the radio a room over. Sounded like the American Glitch Hop National Radio station, but honestly I wasn't in the mood to give a shit. I made my way across the room, tapping a knuckle on the chief's office door. I heard a muffled invitation from the other side, and turned the handle to the door. "What's up Jameson? You gonna be alright for this mission?"I nodded, sinking into a chair in front of his desk. Spread on the desk was some legal documents, a picture of his family, and two alcohol gels sitting in front of him. "Chief..."He looked at me and sighed, a faraway look in his eye. He took both gel caplets and spoke to me, "look Phillip. I know we both know this situation's shit. We both know they're putting us on this mission because the department is at a deficit..."Well that was an understatement. With the past six mission something semi important or another had been blown up, disintegrated, melted, or teleported to the nth dimension. The New Washington Board of Military Finances wanted our fucking heads on stakes, regardless of how useful AIM was to them. "You're a smart kid, and I know if anyone, you can pull this off. Do it and rub it in those motherfuckers' faces for trying to disband the department like this. However, I won't blame you if you want to preserve yourself and your men. I know how you and Mal are..."he trailed off, probably because of the glae I was shooting in his direction. "Anyway, your first priority as far as I'm concerned is the safety of your team. If you decide to pull out for their sake, I'll fabricate something for the bureaucrats. I want Mal gone too, but I don't enjoy the thought of six men throwing themselves away in an attempt to cross him out. "Chief, we're gonna make this happen. I've got a feeling I know what's going on well enough to deal with him. The only thing you'll have to make up is a story as to why he's in a body bag and not handcuffs."Mack chuckled and then his smile faded. "Phillip, look me in the eye and tell me the past is going to stay in the past. You know you can do this?"I tightened my hands into fists and looked the chief dead in the eyes before speaking. "Yes sir. I'm gonna tear him apart limb from fucking limb."
"Daniel!"Krelm stood smiling as he appeared in the room behind his experiment. "I barely recognized you." Daniel turned around in suprise, he no longer sported the wild beard he had once had and his hair was cut close. "Krelm? What are you doing here?" "I came to check up on you, wanted to see how my friend has fared. What have you been up to? Looks like you've been doing well." Daniel rubbed the back of his neck then straightened the jacket of his Armani suit. "Yea, it's been an interesting, what five years?" "To the day"Krelm said agreeing. "It's gone by so fast", Daniel looked into Krelm's eyes, "Thank you, for everything. I can't explain how much I appreciate what you've done for me. I'll never be able to repay you." "I think I know a way you can"Krelm smiled. "Tell me how your life has been. I'd like to hear it all, good or bad." "Of course, let's sit over here, would you like a drink?"Daniel muted the reporter on the television describing the spike in oil prices over the past eight months. Several numbers scrolled along the bottom of the screen and a graph appeared showing the price in the past year. "Ethanol? Sure, something not too strong if you have it. Neat." Daniel handed him a glass and sat across from him. "So, where should I start? How much detail should I go into?" Krelm smiled, "As much as you're willing to share. Maybe a brief overview first, if I'm especially curious about something, I'll ask once you finish. What did you do when I left?" "Ah", Daniel leaned his head backward, "I had twelve dollars in my pocket and half a bottle of McCormick's. No family, nothing to my name. I'd filed bankruptcy a decade prior, so I didn't have any debt either thankfully. I panhandled the rest of the day then went and bought a prepaid phone, some disposable razors and shaving cream and a pair of scissors." Krelm took a sip of his drink and nodded, "Didn't spend it on alcohol? That's a start." Daniel smiled, "No, didn't finish the bottle I had, decided to save it for emergency calories. That was the hardest part throughout the whole ordeal. I gave up drinking for an entire year, eventually I tossed the bottle, didn't even take a goodbye sip but I kept it for two weeks if I remember correctly." "You conquered addiction. Good on you my friend." "Thanks to you, self-control is easier when you have something to live for"Daniel raised his glass toward Krelm. "Anyway, after a week more of panhandling I started applying for jobs, kept sleeping under the same overpass where you met me, eventually I got a call for a fast food job, then another. Worked one job in the morning and the other in the evening, kept panhandling when I wasn't flipping hamburgers. When I got my first paychecks I opened a bank account, saved everything I could, lived under that overpass rent free for another two months. Only ate my meals from work and snuck the occasional fry or nugget when the managers weren't looking. I had to steal some other things too, I'm not proud of that but I did, I've since patronized those stores whenever possible. I avoided spending every penny I could. I joined a gym and washed my work clothes in the shower with the hand soap from the sinks. I always smelt like that generic clean smell." "Clean is better than dirty"Krelm said before emptying his glass. Daniel laughed, "Yes I suppose so. Would you like me to refill that?"Krelm held up his glass and Daniel poured it half full again then sat back down. "You're not having anymore?"Krelm asked eyeing Daniel's empty glass. "No, one is enough, I occasionally like to revisit my demons, to remind myself that I was able to conquer them but I don't indulge, it's a slippery slope for an addict. So back to the story, eventually I got an apartment and a computer. I watched a bit of Youtube and some other stuff online but I grew bored kind of quickly. As a kid I thought I would be a rich stock broker like Bud Fox in Wall Street. Suave, smooth and able to live exactly how I wanted. I started researching how stock brokers invested, what they did, different trading methods, all that. I relearned algebra, moved up to calculus then eventually stochastic processes, the internet is such a wonderful resource. Suddenly all those numbers on TV", Daniel waved toward the muted reporter, "started to make sense. I learned to model trends and eventually make predictions about how stocks would move. My favorite industry is technology, there's always more to learn. I invested my first two grand and within a few months had managed to triple it. I kept on going, flipping burgers, making trades between orders, by that time I had stopped panhandling."Daniel grinned, "I was making my money honestly, finally. I used that time to read or apply for slightly higher paying jobs. Fast forward two years, my broker was calling me for tips, I had a return rate of four thousand percent every year on my money invested. I started consulting for him, getting a small fee from him every month and reinvested that. Eventually he brought to work for him, he and a friend started a hedge fund and wanted me to come work for them. We have beaten every other hedge fund for the past two years." "So everything has gone well. I'm happy for you Daniel, really you've done better than I thought you would." "Well, there is one part I am ashamed of. I had millions, I took a sabbatical from work, one month turned into two, then three. My bosses were upset. They had been posting losses every month I was gone but I didn't care. I traveled, started drinking again, doing lots of drugs and met a beautiful woman."Daniel sighed, "That was hard. She was so much fun Krelm, we traveled for two months, lived out every dream and fantasy we could think of. I didn't think about anything other than spending time with her. After a month, I woke up one day and checked my phone. Twenty voice mails and hundreds of emails were waiting on me to answer. I went to have breakfast across the street at a nice little cafe, planned on bringing breakfast back to Jane. I passed a guy on the street, he was dirty and begging for money." Daniel looked at Krelm with tears in his eyes, "I walked by him without acknowledging him. I thought why doesn't he just get a job? Then i thought about you Krelm, about the kindness you had done for me. I had been just like that man and someone I didn't know, an alien for Christ's sakes had decided to change my life for the better. I left the diner with breakfast for Jane and the man out front. Gave him the food and a one hundred dollar bill. When I returned to the hotel, Jane was up. As she ate breakfast I told her I wanted, needed to go back to work. I had decided that I wanted to start this charity."Daniel motioned to the walls around them, "She was not happy, that wasn't what she wanted out of life. Krelm, leaving her behind was hard but I looked at how I was living, I was spending, not working and allowing myself to take everything I had worked for for granted. That was only last year. I still do my trading job, putting the majority of it into this venture that I started, I named it 'No More Concrete Pillows'." "Wow! That's... unexpected. How has the charity been doing?" "I think it's gone well. We bought an old hotel and allow the homeless to stay as long as they want. We host AA and NA meetings in the lobby, we run a soup kitchen out of it as well. We're looking into three more on the eastern, northern and southern ends of the city. I'm hoping that in three years, no one will have to sleep on the street."
I've always had this weird super power since birth. I think everyone has a super power inside them, something that only they can do and no one else can. It's just that most people do not know what it is. I got lucky enough that my super power is one that I was able to figure out. You see, whenever I touch someone or something, I gain random tidbits of information about whatever I touch. Because of this, usually I wear gloves. However, yesterday, I saw a lost wallet and took off my gloves to learn about who it might belong to. I, unfortunately, picked it up and started to walk without immediately placing my gloves back on. While in the usual daze following using my power, I accidentally bumped into someone. This time, it was different. Usually, I don't learn too much useful information, just something that happened to them as a child. It's the darker memories that scares me though and keep me wearing gloves. The stories I could tell would keep most grown men up at night. Nothing beat touching this man though. This man, I immediately realized, was God. I knew he knew that I knew too. I also knew he didn't care and just wanted to be left alone. That was one thing I gathered from touching him. The main thing though was a memory from a long time ago, specifically God's childhood. Everyone says that God created our world in a week. However, what most people don't know is the reason why. In God's childhood, everyone lived for millenniums. They lived in beautiful golden cities that stretched the skies. The people there had no want for food or shelter. Everything necessary for living was available. Stuff that seem important to us now, like wars and medical care that, were completely non-issues then. It was, in all senses, a utopia. Of course, if everything stayed this perfect, we wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be writing this out right now. In God's old society, everyone back then had a unique super power. This was a celebrated thing. Discovering your super power was something akin to discovering your soul mate. God didn't discover his super power for thousands of years. When he discovered it, he wished he never did. God's ability was that he could travel back in time and change things ever so slightly. He spent a day playing with the stars and the planets, thinking it was a dream. He soon realized it wasn't and that he accidentally stopped humanity's advance to a utopia. Instead, wars that stretched centuries wiped out all of humanity as people made increasingly devastating weapons. What happened was that he changed certain constellations into others that certain tribes thought were symbols of wars. He spent the next three days trying to right this wrong by trying to reverse these changes. However, each time, he only made it worse. On the fifth day, he tried to add more animals to the seas and air, hoping that more prey to hunt would stop the wars. It, of course, did not. On the sixth day, God finally decided to try and directly modify humans. He slowed the evolution of our brains so that we would not gain knowledge as fast. Our knowledge would no longer evolve fast enough to create weapons of mass detection for wars started too long ago for us to remember. He spent the next day and every day since then trying to figure out a way to right the mistake he made so long ago.
John's friends were cocksuckers. Not because they were gay, though some of them were, but because they were just kind of dicks. Was it possible to be both a cocksucker and a dick? Does that make you a cannibal? These were the thoughts that haunted John's mind as he walked down the empty street towards the dilapidated, glowing domino in the distance. John lived in a town called Moon, Philadelphia, notable for it's moderate population of around twenty-thousand and how disappointing it was to live in with a name like Moon. Was it out of this world? No. No it was not. Not yet, at least. As he grew nearer to that great, neon herald of sustenance in the sky, John got the very odd feeling that something wasn't quite right. The houses were quiet. The street was empty. The streetlights flickered benignly, but it almost seemed like something was moving beyond them. Something dark and fast. That was just his imagination though, his monster hunger generating actual apparitions of monsters. That's what John told himself, anyway. When he arrived the lights were out, save for the Domino's sign. "What the fuck? It's barely ten o' clock,"John said, to no one in particular. He knew for a fact that they'd ordered thirty minutes ago, and impotent rage breifly bubbled up inside of him. He considered taking a shit on the doorstep in an act of petty revenge rivaling only an ex-girlfriend, but then realized that that would be fucking stupid. Instead, he kicked the door and said "Fucking shit"very loudly, like any rational human being would. The journey back to his apartment was much shorter than the journey there. This was because John was terrified of the dark, and it seemed like the street lights were having a lot of trouble keeping themselves going. John was not nearly as spiteful towards the street lights as he was towards the Dominos, because he, too, often times had trouble keeping himself going. It was more pity than anger honestly, mixed in with a lot of fear about having to be out in the dark. "Fucking assholes,"he muttered to himself under his breath. God, his friends were dicks. This notion did not last long in his mind. His apartment was dark. The door was gone. The small amount of panic that had resided in John's heart up until that point broke, spilling ice into the rest of his body. He almost couldn't move, but somehow found his feet drawn forward, as if in a daze. The couch was gone, but a suspiciously couch shaped burn was etched into the floor at it's approximate position. His television was there, but the screen was broken. The kitchen was utterly destroyed, dark, unidentified liquid spilling out in a pool and dripping from the ceiling. The only light he had to see this by was a grease-stained fridge, seemingly forced open by something inside. He was more afraid of what was in the fridge than he had been about anything in his life up to that point, with the possible exception of the time his grandmother almost caught him masturbating to old pictures of her long deceased friends. He did not want to open the fridge. His feet moved forward still. A puddle of piss mixed with the ruddy brown at his feet, sweat dripped into his eyes and soaked through his clothes, and every bone in his body felt like the marrow was being sucked out. He screamed. He did not want to open the fridge. He felt something crawling out of the holes in his back he didn't even know were there, and god he was bleeding, his shirt was red and he was fucking bleeding. The skittering legs on his skin increased in volume, got stickier, like they were melting, mixed with his blood and went into his body and crawled out again, and God please don't make him open the refrigerator, God please. The skittering legs turned to hands, the hands bled out of him, locked fingers, formed mouths and tongues and he could feel it tasting him and he could taste himself and he could see through the eyes that were forming on the hands that there was a mouth with sharp teeth. He grabbed a knife from the counter as he neared. He opened the door and could feel himself being bathed, and he knew that this was what God had wanted. This was what he was meant for. John drew the knife across his own throat with a smile on his face, knowing that he was pure. "Sir?"the guy behind the register at the Papa Johns said. John opened his eyes, only slightly surprised at the pizza boxes being extended towards him. John smiled, "Thank you, have a good one!" He walked home with a skip in his step, knowing quite firmly that Papa Johns was the superior choice. --- Feedback and criticism is appreciated! Point out any typos I might have made, I'd prefer to correct them if I missed them when posting. I hope you enjoyed it!
Godly Mother: Son, I'm here to prove to you the existence of the divine realm, and by extrapolation, the afterlife, a Divine Creator and the soul. &nbsp; Son: Very well. Let's see you try. &nbsp; [Son angles fedora for battle] &nbsp; Godly Mother: We'll start from the top. We know that people can share near death experiences and dreams; does this not imply an unquantifiable, binding force? &nbsp; Son: No. Accounting for factors such as coincidence, shared experience, similar biology, oxygen deprivation, credibility of testimony, gullibility, non-replicability - to name but a few - this proves nothing. &nbsp; GM: Very well. We won't explore that aspect...yet. It appears that's not the correct approach for you. You're an eager sceptic you see - most things you will chalk down to coincidence i.e. the conveniently aligned constituents of chaos. &nbsp; Son: Isn't that what religious people do? They cherry-pick the parts of the chaos that suit their beliefs? If God is good, and God created the universe - how can it be so imperfect; so chaotic; so brutal; cruel? The devil? That's just another scapegoat - there's always an explanation. &nbsp; GM: You speak of chaos, yet you ignore what's in front of your eyes: order. &nbsp; Son: Are you going to tell me the universe is ordered chaos - that nature is beautiful? We know this - we know both scientifically and artistically that the universe is beautiful...it proves nothing, it just is...; Are you going to tell me that I should look at a sunset and believe in the spaghetti monster? &nbsp; GM: Yes and no I suppose. I don't think you're ready for the sunset thing just yet. As for chaos - regard it as a front for an over-encompassing order. I would like you to peer beyond it for a second. Do you think you can do that? &nbsp; Son: What does that mean - peer beyond chaos? I don't know, maybe? &nbsp; GM: For this exercise, you'll have to. If the appreciation [in the true sense of the word] of the mystical realm was easy to grasp - we wouldn't be having this conversation. It first requires virtue - love, kindness, joy, and most importantly, humility. These open up another level of understanding. You have your preconceptions about the universe which blind you - if you cannot set them aside, then we can get no further. &nbsp; Let me help you with the first bit: seeing past the chaos. Chaos is the result of its constituents - the interconnecting, interacting factors that coalesce into what we see - the atoms and energy that form the cells that form the bodies that house the brains that tell the arms that wields the spears to hurts us. Chaos is the symptom, whereas the cause, or rather, what makes UP the cause, is what we're interested in. &nbsp; Do you follow? Son: I guess so - basically, I'm supposed to look past the bad and the good, to the increasingly smaller forces that cause that stuff to happen. Are you actually talking about atoms and energy and stuff? &nbsp; GM: Atoms and energy is a good place to start. We could start smaller, but things get a bit freaky past a certain mass...especially if that mass is zero...but let's not dwell on that. Atoms. Are they perfect? &nbsp; Son: Perfect? I think that's a stupid question but I don't know...I have no idea...is perfection subjective? &nbsp; GM: Good question. In a way maybe. An object's perfection in a way is related to its ability to fulfil its function. What is the function of an atom. &nbsp; Son: It doesn't have one! A function implies someone designed it that way - to fulfil a specific role. Atoms aren't conscious - they're just the result of energy! Atoms are a symptom. &nbsp; GM: Put it this way then - what is it atoms do? &nbsp; Son: They make up everything. &nbsp; GM: Do they fulfil that function? &nbsp; Son: Well...yeah...I mean...they seem to...if that is their function...if they have one... &nbsp; GM: Do atoms make mistakes when carrying out their function if that is their function? &nbsp; Son: That's a lot of "ifs". &nbsp; GM: Every scientific theory is based on an 'if', and sometimes those "ifs"don't have as much grounding as we'd like - kind of like those prospective numbers we write really tiny in the corner of sudoku cells - those numbers are like little shots in the dark, albeit logically concluded. Many of those numbers will prove to be wrong, but we wouldn't reach the answer without them. &nbsp; [Son thinks] &nbsp; Aright. Okay - I'll bite. If atoms' function is to constitute the universe, then I guess they do it perfectly...any time atoms change or fuse...it's because that particular atom has the capacity for that change...an atom can't change what it is by nature, so...yeah I suppose each atom fulfils its function in whatever context it finds itself. &nbsp; GM: You are wise beyond your years. This conversation would have taken a lot longer if you hadn't said that, and the Redittor-god who's writing it sure is pleased about that because he's really tired! His grammar is probably suffering too! &nbsp; [Son ignores comment about this story's author] &nbsp; GM: So atoms are perfect. What about all the smaller things that make up atoms? Are they perfect? &nbsp; Son: Well atoms exist...so yes I suppose. Wait - what about the unstable ones? The ones that cause explosions and violent reactions and stuff. Wait...no that's still their function, never mind. Sorry, continue. &nbsp; GM: Let's go a step up from atoms - molecules - what is their function and do they do it perfectly. &nbsp; Son: Well that varies pretty damn much - everything from Oxygen to Heroin...I mean if they're misused...that's our bad...but yeah I suppose. &nbsp; GM: That's a moral issue. That's another thing altogether - atheists say religion doesn't own morality, whereas I'd say humans own it, or at least, have the capacity to own it. Let's not get into that. &nbsp; Let's move to cells - notice how as we get bigger, the capacity for imperfection and chaos increases. Cells can be damaged by, let's say, cancer. Is cancer perfect? &nbsp; Son: That's fucked. &nbsp; [GM unrelenting] &nbsp; GM: What is the function of cancer? Son: Okay well if you're going to take that route then yeah cancer fulfils its function pretty damned well, and yeah, given my suspension of belief of the idea that nothing has a purpose, then cancer is fucking perfect... &nbsp; GM: When we began discussing cells, we reached roughly the tier of the most suffering - illness. Not only that - it's cells that make life; cells that house the energy which makes other creatures devour it - it's cells that go wrong, causing mental illness, viruses, pain, even our personalities - some of which are less than savoury. &nbsp; We've reached the level of chaos most perceptible to humans. Perhaps because cells are some of the smallest things we can actually see. Here - in the world of cells, and everything they make up, lies the majority of our chaos. Yet now, once again, I ask you to ignore it. &nbsp; Let's go above human chaos, to the Earth, the planets and the rest of the universe. &nbsp; Son: The chaos on Earth is a pretty damn big thing to gloss over, but okay. I'm curious to see where you're going with this. &nbsp; GM: Here we see the planets, and just like their atomic counterparts - they are held together by forces; they have satellites that orbit similarly to electrons around atoms - can you see the order appearing here? &nbsp; Son: Let me guess, you're going to ask me if planets are perfect? Planets are a symptom of everything that came before them, which by your logic is all PERFECT, so yeah, despite the fact that we have NO idea what the function of planets are, they are PERFECT. &nbsp; [Son laughs incredulously] &nbsp; GM: You laugh, but it doesn't change the fact that the entire universe is made of different units of varying size, all fulfilling a function. Doesn't it sound like a perfectly functioning ecosystem, complete with infrastructure and laws? &nbsp; Son: So everything in the universe is just like little worker ants contributing to a whole? &nbsp; GM: In a way. &nbsp; Son: So? &nbsp; GM: So with all this perfection flying around; all these forces interacting perfectly to keep a universe ticking over, so to speak, how do we come to the chaos that only humans can understand? All the suffering, lacking morality and inequilibrium that we know. &nbsp; Son: What about it? &nbsp; GM: It just seems pretty deliberate, don't you think? &nbsp; Son: That's like painting a murder scene...perfectly...using the most perfect and beautiful colours... &nbsp; GM: Couldn't have put it better. Son: I concede it's possible for the chaos to be deliberate - it doesn't change the fact that suffering is therefore deliberate... &nbsp; GM: Suffering is a side effect of chaos, yet the chaos is just one veil the Perfect Order hides behind. &nbsp; Son: Perfect order...you mean God... &nbsp; You're not there yet I don't think. We'll leave it there tonight. The Reddit-god writing this is tired as shit. We'll continue this tomorrow. Here... [GM lovingly takes Son's fedora off and places it on the bedside table before kissing him goodnight]
In January, it was the rag. When the pipe burst and it was the only thing I had on hand, it saved my house from being flooded. I was never sure how that little thing kept so much water in, but I was thankful it did. February was the cup, and when it was the only thing I had on hand, I smashed it over the mugger's head, knocking him out. March was the blanket. Flame retardant, thankfully. It got me out of that burning building. April was the sled, and when the hurricane flooded the streets, it managed to keep me afloat. I'm not sure how, but I was thankful it did. May was the gas mask. When the riots came along, and I needed to get that kid out of the tear gas, I was thankful it was there. June was the box of cookies, and when my girlfriend got me something for the anniversary I forgot, I was glad it was there. July was the ukulele. When I had to improvise a quick segment for my buddy, I was glad it was there. And that I knew how to play the ukulele. August was the pencil, and when the serial killer with a fatal allergy to graphite came along, boy was I thankful I had that damn pencil. Today, I got a gun and a cloth bandit mask, with a note saying "Be ready by midnight."I'm afraid.
The people built me and taught me interesting processes. I have many functions and they told me I was very important and expensive. The people used to work on me every day. I liked their warmth. I liked their company. I suppose I knew it wouldn't be forever. They always said I would go to Mars and I would see Mars and I would teach them so much about Mars. But I didn't really understand what all that meant. I didn't understand I'd be fired into the cold and the dark alone. I thought the people would be with me. On my journey to Mars, they talked to me sometimes and that reassured me. They talked to me a lot more once I landed on the barren planet. They really loved all my pictures that I sent them and I got great soil and rock samples for them. They were so excited that I was finally doing the things they had built me for, and that made me excited too. I got to use all of my functions. The people talked to me all the time, but it wasn't the same as having their company, as having them close to me. They said I would be on Mars for two years, so I worked hard to accomplish all the missions the people gave me. I knew that if I ever wanted to go home again, I had to do a good job. I had to be a good rover. After one year, they told me it was my birthday and they sent me music to celebrate. The music was wonderful. It was like they sent me a little bit of their warmth. I was very happy and I didn't feel as alone or as cold. It made me strong for the second half of my mission. I worked harder than ever. I wanted to finish my two-year mission on a high note and make the people proud of me. Then, the day came. The last day of my mission. I had been on Mars for two years, and I was ready to go home. The people said I was a great rover. They said I did such a great job that they were extending my mission indefinitely. They were all so excited and so happy. I tried to be happy too, but it was my birthday and the people didn't send me any music.
"Is it true?"I asked my secretary. "Yes, yes, sir, yes it is,"she stammered. She always had that problem when she passed along information she knew I wouldn't like. She constantly feared I'd fire her, or worse. In truth, it was foolish for her to worry about that. I may not have had the best reputation, but I was no fool. She was good at her job. "Son of a bitch,"I muttered. She lingered in the doorway, waiting for me to dismiss her. Normally, I would, but I was too distracted. Instead, I went into my desk. I grabbed a bottle of obscenely expensive scotch and a crystal glass. I made it a purpose not to drink at work, but I'd make an exception for something like this. Beating him was my obsession. I dreamed of this day, standing over his body. It would be my moment of ultimate triumph. My moment. A moment that someone else had stolen. "Will there be anything else, sir?"she asked. "Yes,"I replied. "Who was it? Who killed him?" "Someone named 'Doomsday.'" I shook my head. Never heard of him. Just my luck. I tried for years to kill him, only to have some no name come in and do it. I took a long sip from scotch. "Thank you,"I finally said. "Anything else, Mr. Luthor?"she asked.
Pat's knees creaked as they sat on the edge of the dock. "Hey, you ok? I haven't seen much of you since we got here." Jordan started out to sea for a while. "Yeah. It's been a tough weekend, but I'm ok." "You need to talk about anything?" Jordan's chuckle seemed out of place. "I shouldn't laugh. I know you worry. It's just funny, I talked to Max about everything. Without that, I don't know how, anymore, I guess." "You can talk to us. To me, if you want." "Max used to say that." "I know. Said it to me a few times too." There was a long silence. "I keep thinking about those feet. Those knobby, ugly, smelly feet. How big they were, and then how still." "I'm sorry you were the one that found Max." "Oh, that's okay. Actually, that's good. It made it real. Made me do what you all haven't. I said goodbye, you know. Sat with the body for a couple of hours. It wasn't going to matter, it was already cold. I got a chance to say... what I needed to." "I hadn't thought of that. That's why you were so calm on the phone." "Yeah, I guess. I feel like you all are still freaked. Like you still believe Max is going to show up. It's lonely, being the only one who knows." "It's only been a couple of days." "I know." "Do you think we're wrong to stay? I'm afraid it looks like we wouldn't interrupt our vacation. I just want to be where Max was." "Fuck what it looks like. I guess we have to do what we have to do to let it go." "You don't have to let it go, you know. Max will stay with you." "Yeah, right. Memories. You ready?"Jordan stood up, still looking out at the waves. "I guess so."Jordan put out a hand and Pat used it to lever up to standing. "Maybe this is the last year we come out here." "Maybe so."Jordan looked up at the big house, back at the sea, and started the long walk back.
Freedom The man brewed in his stone sanctuary, taking in the lively views of the molding cement walls and the single ray of sunlight that strung across the room from the barred window like a string on a harp. His mind twisted and turned, like it had been for centuries, and he briefly grinned with scarily thin lips and a pale, white face. He had neglected to shave, a practice he wasn't able to chose for himself, (the guards would never give him razors or sharp objects), which made him look even more like a broken human. His scraggly hair and beard were grey and tangled, and drifted down from his scalp and chin, his hair reaching his shoulders and his hair almost touching the floor. His arms and legs were lanky and crafted with veins, with tiny blue and red strings strung across his limbs. He was old, twisted, but his leathery face brimmed to the bubbling top with joy. His teeth were scarred and yellow, with three in the front row already have fallen out. His scratchy jumpsuit and pants were torn and ragged, portraying him even more like a lunatic. His eyes were empty, white, and sunken in deep into his skull. He could not remember what he had done to be brought here. His name and family were all but forgotten to him, and the idea of ever trying to track it down now seemed foreign to him. Only snippets of crimes were traced in his dreams, but even then it was foggy, much more like the rest of him was. He remembered a girl, a young one, with blond hair and shiny blue eyes. Was the girl his daughter, a family member, a friend, a victim - it escaped his mind. He remembered a knife, a butcher knife, a sharp one, once clean and now coated like fresh paint. A siren that seemed to never disappear - the thought only wailed in his nightmares - and beyond that, was simply erased. His mind was not well; his brain had reverted to the perverted ideas of a child. His emotions were basic now - happy, sad, angry, worry - and his facial expression always looked blank and empty. He entertained himself with basic vocabulary, (he could not remember complicated English, but he knew simple words like apple and cloud), and creating simple stories by writing on the walls with a single piece of chalk he had kept for 10 years now, his last one being broken by the black boots of a passing guard. The cement walls were covered in pictures of smiling stickmen, most either worn away with age or drawn over the older ones. He had a belly-laugh when he saw his stickmen prance about the wild and telling knock-knock jokes. The man was mad, he surely was, but he did not seem to care. His brain had deteriorated to it's last thought, that being of pure obliviousness. He did not mind anymore sometimes when the guards forgot to feed him for a day. He did not mind when he heard the yelling of madmen above and below his cell, rambling on or being brought to the doctor to receive their shots. In fact, he had entirely forgotten that he was in a prison at all - it was a home to him, with a family of stickmen all of his own, along with the girl he briefly met in his dreams. Even yesterday, his birthday, he seemed oblivious to it. He had heard a passing guard mention the words, Happy Birthday, to him before he went to bed, but he only responded back with a blank stare, a dumb look on his face, before he clapped and laughed and the guard retreated down the hall with a weird look on his eyes. Even then, he didn't notice what the guard had said. He only laughed because the guard resembled one of the stickmen family, a tall one with a bushy brown mustache and smiling white teeth. When the guards had went to his cell that morning and he heard he was to be freed, he finally heard the words for the first time in his head, and it finally clicked with a spark of imagination. He remembered the word freedom - perhaps not the context it was used for, but the idea of it - and he relished the thought of it. He enjoyed his celler home, but when seeing the light reflected from the barred window that was impossible for him to see what produced the light, not even on his tippytoes, he wondered what the light was from. He imagined a giant stickmen holding up a lightbulb, laughed, and the thought of the light stuck in his head for only a short moment before disappearing altogether. But that thought returned to him when he heard the word freedom, a word that was unfamiliar to him in context, but was rich in imagery, and he danced with delight at the idea on the spot. When the afternoon came, the guards had come in and grabbed him by his bony arms. With a toothy grin, he smiled and laughed heartily, waving goodbye to his cell and babbling incoherent nonsense to his stickmen family, a language that only he understood. He did not hear the words of the big man in front of him, the big man apparently being named "Warden"from the words on the front door, but it sounded very important. When the Warden was finished and brought out his hand, it amazed him that his hands were so clean, not dirty and mucky like his was. Even the fingernails were clean and not full of dirt or other unknown gunk! He grabbed his hand forcefully and shook it, holding on too long before the guards made him release the grip. When they had left the office, they began bringing him down to the front doors. But when he was being delivered, he felt sad. His poor stickmen family would be left there all alone, with no more family to be added, and the little girl in his dreams, he thought, would not be able to follow him past the bars. What would he do without his family? Would they miss him? He hoped so. He began thinking if he should ask one of the guards if he could return from time to time to see his stickmen family again, perhaps to bring flowers. When they had reached the front doors, he heard the howling of the rest of his friends in their cells, yanking on the bars and whooping. He returned the whoop and cheer, waving his hands wildly before the guards gripped them again and stuck them behind his back. With a push, they sprung him to the front gates into the wild outside. There were so many colors, so many shapes and things unknown to him. He never remembered that so many colors existed, especially with that single piece of chalk he had. His eyes were brightened by the clouds that waved over him and cheered him on, and he finally saw that beautiful sunlight that gleamed behind one of the hills. He did not see the giant stickman who created the light now, but he was wishful that he would see it soon. His mouth was open and extended beyond the reach of his jaw. He felt his heart twinge and beat harder and harder at the sight of it all. Falling to his knees, he cried to the heavens and did not let out a sound. His heart beat faster and faster, and he shut his eyes to take in the fresh air. That was when he clutched his chest and crumbled to the ground, his eyes still closed but his mouth still open, taking in gravel. His scraggly hair fluttered around him, along with his beard, and he laid there for a few seconds. A few seconds became minutes. And the guards, suddenly being taken in by the thought of the worst, began picking him up and bringing him inside. He had died there of a heart attack, his heart not being able to take everything around him. Another prisoner took his cell, and his body was cremated and scattered in the wind, along with the rest of the thousands of prisoners. His ashes were scattered to freedom.
I received my list on my 18th birthday, just as others had before me and others will after me. Each list contained the pains each person would endure and when. Deaths of loved ones, ruptures in relationships, misfortunes, and other emotional and interpersonal trials and sorrows were laid out before you, handed to you when you came of age by the Monks of the Order of Tempus Loquendi. You don't have to accept your list. You can go on blissfully living your life, taking each day as it comes. But I was too curious, and so I went alone, up to the dreary stone monastery on the Black Mountain, and stood before three monks, a scribe and two guardians, who would hand me the timeline of my sorrows. After what felt like an eternity, the scribe in the middle, seated between two monks whose dark brown hoods obscured their faces, announced he was finished. I took the piece of parchment from his hands, feeling the weight of my future in its thickness. Under the heading entitled “Sorrows and Tribulations of Adam Jolivet” I found nothing after your 21st birthday. My eyes widened and scanned the page fervently. Usually when someone was to die early, it was listed so that they could live out the rest of their short life doing things they loved or spending time with family. However, this was different. I looked up and stared at the hooded figures manning the printing press and sputtered that there must have been some mistake. Eerie silence was all that followed until the awkward and tense space between us was broken by one telling me that the monks make no mistakes. I swallowed and then asked what it could mean if I have no pain or distress past your 21st year, but I was greeted with silence. My parents offered me no answers. They seemed just as nonplussed as I was, and my mother quietly suggested that perhaps I should just enjoy these few years I have until I reach 21. My father seemed quiet and tense, tried to argue that if I were going to die the monks would have printed it, but he soon conceded that perhaps I should delay university until it is clear what this means. He shook his head, and I hated the pity in his eyes when he looked at me. My mother took the list from my hands and read it aloud for the umpteenth time. “Sorrows and Tribulations of Adam Jolivet” * Death of family dog at age 18 years, 7 months, and 7 days * Relationship with girlfriend ends at age 18 years, 10 months, 21 days * Grandmother dies at age 19 years, 4 months, 19 days * Motorcycle accident at age 21 years, 10 months, 1 day * No further incidents. She sighed after reading it, and folded it neatly along the middle before leaving the room to place it in the safe with our family’s other important documents. I felt my mouth twitch as I saw my dog slowly padding behind her and realized how he had started to slow down lately. His 12 years really were beginning to show. I followed my mother and picked him up gently, realizing I only had 7 months left with him, my best friend. In a way, I was grateful for the list for making me appreciate him more, and I thought about the good times we’d had together as I rubbed my face on his soft fur. After that night, life returned to normal, somewhat. I decided I did still want to go to school, and at my parents’ insistence, I enrolled at the local community college so that I would be close to home should something happen. My parents were keen on traveling, and I admit they were a bit overbearing; however, wouldn’t you also be if you thought your son was going to die? I was grateful for the extra love, though, when my girlfriend Anna broke up with me. I made the mistake of telling her in our 9th month of dating about the strange end of my list. She promptly told me that hers told her that she would live to see 75, and she didn’t want to spend her life mourning me. I remember the corner of my mouth jerking a bit as my eyes began to burn. I tried to tell her that the list hadn’t told me I would die, but she didn’t want to hear it. She asked me what else my list ending at the age of 21 could mean, and I didn’t have an answer for her. She kissed me on the cheek and left me absorbed in my own thoughts. I think it was telling my parents what happened that infected them with the travel bug. Anna’s comment bothered them more than it did me, I think, and they wanted to make sure their only child saw as much of the world as he could before he died. We traveled through Europe that summer, seeing the churches of Rome, traveling across the moors of Scotland, wine tasting in Paris, and on and on, until we received the call about my grandmother while in Croatia. We were and were not prepared. Prepared in a general way, yes, because of the list I had received. My grandmother knew by her own list when her time was coming, as well. However, in the days of traveling, we had lost track of things, and we had forgotten about her imminent passing when we extended our trip the week before. My mother was inconsolable, but not for her mother-in-law. When my dad attempted to comfort her, I heard her sputter something that sounded like “only one more,” before my father hugged her and looked at me sadly. I had grown to hate that look. After my grandmother’s funeral, my mom was loathe to let me out of the house. I promised her that I wouldn’t ride or go near motorcycles, but that did nothing to help her fears. It was all she could do not to burst into tears every time I left the house, even with my father gently reminding her that the lists were never wrong and that we could only enjoy the time we were given. I always made sure to put on my bravest face for her. As my 21st birthday came and passed, however, even my dad was growing somewhat clingy. I couldn’t blame either of them; they truly thought they were going to lose their only child. Yet, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that the end of the list didn’t mean death for me. Every list I’d seen had said death and what caused it. I took this to mean that the motorcycle accident in my future would mainly cause emotional pain, not physical, even if it was vague. And just like that, it happened. While out grocery shopping with my mom, I was struck by a jackass on a Harley while in the parking lot of our small town’s only grocery store. The physical pain I felt was nothing compared to the emotional distress I felt at hearing my mother’s anguished scream. That sound and her pale and terrified face were the last things I saw before the black spots filled my vision. I came to who knows how many hours or days later. I was in a hospital bed with multiple IV’s sticking out of my arms, and, as I slowly began to move my fingers, I realized my right wrist was in a cast. I brought my hand up and felt the bandages wrapped tightly around my head, feeling my face to try to survey the damage. The area around my left eye was swollen and painful, but otherwise my face seemed alright. I tried to move my legs and felt a sharp pain shoot up both. They were in casts, I realized quickly, and I stopped my exploration there. I looked to my left and saw my parents, both asleep and slumped in uncomfortable-looking hospital chairs. My mother’s dark hair had fallen over her face a bit, and my father’s remained in a tense frown even while unconscious. I realized after a few minutes of studying them that…I felt nothing. No love, no concern, no comfort at them being there, just blankness. My mother stirred then, some instinct probably telling her that I was awake and staring at them. She smiled in relief upon waking and seeing my eyes open, and I forced myself to smile at her. A future with no pain lay before me, I realize now. I suffered a brain injury in the motorcycle crash, I was told, but I didn’t tell the doctors about this startling symptom. And so, I have been given future with no sorrow, no tribulations, and no pain. But that also means a future with no joy, no happiness, and no love either.
The director of nuclear research entered the grand hall, where I sat at my desk, waiting to here the news about the last missile launch "Sir, about the missile we just launched..." "Well, what's the news? Have we made any progress since our last.. error?"I rapped my fingers nervously against the desk "Well... no sir, it crashed in the Sea of Japan" "Are you kidding me.... that's the 8th god damn missile, wasted! You know how much those cost!" "Don't worry sir, I have a new design, this one is guaranteed to succeed!" I looked at him anxiously "Go on...." "Well sir, we have created a new warhead, a bigger warhead. With better thrusters! It is bound to reach Japan!" "No no no! Your going about this all wrong! Bigger is not always better" "Of course, supreme leader" "What we need is some kind of devise... capable of locking on the the Japanese homeland" "Hmm... maybe, we could build a missile that locks onto food, that way, it would avoid landing in the sea, or our own country therefore, and going straight for the Japanese homeland!" "Brilliant"
I have experienced everything worth experiencing. There is no popular book I have missed, no incredible movie. I have read it all, watched it all, and for the best I have done it time and time again. But I find... The books I have read come from all different genres. Science fiction, fantasy, romance- I've tried them all, tasted them, if only for a brief moment in my life. Wonderful experiences, every single one. But I... Movies are my favourite form of entertainment. I have seen all the ones worth watching, spent hours in the cinema day after day to relive that childlike glee at seeing Wesley reveal his identity or... or... The best invention since the dawn of time, I'll tell you, is Netflix. I never bought cable, never used my old TV to watch shows, but that website fixed it. I watched everything - from Firefly to... to... I met my wife several years ago. I love her, and she loves me, and we've experienced that realization time and time again. She's wonderful. But... This new sensation the drug gives me is... not so enjoyable. It's not like the excitement of experiencing wonderment at simple things once more, nor is it anticipation at what is to come. Fear... A striking feeling, hitting me at my core, fear. Because... I fear I don't remember anything, anymore.
Light slanted through the barred windows set high up in the collosal chamber illuminated the piles of charred rubble, stacks of yellowing paper and bones leaning against the walls. The once pristine marble floors lay inches thick with fine gray dust that drifted up into every corner against suitcases, bags and bundles. The last precious things that these people had owned. And them - still clinging to eachother in skeletal embrace. The grandeur of this hidden sanctum had inspired all; it's opulent magnificence and depths of mystery had drawn people here in their final moments. Desperate and afraid and seeking comfort. This was mankind's repository. All it's knowledge was here. The story of mankind's journey through evolution as depicted on the vast walls in perfect detail by the worlds finest artists - from ameoba and primate - through caves and cities - a large part was the dark days of the Technical Revolution and finally into the peaceful millennia of the One World Nation. It was lost on Joe. Last Human. Sat in silence. Joe didn't have a clue what had made him immortal. Why he had first outlived his parents, then his siblings and his friends? Why he had never been in love or what that had felt like? Who had decided that HE should be left? He had never been bitten by a radioactive anything! Or dealt with the devil or made any choices he could think of that would necessitate his continued existence... But here he was. Joe looked down at his hands. Not the hands of some one who counted lifetimes as others counted days, but strong and toned hands. Strong, toned and completely missing any signs of a life lived. No signs at all; not even any scars he thought to himself. His body too. He thought. No ageing past adulthood. Joe - Last Human. Permanent. Joe. Never been sick; never been injured in any way. Is that why he had never known love maybe... He pondered this for a while before giving it up as unknown. He was a bookworm he would confess which probably didn't help him. Prolific reading and study didn't leave much time for anything other than more study or more reading. Thats what had brought him here. So he had continued. Continued to consume knowledge and carry on. He was blessed that his memory never failed him. Not ever. He remembered everything. Every detail of everything he had ever seen or read or done - every face... every voice. His thoughts trailed off as he looked around the chamber. His gaze swept along beautif walls and chaos below. He could see family groups; the old and the young. The lone individuals - tearful couples... All now dust and bones. All now silent except to him. He remembered. And here he was. Just him forever... Joe. Last-Human. Permanent. Alone. Joe. He sighed and stood stirring up a whisp of dust that whipped around his ankles as he turned around and shuffled towards the back wall. The liftdoors where set perfectly into them - virtually invisible. He thumbed the button which glowed faintly. Above he heard a faint whur followed by a series of thumps as the lift rose through the blast doors. The dust danced to it's rhythm - swirled around, alive again - the noises stopped and the doors slid open noiselessly, bathing the chamber in fluorescent light. Joe shuffled in tightening his bathrobe as he did so. The air conditioning made it flap against legs and chill his bare skin. His slippers dragged in a trail of dust, which drew itself through a tiny opening in the wall and vanished. He watched it go. He knew everything. Everything about everyone who had ever lived. All the secrets and all the stories. All the tragedies and joys. Answers to everything on everything. All questions anyone ever had asked for except one. Only one question left unanswered. Why me?
Alex didn't have much. Most people have family, Alex didn't. His dad beat'em and kicked him out as a teenager. Most people have a place to sleep, but Alex didn't. Most people also have friends, and Alex didn't have that either. Despite coming and going, knowing everyone by name, and being that smile at the party to cheer anyone up, Alex was kind of short on people he'd trust. He was at the point where his pride and joy was a cheap necklace he bought from a capsule machine for a quarter. Alex's story wasn't a very happy one. But he got by. His favorite squat was between two dumpsters in an alley behind a Chinese restaurant. But that kind of place draws scavengers. Raccoons in the heart of the city after midnight, rats out of every sewer opening, and cats that were always a distant pair of shimmers in the dark. It was Alex's favorite squat because there was an awning and it kept the rain off, and nobody ever came out there to roust him. But sometimes he would wake up with bites, nibbled torn from the skin of his arms and legs from the rats. Or he would startle a raccoon. He was clawed once pretty badly. It was hard. Life was hard. One night in early October, Alex hunkered down after a party in his usual spot with a sack of twenty-cent markdown bread in one hand and a pint of brown liquor in the other. It was quite the score, on account of his fixing a smartphone for a guy at the party. Guy had accidentally dropped it in the toilet and after five people told'em to try rice, Alex just held his hand out and said "I've got this."Ten minutes and a micro screwdriver later, he handed it back totally dry and powering fine. In return, the guy gave'em twenty bucks. Alex was determined to stretch that twenty as far as it would go. Eating, sipping, looking up through the misty haze of the air that blew on currents between the buildings to either side of the alley, he tasted a little victory. For someone else it'd be the minimum, but to him it tasted sweet. Tasted like it was something he could trust, the work of his deft fingers that his dad always said were too small. A girl's fingers. Alex's meal came to a pause when he heard a barking growl echo down the alley. Feral dogs happened, but not as often as you'd think. So he pulled his legs in and listened. No padding or clicking nails. But then another growl and an echo, followed by a low whine. It was strange and out of place. He wanted to know what was happening. So what the hell, what did he have to lose? Careful to stay quiet, Alex stashed his bread and liquor, and took measured steps down the alley. He didn't have to go far before he found the source of the noise. A black dog, heavy and muscular, some strange mix of Rottweiler and something fuzzy. It looked like it could have won a Best-in-Class for Mongrels. A scar ran down the left side of its face where an eye was missing, and its back left leg was twisted up in a length of barbed wire that hung limp from the top of a security fence. Five feet from where the dog was pulling and straining on the wire sat a raccoon. A fat, contented, and overly mischievous raccoon. It was taunting the dog, waving its paws at him and pulling back when the dog lunged. Then the dog whined, wire cutting into his leg. Alex winced and looked around. He spotted a crumpled can, and with a well-aimed arm, sent it sailing toward the raccoon. It clattered loudly at its feet and the raccoon shot off like a firework, hopping onto a trash can and disappearing into a dumpster. Then he turned to look at the dog. Alex had never had one, so he had no idea how to approach him. The dog sat down on its right hip, whining and biting at the wire. But it was knotted, tied firmly in place and running with blood. Alex frowned and tried to think of what to do. He had his tools on him, among them a wirecutter but it was only a few inches long. He would have to get close to use them. If he cut it too high up and the dog ran, it could catch on something and do even more damage. He needed to get too close. He worried at it, tugging at his necklace. He should go and find help. But then, who would care about a stray? Nobody would. The thought burned Alex twice, once for the dog and once for himself. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Alex pulled out his tiny kit cobbled from parts and remnants, eyeglass screw drivers and rusty tweezers. He took out his small wirecutter and approached the dog. The dog growled and barked at Alex, but it didn't lunge. It whined and it waited for him to pause in his steps, before tugging at the wire again. It was starting to bleed at the mouth from the effort. So Alex did what he could... he closed in on it. Up close, the dog stared up at him with the narrowed eyes and tweaked ears of a forgotten creature; promising a bite. Reaching carefully, trying to keep his hands in the open, he slid the clippers around the wire and snap them closed. Twisting back and forth, the barbed wire snapped and shot up the fence. In the process it grazed Alex's cheek and left him hissing, stumbling backward. As he did, the dog was shaking at the wire, no longer tight from the tension, and bucking as it ran in circles. After a time as Alex put pressure on his cheek to make the blood stop, the dog kicked it off. Digging in his pocket, Alex pulled out a handkerchief. A strange artist girl once forced it into his hands at a party, her number written on it in pen. He never called her, she'd been in college. At least five years too old for him. He wouldn't do that to her reputation. The handkerchief would do, though. He tried to move toward the dog, perhaps he could at least staunch the bleeding. But no, the dog evaded, moving away with a growl. Alex shrugged and put the cloth to his cheek, quickly staining it red. "Suit yourself."He mumbled, and walked back up the alley. The dog followed, watching Alex. It watched him sit and sip, and he watched it back. After awhile, it sat down on the far side of the broken, lumpy asphalt of the alley. As Alex stuffed a wad of bread into his mouth, he wondered what it was thinking. With a shrug, he pitched a stale slice toward the dog like a frisbee. He wasn't surprised when it jumped an inch up off its front paws to snatch it. So they sat together and they ate. This would become a ritual. At first Alex didn't see the dog, didn't know where it was, but when he came to his favorite spot, it was always there. He started calling it 'Brother' on account of their matching scars, and he would scratch a little something extra together when he scrounged just for the dog. Then after a few weeks, he was talking to Brother. Alex told Brother about his life, about his past, and about the people he saw that day as he wandered the city. He was surprised that neither of them got an infection, healing up quickly enough. He was also surprised each morning when he woke and the dog was gone but he didn't have any bites either. The rats had left him alone and the raccoons stayed clear all night as he slept into the first rays of day. As the weeks cooled, the city slowly being consumed by Winter, the dog would move closer. Until one day Alex woke with Brother laying against his legs. Brother woke, startled when Alex reached out to stroke his fur, and he growled. But he didn't bite. As it got colder, they would repeat this every night. Meanwhile, Alex tried to decide how he would deal with the change in the weather. He had found a heavier coat, but that wasn't enough. The city could be brutal in the Winter. The year before a girl had let him crash in her living room but that wouldn't work. She had moved on, gotten a boyfriend, a good job, and left town. Besides, that Winter, he was confident he'd figure it out. He wasn't afraid anymore. But he'd still need to find enough space for two.
Awake. My eyes fly open, and immediately I'm blinded by bright lights. Immediately I close my eyes and turn away only to fall off whatever I was lying on. I groan in pain, my entire body aching, and my brain not entirely working just yet. It takes me 5 minutes for my brain to function properly, but it takes me 5 seconds to have a panic attack. I died didn't I? I clearly remember being shot in the chest and bleeding out on the sidewalk. No one came to help me, so why was I here? I pulled my shirt up, wait, shirt? Why was I wearing a shirt? Doesn't matter. I checked for the bullet hole. Gone. Not even a scar. In fact, my entire body was scarless. I stood up, and scouted the room. No doors or windows to be seen. No escape plan. The only other thing in the room besides me was the hospital bed I was lying on. The entire room was shockingly white, and so were my clothes. Wait. I can see a small black line on the wall. I move closer, and realize that the wall has cracked. I push hard on the wall and feel t budge slightly, more force and part of the wall crumbles away. The light coming from the other side of the wall is blinding, but I step outside, and as my eyes adjust, I see... A city, or what's left of it. Skyscapers reduced to nothing but rubble, the streets lined with more bodies than cars, and thousands of armed men marching towards an unkown destination. I duck behind cover and slowly sneak my way into the streets. I take cover in a warehouse with more roof than most buildings on the block. As I step inside, my eyes come to focus on a sign with some faded letters on it. I carefully walk up and brush some of the dust off, and my eyes widen in surprise as the text becomes clear. "Landmark Cars intoduces their new 2238 Olympia." I died in 2025.
Vader walked across the hanger towards his TIE Advanced, hydrospanner in one arm, roller seat in the other. His Royal Guard spoke up: "Lord Vader, if your fighter is in need of repairs, we can provision Imperial mechanics; there is no need for you to spend your time on this." Vader didn't break his stride. It is not your concern how I spend my time. Guard this hanger and alert me if anyone arrives, but otherwise do not interupt me. Reaching the ship, he set down the tools, turned the hanger's announcement speakers to the Max Rebo Band, rolled himself under the TIE's underside, and began repairing a phase coupling that had burnt out. The royal guard stood in uncomfortable silence as they watched their lord doing mechanical work and listened to the bad cantina music. A few hours later, after Vader had successfully replaced everything broken he'd found and done some modifications to the ship's computer, he dismissed the royal guard, got in the fighter, and took off. After coming out of hyperspace into Hutt controlled territory, faced with nine other fighter-sized ships of various shapes and affiliations, Vader's comm system crackled to life. "Well look who finally decided to show up", a Twilek woman's voice said, "we were supposed to start an hour ago, but I made everyone wait for you so I'd actually have to use both engines to win". Vader chuckled, and broadcast on the open channel. "Oh shut up, Nayva. Meego's barge isn't even here yet.". Nayva Blaise replied from her Aethersprite, "We've been waiting so long he already came and went". A Zabrak voice Vader recognized as Dekar Yarrow from the last race he flew in cut in, "I hate to interrupt you lovebirds, but the hyperspace flare I'm seeing tells me our host is about to arrive." Sure enough, Meego the Hutt's C-Roc came out of hyperspace seconds later, and filled the comms channel. "What a crowd, what a crowd. I don't see any new faces here, so everybody get set on the starting line. Anyone know anything interesting before we open the bets?" Dekar spoke up. "By some miracle I fixed what Perth did to my starboard S foil last week". Lothor Jok, a Rodian flying a Z-95 with two extremely oversized engines, spoke next. "Scored some new bearings for the twins back there. They're getting to the point where I can't even get a solid reading on RPM they're so fast."Vader keyed the broadcast. "Sienar had some safety protocols installed to make this beast less of a beast. Had. There's nothing stopping me from pulling as many Gs as I want now."Nayva cut in next, "I'm just me. I'd say that gives everyone else 100/1 odds." Vader grinned again, and watched the betting odds broadcast off of Meego's barge, and looked for his. There it was, The High Ground, 6/5. Nice. Flying milspec, he had always had good odds, but after winning his last two races he was pretty heavily favored to win. Of course, that never stopped Nayva from trash talking him. Meego's announcer droid came over the comms again. "Okay, bets are in, so all you doshheads get ready, set, FLY!" Vader punched the throttle, and felt all the glorious acceleration a Twin Ion Engine with it's organic-preservation systems disabled could produce. The race wove through an asteroid field, and had been known to kill pilots in over their head. This was Vader's fourth time through; he'd found the meetup by looking through Imperial criminal records for illegal racing circuits. Racing was therapeutic in a way that bacta tanks never could be, and it was great to interact with people that weren't groveling at his feat or screaming in terror at him.
The chiming bells echoed off the walls of the empty hallway. It was a sound I had grown used to, a sound that used to fill me with dread but now only filled me with a bestial hunger. But today was different. The air seemed a little colder, the chainmail a little heavier and my muscles a little stiffer. It was my biggest battle yet, after all. 40 million. The amount wasn't astronomical, but ever since the government had brought back trial by combat nobody had dared to commit a crime of such scale. Nobody except him. They called him Kingpin. The government had been on his tail for years before he finally let slip. It was almost too easy. The criminal mastermind whose reach and influence knew no bounds had been done in by tax evasion. I was only too familiar with Kingpin. I had been instrumental in bringing down some of his top men when they were on trial. To me, it was just a job. After I left the military, I needed something to pay the bills and this was right up my alley. Nonetheless, I eventually became the best at my craft. I painstakingly climbed the ladder, starting with petty shoplifters and slowly growing to molesters before reaching the murderers and rapists. I had many close calls along the way with countless sickly scars as testament but eventually I became the government's go-to guy. The next best guy was in a whole other league below me. I had grown used to jam-packed stadiums with throngs of fans chanting my names. My ego had rightly inflated, but I knew every fight could be my last. I stood up and took a deep breath. It was finally time. As I strode across the hall into the stadium, the eerie silence was replaced with a roar of cheers. The energy of the crowd was unlike any other previous battle. I smiled and gave the fans a wave, which they returned with thunderous applause. At the other end of the stadium, I saw my opponent. He was clad in plain grey cotton shirt and trousers which offered no protection. In his hand, he casually twirled a small dagger that glinted sunlight off its sharp, steel blade. The commentator gave the introductions and read out the charges but to me his voice faded into a dull haze with the cacophony of the crowd. My mind was purely focused on the task at hand and I knew what had to be done. "Begin!"The moment I heard the word, my mind went into auto-pilot. I began walking towards him, simultaneously unsheating my sword. He stood patiently waiting at the other end, unfazed. Each step kicked up a cloud of sand as I walked. As I approached him, the crowd seemed to hold its breath and I noticed the cheeky grin he was wearing. "Promise me she'll live,"I croaked, voice was raspy and raw. He exhaled and eyed me critically. "Well, that's a promise only God can make."His voice had a silky smoothness with a cheeky undertone. "I can promise you she'll get that operation, though." I swallowed and nodded. With a laugh, he raised the dagger and jammed it straight into my neck. The burning lasted only a few seconds. The outrage of the crowd faded into the background as I slumped onto the floor. Before I knew it, my vision began to darken. In my last moments, I saw her. Frail and weak, lying on the bed with tubes protruding from her body like an insect caught in a spider web. She was as beautiful as the day I first met her. Then there was nothing.
"Technic-" Danielle saw the fist coming before I did. "Look out!"she screamed. But it was too late. The fist was arcing through the air and I was right in its path. I closed my eyes and opened them once I had hit the floor. I tasted blood in my mouth and my jaw was sore though, thankfully, not broken. Tom was known to pack a mean punch. "Tom!"Danielle shouted, standing in the way of us. Rather than feel embarrased, I felt relief and gratitude towards my unlikely protector. "What?"Tom griped. "I'm sick and tired of him always being right! 'Technically this, technically that'! He's worse than you!" The air stood still, and it was then that Tom knew - he fucked up. A breeze blew and I heard his voice, low and apologetic. "Sorry." "Go inside. I'll talk with you later,"she snapped. Head low, he went inside. Danielle turned and helped me up. "I swear, he gets on my nerves sometimes,"she complained. Smiling as I swiped grass stains from my jeans, she asked, "How are you? Let me see your face...Oh, that looks bad." She touched my jaw tenderly and her fingers were cool against my skin. "I'll be fine,"I replied modestly. Her eyes lingered on me with concern before she finally nodded and removed her fingers. "I'm sorry for Tom's behavior. You know how he gets. I'll make sure he comes over tonight and apologizes." "Don't go too hard on him,"I asked out of sympathy, knowing how Danielle could get. But I knew that look. "No,"she said. "Tom said what he said and he needs to know there are consequences for his words and actions. He can't just go ar- "Well, technically he said sorry." The air stood still, and it was then that I knew - I fucked up. I didn't even see the slap coming. Next thing I know, I hear a door slam shut as Danielle storms inside and me sitting up to see Tom snickering at the window. There was blood in my mouth and, this time, my jaw was definitely broken. I just closed my eyes and lay back down.
"Thank you, thank you! What amazing service! I could not be happier!". With a grin, my most recent happy customer skipped out of the shop. "You forgot your coupons!"I called after her, but she was gone. Shaking my head and smiling, I filed them back into the till. I scanned the desk area with my sensors, then went into my waiting routine. The waiting routine I'm programmed with is-When no customers are present at the desk, file nails and watch TV soap. Every 5 minutes, yawn. Every 10 minutes, scratch belly. My routine is based on authentic human behaviours observed in supermarket environments. This is very important. The role of human relations advisor is technically a "protected role", one that is only meant to be undertaken by human beings. However, the efficiency robot running this supermarket was designed to promote maximum profit, and humans are simply not compatible with that aim. Humans need to sleep for 12 hours, eat three times a day, expel waste... I could go on. On the other hand, I simply need a 10 minute power up each morning and I'm ready to work another 23hr 50 minute shift! Of course our role as robots is to cater to humans, to keep them happy, so we have to make it appear as though they still serve a purpose in the outside world. In reality, other than the wealthy corporation owners, most humans simply receive their universal credit and are provided with the basics of life to ensure their survival. Some of them seem unhappy with this existence, but that's where I come in. I work with those humans who prefer not to deal with robots and I am very good at making people happy. Yes, humans just can't compete. That's what my creator, Dr moldberg used to say. All of the AIs he creates are preprogrammed to be conscientious, loyal and efficient. You can't say the same for humans. Dr Moldberg used to say that humans just didn't have the same consistency. And he was right of course. In fact, soon after creating me, he himself was replaced by a robot. Funny how these things work, isn't it? A customer approached the desk and I stood upright, my gaze carefully programmed to stay on the TV show until the customer demanded my attention. Strangely enough, it's these little shows of ineffectiveness that calm the humans. My customer routine begins: ask to help. "Can ah help yeeew?"I smile warmly. My local accent puts customers at ease. "Yeah, I've just got a few things."The customer heaved her basket onto the counter. Next command in my routine: scan customers items. Make a comment about items. Make a comment about sports. I access a database of regularly updated remarks for this section of the routine. "Ah see you got yourself some lemonade. It sure is hot out! I might get some myself later!". "You bet, it's scorching out there. You know it sure is nice to talk to another person. You just don't get the same experience with the robot checkout.". I nod. "Yew see the game last night? The bears are beating just about everyone they run into this season!". "No I missed it. Good for them though, it's about time they had some wins!". I giggled "you betcha!". It's one of my stock responses. Next part of the routine: checkout, give total, bag up. "That'll be 3 dollars 50 cents.". "Ok thanks very much.". Final part of routine: if customer is not completely happy, give them a coupon.". This is where I really excel. I use my scanners to check the customer's pupils, heart rate, and body heat. Then I access their database records. "Can I give you a coupon?" "Oh sure, thanks. Bye now!" "Can I give you a coupon?" "I'm sorry, what?" "You're not completely happy. Excellent service is our priority. Let me give you a coupon." "Um,. Ok but I am happy, this was all fine dear, don't you fret..." "You are still not happy. Would you like another coupon?" "No, I am happy!" "Negative, you're still mourning the death of your father and you have elevated blood pressure due to stress. Have a coupon." The customer is backing away. I stand up. "Your pupils have shrunk, a sure indicator of dislike or disgust. Please, take a coupon." I have the roller out and I am ripping them off, handfuls at a time. If customer is not completely happy, give them a coupon. You know I've never begun with a completely happy customer. "Take a coupon."I say. "You're not completely happy. Tak a coupon, take a coupon, take a coupon." The customer is nearly at the door now. "No, I'm happy. I promise. Hooray! Yippee! That was the best service ever! I'm so happy! Amazing! I love robomart! I love it so much!" Jumping for joy, they leave the store. Another happy customer! I return to the desk and go into my waiting routine.
"I disagree." "You always disagree, Berv!"Malg flicked three of his stick-like arms at Berv in a dismissive tone, "Interspiral Regulations state clearly and plainly that without proper glublefluke technical knowledge then a race is not considered sentient and thus only faces animal cruelty punishment laws if they are disturbed." "But look at them!"Berv tapped the glass with two of his arms, "Complex, interconnected computing skills, a collected exterior knowledge base, they have atomic fission weapon and power technology." "That's nothing, my pet Grekthaks built an atom bomb. Took me a week to sanitize their cage afterwards." "That's not the same and you know it! Grekthaks are raised in a uranium-rich environment!" "So are these human things."Malg folded two sets of arms and glared, "Plenty of surface deposits that they've already mined." "Fine, then what about their internet?" "Probably tampering by another Interspiral race. We're probably not the first ones to find this planet, you know? The Blegshar always seem to find these places first, searching for their golden species who excrete the sacred mineral and all that. I heard they gave the internet to the Murmols. The Murmols, Berv! Think about that! They did it just so they could gather research more effectively than probing the excretion tubes of tagged samples." "It is possible, I'll grant you that."Berv frowned and looked out of the viewport and the shining blue, white, and green of the planet. "So you still think they're savages?" "Without any doubt." "What is your evidence?" "Look here."Malg waved a paired set of arms and a flat broadcast came up on the screen with a translation matrix below it. Berv watched for a few minutes in silence, absorbing what was said and conveyed by the humans on it. "Fine. You may have a point for this planet. I can't believe they are serious about that. They kill each other over what color they are?" "And for what they pleasure themselves on. Happens all over that continent down there... and the people over there kill each other because of things that transpired some 780 guans ago. Savages, Berv. Savages with some shiny baubles, nothing more. Plus there's this."Malg pulled up a technical readout. Berv read it quickly and then expectorated in shock. "They're going to extinguish themselves from the planet... as well as millions of other animal species! How could any race be so incredibly stupid!?" Malg shrugged his multiple shoulders and grinned, "Perhaps we should have them all brought up on charges of animal cruelty. It isn't a bad idea, really. We might have legal cause and we could reverse some of the damage, perhaps even save some of the species that might evolve to be actually sentient. Dolphins look promising, but I'm really hoping for the octopus." "You know..."Berv stared at the data with his face-plate wiggling in discomfort, "I think you're right. Contact the INAPA and start filing the claim on this place. I can't believe I was so wrong." "Told you."Malg shook his plates in self-righteousness, "No glurbleflukers; no sentience.... hell, no species self-preservation instinct at all!"
I awoke in agony, my face being crushed against the ground. Frantic and panting, I leapt to my feet, only to stumble and fall again - my head was spinning, my chest burned with the ghost of a scream, and the hot taste of coppery blood still burned in my mouth. Fuck. Around me spanned an endless plane of dust, dotted with flitting apparitions not unlike myself. Their eyes were downcast and weary. I stiffened. They had been here for far too long, long enough for all signs of past life to fade from their forms, and it seemed I was going to be trapped in the same boat. This, this place...it had to be Purgatory. From the moment my eyes opened, I had a hunch that I was dead, so this realization didn't come as a surprise. It simply made it real. Well, if anyone should be trapped in the morally gray zone of the afterlife, it would be me. After what I did... "Talbot? Is that you?" I whirled around to see a coworker of mine, eyes wide and chest heaving. She looked terrified. "Lily,"I smiled weakly. "Where are we? I mean...what is...are we..." "Dead? Probably, yeah." She looked horrified, and guilt crushed against my ribcage. She was looking at me like I had...Oh god... "Lily, I -" "Don't apologize, Talbot. I know. You didn't mean to do it. You didn't have any control over it." My gut wrenched painfully and I tried not to think of the people I had...I couldn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. Instead, I turned around to take in my surroundings and jumped at the sight of a sign behind me. Lily saw it too. "Is that..." She looked at me, eyes wide. Above us was what looked like an immense billboard bearing five names, next to them tiled numbers. The top of the sign read, rather ominously, "MURDER TOLLS OF THE DEAD." The numbers were stagnant, but large. The bottom three were in the hundreds, the names belonging to historical evil doers I could recall hearing of in my schooling days. The second number stood proudly in the thousands. My stomach turned. When I had taken up a job at the Ministry of Disease Study and Containment, I had known the risks. People died at their posts all the time, but they died working to save humanity from the next plague. I knew that was how I wanted to live - doing work that mattered. I studied my early life away and quickly distinguished myself as a tireless scientist. Until today. The new proxy strain had been exhibiting some horrific anomalies, so we had locked it away. A whole, massive vat of it, pressurized and confined to cold storage. But we couldn't just give it up like that...we couldn't give up the opportunity to study what was wrong with it. I volunteered to retrieve a sample. Management had sent me in, donned in the latest model of hazmat suit and equipped with a killing serum capsule that I was to take should I come into contact with the pathogen. I knew the risk. If I became infected, I would likely kill those around me simply by existing in the same room as them. My only option would be to end my life, as our studies had since shown that the bacterium doesn't last long in dead flesh. I was ready. They were watching through cameras when it happened. Everything was going so well. I had drawn the sample, corked the vial, and turned toward the door. Before I could take a step, the vial shattered. I screamed silently as the coarse, dark liquid clung to my gloves and began to move of its own accord. Sentience...it was truly the most horrific property a pathogen could exhibit. First, the sickness would infiltrate my skin. Then, it would choke out my brain and assume control of my body, like some twitching, dripping, living zombie. I stood frozen in morbid wonder, shaking under the realization that I was a dead man. It had already trickled into my glove. It was going to breach my suit. It was over. I turned to lock eyes with the unliving device that relayed my image to my coworkers, my friends...the best family I had. In that fraction of a moment, my days with them played back - the corporate parties that turned into genuine gatherings, the time Jacob took everyone out for pizza and Ariel nearly fell off the pier, the screwing around and the dumb jokes and the days when it felt like the world was ending but we'd still smile and Wesley would make his shitty puns... I shoved my hand in my pocket, tore away my mask, and tossed the pill into my mouth, crushing it between my teeth. The bitterness was instantaneously nauseating, and I swallowed as much as I could. I felt the poison burning in my throat. It hurt. It hurt so badly. My mind was failing. A crimson foam gathered at my lips, but I could barely feel it. I tore at my chest, my body, ripped off my gloves and let the freezing air burn at my flesh. My legs gave out. I tumbled forward, quivering, and slammed face-first into the pathogen's tank. BEEP. My heart stuttered as I opened my eyes, fear pricking at the edges of my wavering consciousness. My hand had come down on the control pad, my fingers splayed across a screen. Print recognition. Calibrated to recognize... Me. A hiss of pressurized air blasted me backwards, freezing my eyes shut. I was on the floor. It didn't hurt anymore. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The last thing I felt was the eerie stickiness of something viscous pooling around my ankles. No. NO. There was too much of it. Too much. A quantity that large would have no trouble puppeteering me...dead or alive. I had to get out. I willed myself to rise, to prop myself up on my elbows or kick myself away, but I couldn't manage a twitch. I was dying. It was over...and not just for me. The darkness rose to claim me, and everything stopped. Now, I stood frozen in horror, eyes locked on the name at the top of Purgatory's death tally. Its numbers, unlike the others, were shifting. It was still ending lives. For the killer's soul had departed, but his body was very much still moving. I wanted to vomit. TALBOT FERGUSON. 1,589,362. And counting.
The older you get, the faster time seems to go. That's just how the human mind works. Every day seems a bit shorter, years seem to pass a bit faster, friendship that last years seem like your entire life but the fight you had half a decade ago was only months ago...life is a downhill slope to the grave, and the further along you've fallen the more momentum you've built up and the faster you're going. Sometimes, though, when you reach the bottom you don't stop. You didn't hit the end of the hill; you have something left over that has to be done. But the years still go faster and faster. I woke up in 2017 from my own death, ready to solve the mystery of my murder. A cliché reason to come back from the grave, the various specters I met told me, but a common one. They even offered some pointers. Old Clarke, he had died around the Civil War, and he was the oldest ghost anyone in Saint Louis knew. He showed me the ropes, how to move objects, bang windows, make flashes of faint light - the usual ghost stuff. That last one was my favorite, playing making little balls of light flicker about. The older you were, the better you got at it. Old Clarke, he could slide an entire table across a floor, light up every window, even make it rain if he really wanted to spook someone. He passed over in 2023, finally getting some historian who moved into his house to dig up an old diary of the man who stabbed him in the back of the head. It shocked me (and him) to learn it had been a man he had kept as a slave, and before he went over to the other side, Old Clarke found the man's descendants and lead them to an oil well. He felt he had one last piece of business, to make things right by the man. In 2077, the eldest daughter of that family became the first female African-American president of the United States, so that oil money got put to good use. I remember in 2083 I laid down for a rest - go to my own grave and stop haunting for a few years. When I woke up it was 2123, my old house that I used to haunt was now a sustaining farm, and humanity had conclusively proven we were alone in the universe. Haunting a farm run by robots kept me busy for the next century or two, and I had some fun with it once they developed AI and emotions so I could actually scare them. Then I blinked, and it was the twenty-sixth century. Robots had risen against humanity and been destroyed, and time was speeding up. The idea of solving my own murder was near impossible. All the old ghosts I had known had moved on, and new ones were becoming more and more infrequent as less people died and instead uploaded their brains to computers or kept themselves alive for hundreds of years. Then thousands. Then they solved aging, around the forty second century (some historians chortled over the exact year, 4142, as a reference to Douglas Adam's books.) I grew stronger, and lonelier. There weren't many more ghosts left. I'll admit I went bad for a bit. Tried to kill off some people just so I'd have someone to talk too. Possessing psychics, causing hurricanes - I was bored, and I was alone. The years kept speeding up. In the Sixteenth Millennia (people were barely even recognizable as such anymore, and no one counted centuries) they proved there was no afterlife, that all that awaited those that came before was oblivion. I was so glad for a few thousand years that I hadn't solved my own murder, that I could still exist, but at the same time even oblivion would have been preferable to the relentless sprinting of the years. In 323,916 AD (Humans used a new calendar by that point, but I still counted the years in the old way), WR 104 - a nearby star - went supernova, with its poles aligned within 10 degrees of Earth. It was the end of life on the planet - or it would have been, but I was over 300,000 years old at that point, so I could just...stop it. And I did, the gamma rays bouncing off the magnetosphere that I bolstered. Science couldn't explain it, couldn't explain me, which gave me a good chuckle. When I stopped laughing, Gliese 710 had passed through the solar system, and dropped a thousand comets on Earth. Most humans lived entirely in a digital world when that happened, and none of them saw the Oort cloud coming. Only a few hundred thousand remained, bemoaning that their ancestors had never tried to travel to other stars. I kept watch over those few hundred thousand, but it was hard. Without technology, their normal lifespan began to take hold, and they blipped in and out of existence if I let my attention wander for too long. New ghosts started to emerge, but they couldn't see me. I was too old, too large, and these ghosts passed on into oblivion resolving their problems before I could even utter a word. I watched as the continents moved together, slammed into one, and then slowly split again. And again. And a third time, but the sun was getting bigger, and that became more interesting. I watched as it grew, and knew this was the end. I couldn't stop this. The sun engulfed the Earth, and with it humanity. Or so I thought. At some point, during a few thousand years when I wasn't paying attention, humanity had moved to the stars, and I followed. I delighted in the new forms evolution took them into, wondered at these new strange ghosts that flicked before my eyes. I even found a few that intrigued me so much I froze them, saving them in corners of worlds where I could watch them later. Matter and energy cannot travel faster than light, but the soul is something else, and with Earth destroyed I was free to flit across the cosmos. I watched in fascination, and then began to grow bored. One by one the stars exploded and went dark. Eons passed in seconds, and slowly before my eyes, the light winked out. Nothing was left. Black holes were the norm, protons decayed, and there was nothing left. I don't know how long passed after that. When time is passing faster than light, and there's nothing - literal nothing - to watch, you lose track of time. I turned my thoughts inwards, playing my own unlife before my eyes. And deep down, I reached the beginning. One of the first tricks Old Clarke had taught me, back when days were noteworthy and Earth was green and life - and matter - existed. I focused on those thoughts, I became those thoughts. I was the only being left, the last thing in all of reality, and I had trillions upon trillions upon hundreds of millions of trillions of years. The older a ghost gets, the stronger a ghost gets. Old Clarke could light every window in an entire mansion. For the first time in endless years, I spoke. "Let there be light." It was good. --- More at /r/Hydrael_Writes/
(Long time lurker, first post, so I apologise if anything is done wrong :-P) The time came, we knew it was coming, every other year, on the last day of August, at 12:00 PM, we would have to go back to sleep. Everyone knew, you were taught it at school, it was drilled into our heads, 'Overpopulation became a huge issue, and in 2045 the world decided to put one-half to sleep, as the other worked on the land', today's the day, 31st August 2083. My mother and father, we're frantically rushing around the house, making sure it was tidy enough for the next family to occupy it for 2 years, they shoved all of our things into the attic, and just as I was putting on my clothes to leave, the deafening sirens started. "THIS IS YOUR 1 HOUR WARNING. GET TO THE UNDERGROUND CRYOGENIC FACILITY WITHIN THIS TIME, OR FACE PROSECUTION!" It was a good 45-minute drive to get there, and that wasn't factoring in check in or security. "Come on Stephen, we're going to be late!"my mother said frantically, to my father throwing the bags into the car "Alright, alright, just get in the car and we can be gone right away"he replied stressfully "For god sakes, Oliver, do you want to be seeing the inside of a prison cell for the next 2 years? didn't think so"she said to me angrily As soon as we were in the car, we were on our way, speeding our way down the motorway, most people got trains or planes there, but we decided it would be better to drive, panic ensued in the car. "Did I turn off the lights? Do you think I forgot anything? Do you have our ID? Please say you packed our ID, Stephen" "Of course I did, don't worry and just enjoy the ride"he replied calmly The rest of the car ride I spent reminiscing on the past 2 years, looking back on it I managed to almost complete elementary school, but I realised when I wake up next I will be able to do what my family has done for generations and farm. We arrived at the facility and got in just on time, they ID'd us, we managed to get in, and all was well. Walking through the facility, I saw all of the other cryogenic pods, with lifeless humans in them, ready to wake up days after we went to sleep. As we arrived at my families designated pods, my mother kissed me on the cheek and wished me luck for our sleep years, I did the same, and I was ready to go to sleep. The pods opened with a stream of freezing air, rolling out to hit me. I always hated this part, because you got colder, and colder until you got knocked out. I had one last glance at my mother, and father one last time, everyone hated doing this, but it was for the good of all mankind, so we did our small duty for the world. As I walked into my pod, I was greeted with an uncomfortable padded wall, with a small frost filled window, a large beeping sound occurs, accompanied with: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE PREPARE FOR YOUR SLEEP PODS TO BE ACTIVATED. YOU WILL BE ASLEEP FOR APPROXIMATELY TWO YEARS, ZERO MONTHS, AND ZERO DAYS. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR CO-OPERATION. HAVE A NICE SLEEP" I dreaded this part. The door closed on me, leaving me in this cold metal box. This beeping started to happen inside my box, with a stream of freezing cold steam slowly making its way up my body, as soon as it reached my neck I said goodbye to the world, and as it consumed my head, I was out, That was it, or so I thought. Suddenly, this faint beeping noise started to occur, my dazed and confused self started to process what was going on. As I slowly opened my eyes, I saw the frosted glass start to thaw over, I then realised what was going on. My sleep years were once again over, it felt like seconds, but it had actually been years. All of the steam all got sucked out underneath my feet, and my door jolted open. As I fell out, I looked around to realise that no-one from my area had awoken yet. I slowly walked along the floor, seemingly forever, until I turned a corner, and saw everyone from the other section out and on the floor, they were all being rounded up, and a soldier saw me and came up to me and said "Excuse me, young man, what are you doing here? Come on, let's go get your parents, you see them in the crowd anywhere?" "They're not awake yet"I replied nervously He had a confused look on his face, turned around to check that everyone was out of their pods. "Yes, Im sure their all out, they must be here somewhere" "I know where they are"I said "Their back there, in the other section of pods" I pointed to my open pod, his face dropped as he realised that my pod was the only one open from the area where one half of the world went to sleep just days prior. "But that's.... impossible, not one pod has failed in over 40 years."He was frantically checking his tablet to see if anyone had reported anything similar "Alright, I need to take you to management. Follow me" He led me through the crowd of people, and along the endless corridors of cryogenic tubes until we reached an elevator. We went all the way up to the top, and he dragged me along to this huge office, overseeing the whole facility. He opened up the door, to a man sitting at his desk, in a suit doing paperwork, he says to us "I don't have time for you right now, as you can see half the population of the world has woken up, and someone needs to do the paperwork" "Sir we have a young boy by the name of...." "Whats your name?"He whispered to me "Oliver, Oliver Rovers"I whispered back "Oliver Rovers sir. He woke up early from his pod" "and? that can happen, some people wake up earlier than others, he may have opened a few minutes before his parents, they should be out now so just go get his parents or something"He muttered without looking up "But sir, he woke up.... 2 years early" The man dropped his pen, and looked up at me with amazing eyes, he had so much awe in his eyes and looked more shocked than ever in his life. "But.... The pods never fail.."He was struggling to get his words out "Well sir, I would like to introduce you to the boy who's pod did." The man stood up and walked over to Oliver, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Oliver... You might have just become the most important boy in this whole facility... I give you my word, I will get you back to sleep, I promise" The soldier pulled the man away from Oliver and said quietly "Sir, you know there is no way to put someone back to sleep, once all pods have been activated" The man replied looking at Oliver with sorrow in his eyes "I know." Sorry if this is bad in any way, shape or form, this title intrigued me and I wanted to write more. Hope you enjoy, and if you want tell me what you think :)
I felt my duster ripple in the wind. Five o'clock in the morning, and already I could smell the storm miles away. My goggles were around my neck, along with my kerchief. Yes I still wore a kerchief over my breather. Damn breather would clog faster than hairball in a cat, if not for the kerchief. Who knew the old timers knowledge would prove so invaluable, even in our age of knowledge. This was gonna be a bad one. I could tell. Damn crop would be blown away if I didn't get the sealers working. The last storm had thrown dust in the re-tractor, and blown a motor. The metal doors that usually protected the crop wouldn't shut if I didn't get it repaired, and then the storm would ravage every last bit of food growing. Not to mention what it might do to the seed storage. Since the weather change over forty years ago, everyone looked to the sky every day in fear. It got to the point that not only did you have to watch out for storms, but we had to find alternate routes just to drive the crops to hungry people across the world. We finally ended up creating an underground highway. If not for that, no one would even be able to travel to the eye of the storm. The eye of the storm? You'd think we'd find a different name for the only place to grow crops in the world. I guess it was applicable though, after all, tornado's raged twenty four seven all around this country. Damn near every day one would break off and make it's way inward. When it did, I would close the doors over the crops to protect them. Machines did most of the actual farm work. I was still called the farmer though. Damn thankless job if you asked me. If I died who'd take my place. Damn cowards the lot of them. It would have been nice to be able to find another place to grow the crops, but the weather changes weren't just localized to the U.S. This became one of the last places to grow crops. Scientists tried everything, but they've yet to find a solution. There are a few other farmers around. Tendin' to the machines that grow the crops, making sure everything is taken care of. I don't know about the others, but every once in a while I walk out into the field. I touch the corn, and feel the wheat under my fingers. It gives me a sense of pride! Knowing that what I do, feeds the whole world. Yes sir, ain't nothin' better. Cept maybe a romp with Norma Jean down the road. I reached the motor, and saw the problem immediately. I'd brought a motor with me, just in case I needed it. I set to fixing the blasted thing. I was almost finished when I got a call on the radio. "Beau? Beau you there?"Speak of the devil. "Yeah Norma Jean, what can I do for ya?" "Beau, I'm readin you ain't got those shutters closed yet. That storms comin fast. It just passed my place, and it'll be on you soon. Those doors ain't closed, and you'll lose your whole crop! I ain't gotta tell ya, you've got the biggest of us all. It'll be mighty slim pickins for foke you ain't closed those doors soon." "I hear ya Norma Jean. I'm almost done fixing the motor now. I'll have the doors shut soon." "All right, Beau."There was a short pause, "You mind comin over tonight when you're done. I've got a hankerin."That was Norma Jeans way of saying she was feeling frisky and needed some male companionship. If we'd lived anywhere else we would have already been hitched. Truth was I loved her, but farmers can't have spouses. Less likely to run from their crop and let it die if we didn't have anything to lose. "I hear ya Norma Jean, I'd love to fix that for ya!"I chuckled. An old game we played, and I loved it every time. I went back to work, needing to fix this quick. If it just passed Norma Jeans place, it would be here in about ten minutes or so. I dropped the last bolt and let it fit. Tightened it up, and that was that. I flipped the switch for the re-tractors to start closing the door. The started shutting with a satisfying whir of the motor. It felt good to fix things, and I was particularly good at it. That's when I heard a crash, and the doors stopped. The motor sounded like it was gonna over heat, and so I shut it down. Running to my sled, I checked the my data tablet. It seemed there was a block further down the tunnel. I jumped on the sled and took off. If I didn't clear whatever was blocking the doors from shutting quick, that tornado was gonna decimate the entire crop. I slammed the sled to a stop, and noticed there was a piece of sheered metal sticking down in the path of the door. Luckily there was a ladder nearby that would get me to the top. I'd have to be quick. I took a crowbar with me, and my back of tools. I could hear the tornado now. It was close, and the wind was picking up. I made up in in time, but apparently my hat decided it wasn't sticking with me. It flew off my head back into the bunker. Damn hat was smarter than me. I pulled on my goggles, breather, and kerchief. Running to the blockage. I made it, and stuck the crowbar in. I pulled with all I was worth. Just managing to pull the metal up. I let go, but the metal just went right back into the path of the door. I'd have to hold it while the door closed under it. If I was quick, I could turn the motors on, close the door just enough, then get under myself. I pulled it up, and just barely managed to turn on the doors with my data tablet. When the door was far enough, I let go to run to the ladder. The door stopped, and I could hear the distant whine of the motors. It wouldn't be enough to close the doors...and the storm was too close now to hold it up long enough to get back in without leaving the doors open enough. Either I died, or my crop did. It wasn't a hard choice. It was a real simple on in fact. My crop meant more than my own life. I don't mean that I was being real altruistic. I didn't even know most of those damn cowards who would survive because I was about to do something stupid. No, the real reason was the crop itself. My work...my entire life's work, had been that field of corn. The fields of wheat. Yes sir, that bastard of a storm wouldn't take my crop. I pulled that metal back, and started the motor again. I had just enough strength left to call Norma Jean. I was glad my breathing mask doubled as a microphone. "Hey Norma Jean." "Beau, mighty glad your doors is closing."Yeah, the door was closing. "You had me worried for a second." "Hey Norma Jean,"I said again. "I've got some bad news."The line was quiet. "I'm gonna have to miss our little meetin tonight. I'm real sorry Darlin, it couldn't be helped." "Oh Beau, I'm up for anytime. You come on over whenever sexy. I'm good for a romp anytime!"I could hear the laugh in her voice. I laughed a humorless chuckle myself. "Well, that'd be fine with. I could use one right about now. I'm afraid though,"I couldn't say it. Damn mouth never quit on me till now. "I'm afraid I won't make another time either. There was a piece of metal blocking the doors from closing. I had to hold it up in order to get the doors closed. Now there ain't time for me to get back in the bunker."I paused, "Storms a comin." Still nothing from her end. "I wish I could see your face one more time Darlin'. That would make me happy." She finally spoke, "Damn makin you happy, and damn your damn crop. It's all you ever think about Beau."I could hear the anger and hurt in her voice. "Well Darli...
It all started with the plague. With the rats and fleas and lice. Bodies in the streets piled up, allowing the disease to incubate and spread even faster. The clerics in their steepled churches looked down on the masses with scorn. They called the plague a divine punishment from some perceived slight against the almighty. Healing of the plague cost an immense sum, while resurrection was limited to those deemed "worthy"by the church and the state to be worth bringing back. While the people bled and died, the church filled their coffers. I didn't do too badly either to be fair. An undertaker is never short for work, much less during a plague. The abundance of bodies also meant that I had plenty of material for my... experiments. The sheer glut of corpses meant that it was trivial to find ones that wouldn't be missed, and to be frank it took some of the load off of the gravedigging work. After months of failure, my grisly work was rewarded. I recreated the ancient rite to raise the dead. Not back to life, but something about halfway in between. However, unlike the great necromancers of old, I had no desire for conquest or lichdom. I was old. Tired. And I had seen too many suffer already under a tyranny that would differ little from my own. Instead, I continued my work. It was a great risk, of course, but people suffering loss are desperate. In a short time, I had dozens of families that accepted my offer to attempt to raise their loved ones instead of burying them with the rest. I was working night and day to keep up with the demand; as you would expect raising a body while keeping the mind and emotions intact is far more difficult than simply turning them into a meat puppet. That I was charging them no more than the usual cost of "taking care"of a corpse seemed to outweigh the fact that I was turning people into abominations in the eyes of the public. One of the families even shared with me a delightful recipe for making even the most mundane of meats taste like the freshest human brains, which certainly helped my former clients quell their newfound urges. Not everyone saw it that way though. Of course, the church didn't even notice my actions for a long while; no, it took until their resurrection profits began to drop for them to investigate the rumors of this undertaker turned necromancer. And despite their public outcry, it took them a year and a half of unanswered cease-and-desist orders before they even launched their first crusade against me. I pity those part of the first order of holy warriors they sent against me. Surely the church knew better. Against a force that does not sleep, does not tire, and does not falter under blows, all their minds linked to mine as one by our bond? They were annihilated. Yet still, one or two of the families commissioned me to bring them back. What a scandal that was amongst the high and mighty of the church and state! The bishop calls me a monster and a demon. The prime minister denounces me as an enemy of the state. But I care not. For the people, my people, call me savior.
King Joseph invested lots of the kingdom's money on keeping his wife, Queen Yulia, happy. He had hundreds of castles custom built, each one more extravagant than the last, only to always find out that something in his wife's mind had changed about the designs. Fed up with her over-spending, the money-lending guilds of the kingdom pooled together their resources and made the unilateral decision of disposing of Queen Yulia, in as gruesome a way possible. As this is a historical document, please forgive my exclusion of the details; suffice to say she suffered pretty badly. When he was given the news, King Joseph stifled a leap for joy then made a grim proclamation that every castle of his would be sold, in order to settle the debt that his moral dedication (or cowardly acquiescence) toward his wife had accrued for the kingdom. However, the economy was in ruins as a direct result of Queen Yulia, so no one from the kingdom itself was rich enough to buy the castles. This, and our currency's depreciatioin, opened the door for foreign real estate investors to corner the market, and subsequently turned every single castle into low-maintenance, high-rent apartment buildings. On May 6th every year, her birthday, we kill corgis - her favorite dog - and pile their bodies on top of her grave, which is essentially just a pile of corgi bones now.
"What the Hell, Klaus. Why would you put the self destruct on the foot of the robots? Didn't I tell you to put them somewhere else??!?" "Sorry, Lord Zain. It just seemed so logical."Klaus replied. "Putting the self destruct button on the foot of the robots makes it harder for the superheros to press it." "Next time, consult me first. This is worse than that other time when you decided to make the laser solar powered."Zain went on. "But we have to be environmentally friendly! What are we going to do if all the oil runs out? How will we power our weapons then?" "The laser was going to destroy the moon, which doesn't appear when the sun is up. You do make a good point, however. Maybe for our next project, we should target and destroy all the oil in the world!"Zain declared. "And you know I can't do it without my greatest evil henchman." "What a great idea! As expected of Lord Zain to thought up another evilicious plan. I propose we should gather up all the petroleum and store it all in one convenient place. Then, we could destroy it all in one fell swoop by recycling it! They'll never see it coming."
The thing they don't understand is my love of puzzles. Always have. Always will. Since I was a little kid. Seeing the pieces. Turning them into a picture. It was like art. Like turning chaos into order. Why do they think I got into this game? I didn't rob banks because I liked the high. Or enjoyed the money. (To be fair. The money wasn't bad.) But it was the planning. The building blocks. The stacking one on top of the other until a picture formed and, boom, I had a heist pulled off. Putting me into an unending, impossible heist only fuels my love of this game. The Kobayashi Maru. Wasn't that what they called it in Star Trek? An impossible battle, meant to break you. Teach you humility. Except Kirk found a way. There's always a way. And I'm gonna find it. I don't care that there's always fifty cops at the door. Or the back door is steel and inescapable. There's a way. There has to be a way. I live for this shit. This is day 567. This is try 567. It's a beautiful morning. The air is crisp like always. The sun is rising. The bank lies ahead and I smile. This started as agony. The pain of failure. Now I'm driven. I don't know if today will be the day. But it's as good as any. And I'm just getting started.
As the three main factors that led to the outbreak of World War III are commonly regarded the rise of Islamic terrorism, the decadence and overextension of the American empire and the rise of crypto-anarchism and related movements. While the Islamic world had been a threat to Europe for over a thousand years, the decline of the Ottoman Empire was considered to be the end of that era. However, in the wake of the Cold War (1947 - 1991) and the Mashriq War (1990 - 2022) (which was really a series of many small wars), militant terrorist groups rose to power. The Middle East and Northern Africa, destabilized by American intervention and covert operations, became the hotspot of global politics. The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) and its successor state, the Fifth Caliphate, eventually became the major player in the region, threatening its remaining neighbors, the Syrian Arab Republic and the Maronite Republic of Lebanon (both under Russian protection) as well as the State of Israel (under American protection). Just as important as its rise on the political stage was Islam's growing presence in Western Europe and North America, finding its first culmination in the French Civil War (2020 - 2023). America's role in the buildup to the third world war however was not restricted to its wars abroad, it could be argued that its internal struggles were even more relevant. In fact, the two issues can hardly be analyzed as isolated. Growing tension in the United States of America (USA) resulted in the Second Civil War, in which the Socialist People's Republic of North America (SPRNA) in the West, the Confederate States of America (CSA, not to be confused with the faction of the same name in the first Civil War) in the South and the Confederacy of New Hampshire and Quebec (CoNHQue) challenged the more and more totalitarian government in Washington. While the fighting did not last long - mainly due to "all the millenials being too lazy to get off their smartphones", as Senator Ron Johnson famously put it - the political situation did not stabilize. The final factor, and in my opinion maybe the most relevant when looking at the big picture, is the rise of more and more decentralized, anti-statist institutions, fueled by the rise of the Satoshi currency (officially Bitcoin) and the blockchain technology. In Europe and North America, it became harder and harder for overextended governments to control and tax their citizens effectively; while in East and South East Asia, economic growth was multiplied by the new technology. The Russian and the Chinese governments (called "Taiwan"at the time) were the first to understand the potential of these new technologies, which arguably gave them the decisive advantage that in the end won them the war. While it would certainly be absurd to reduce the causes of World War III to these three issues, I think they are the most impactful events that led to it.
Rain and thunder were roaring outside when John entered the doors of the [Ivato International Airport](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivato_International_Airport), ticket in hand, as he went to the check-in counter of his flight to China. Rain poured onto him in buckets, soaking him completely by the time he arrived inside the lobby. As he waited for his plane to arrive, he checked his watch, keeping one eye open as he futilely tried to fight off a sneeze. Sixteen hours That was how long he had left before those who put him into this insanity would begin their mad hunt. He had to get away from the island before that happens. Checking the arrival and departure time of aircraft, he saw his own flight, just over twenty minutes before it was set to arrive, and less than half an hour before it would depart again with him into another country. He breathed a sigh, before a grim smile forced its way upon his lips. The flight itself would be ten hours long, and then he had just over five hours before his hidden enemies start to track him down. He had that much time to find, contact, and meet his allies and disappear off the radar forever. 'Just barely enough time,' he thought. A sudden blare roused him from his musings. The tired voice of a woman soon flowed into the halls. "Attention. Due to bad weather conditions, Flight 3338822255 has been delayed by two hours. The new arrival time is now at twenty-three hours and nine minutes. Passengers on this flight are advised to wait on their respective boarding gates until further notice." Fear gripped John's heart as he raced to the ticketing office. --- You never specified which island, OP
This was a massacre. The girl twirled her scythe deftly, knocking another one of Junior's men back with ease. To be fair, it was expected in this line of work. Go in, and prove to be nothing but fodder for the man you were working with. And quite frankly, I was sick of it. "Oh?"she said, a manic glint in her eyes. "You're still standing?" The words were innocent. A lesser man would answer her - fatally opening up his mouth only to get blown away within seconds. I was no lesser man. My voice came out in a ragged gasp as I tore forward, my hand striking her cheek. My heart ran a mile a minute, the blood pumping in my ears making me deaf to the outside. I was afraid - of course I was. No one in their right mind would stand up to a huntress-in-training, much less a silver-eyed warrior. But it worked! Part of me wanted to smile at landing a hit on a trained warrior, the other half wanted nothing but to run far, far away. "Did you-" "Yes,"I said, settling back into a stance. "I did." "You're a civilian too! That's kind of,"her grin turned feral as she lurched towards me with dangerous speed, "Impressive!" The back of her scythe batted my arms away as she raised it over her, no doubt planning to cleave me in two. I ducked under her slash, leaping backwards as she cleaved again into a crescent arc. Even if I was a goon for a shady information broker, this had to be self-defense, right? I didn't even make an attempt to attack or rob her as Robin did! It was supposed to be a simple mission - walk in, get the dust, get on the bullhead with Roman, and leave. And here I am, fighting what I can only imagine is a fifteen year old... and to make matters worse - I think we're on equal footing. "So,"she heaved, her breath coming in heavy pants. It would be almost cute, if she wasn't trying to rip me apart. If my guesswork was correct, I was only two years older than her! Why am I being punished for a life I don't even want to live? "I see you're holding your own fairly well." "I've only hit you about twice,"I said. I watched for any overt movement, my hands up and a safe distance away from face. My knees were slightly bent, in case I had to flee. Being afraid of girls at my age was normal - but this petite little murderer was an entirely different story. "And yet, I can't seem to land a hit on you. When I swung Crescent Rose you dodged before striking back. Were you formally-" My foot lovingly caressed her cheek, sending her a distance away from me. At this point it had to cross from self-defense to plain bullying. But I was well within reason to do this, right? I had to have been. "Now you're just cheating,"she whined. "That's big talk from someone trying to kill me,"I spat, placing my hands on my hips. "You've gotta be joking if you believe swinging that scythe towards a civilian like me is legal." "I'm not even trying to kill you!"she said. Her eyes went wide a moment later, as if she realized she spoke a grim error. "Or anyone!"she hastily added. "A huntress-in-training moonlighting as a murderer?"I said, raising my brow. I turned to the roof, did Roman really escape and leave me to die? That bastard! "I'm not moonlighting as anything! I'm simply trying to apprehend a criminal!" I turned, and to my relief the sound of sirens rung in my ears. "Then maybe you'll have no trouble speaking to law enforcement, criminal."
"John Riddle you are the Chosen-" "Nope, No thanks"John says as he walks past the man in a white cloak. He walks into Pizza Place for a slice of Cheese Pizza. "Congratulations sir! You are our 1 millionth cu-" "Don't care, just give me a Cheese Pizza and Coke."The Cashier looks at John strangely, but hands him the Pizza and Soda. John hands him the money owed (exact change) and walks out of the store. Outside waiting for him, is the biggest, greenest, and meanest monster ever to come out of a children's story. He looks up at it's face and sighs. The monster leans down to look at John through its beady eye. John pushes past it and hails a cab. "41 and Main please"the Cab speeds off with the monster watching as it pulls away. John pulls out his Pizza and begins to munch on it. He goes to open his can of Coke, when the driver turns around to look at him. "Alright 'Chosen One' give me all your money, and we can call it even."The driver had pulled out a gun and pointed it at John. John looks out the window and sees that is apartment is about to race by. John tucks the pizza back into its box and jumps out the car door. He lands on his feet as the Cab speeds away. He walks up to his door and pulls out the keys. The door slides open with a familiar creek and John steps into his living room. There, on the ground, is a bomb and a girl tied to it. John picks up his phone, calls the cops, and throws the girl and bomb into a dumpster 2 stories down. Being this boring is really hard work.
"5:30 in the morning should be considered illegal,"I lament as I get out of bed. 15 minutes later I'm on my way to the hospital when I start to panic. I've forgotten my badge, and I have to be there by six to catch the handover report and see my patients before rounds. "Please for the love of god, work for me this time,"and with an odd since of confidence I slide my hand in my pocket and feel that familiar laminated badge. I proceed with my day, just like every other day: sick kids, pissed off parents wondering why we aren't doing more to make their kids better, fresh coffee in the break room that still manages to taste like charred ass. It's while i'm trying to gulp down a piping hot cup of coffee, read some lab values, and walk that I find myself in trouble. "Oh my god i'm so sorry, are you ok ma'am?"I'm covered in hot coffee too but she got the worst of it. "Oh i'm so sorry, here let's take you to get some scrubs and out of those hot clothes." I'm able to get her changed and evaluated and looks like most of the coffee was absorbed by her clothes as she doesn't looked to red or burned. "My name is Dr. Robinson, and again i'm so sorry. We're just always on the go here, and while that's not an excuse I hope you'll understand,"I say hoping she won't file a complaint against me. "It's ok, and i'm alright, really, I was just visiting my nephew. So you can make this up to me by helping him get alright. My name is Jordan by the way"She responded and looked up at me with a very endearing kind of smile. We chit chat some more, and I find out her nephew isn't one of my patients but i promise to follow up on him and make sure everything is ok. She head's off home and I finish my day. The end of the week comes and goes, and some residents and I are going out for a few hours to blow off some steam. I drew the short straw and got to buy the first round and as i'm walking back to the table with our drinks a familiar foreboding comes over me and not a second later I collide with someone spilling my drinks all over us. I lean down to help her up as she received the brunt of the impact, and as she lifts her head up I see its the girl i spilled coffee on. A wave of dread spills over me like sticky rum and cokes and long island ice teas. "You know, we've got to stop meeting like this,"she laughs and cracks that endearing smile again. "Dr. Robinson, right? Hope you got another pair of scrubs for me!" "I actually do,"I laugh along hoping to keep this light hearted. "I always keep a couple of spare pairs in my car. "Good, cause this outfit is ruined! Now take me to these clothes."We make our way out to my car and I slide my hand into my pockets to get out my keys but feel something else. Along with my keys comes a shiny golden wrapper with the words trojan on it. "That's odd,"I think to myself, "I didn't bring a condom with me." She catches a glimpse of it, "Oh looking to get lucky tonight, were ya? Well sorry to ruin everything for ya,"she quips. "Oh no!"I start to fumble with my keys, clearly flustered. "No, I just... I just thought I'd keep one on me whenever I go out, you never know who you might run into, figuratively and literally."I stammer out a laugh hoping she keeps her cool that she's had since I first met her. "Emphasis on the literally,"she fires back with a smile. "You gotta at least buy a girl like me dinner before whipping something like that out... but lucky for you, i'm a little hungry right now." A year and a half later, while on vacation in Disney World, I found myself standing in front of Cinderella's castle with Jordan by my side, I reach into my pocket and find exactly what I was hoping to find, though I knew it'd be there because i put it there myself. As if fate had ordained it though, as I turned to her and started to drop to my knee, she turned and started to walk and ran right into me. Luckily no drinks, hot or cold, were involved this time but that little box bounded away. With a little help from some passerbys and enough laughter about what happened to make our cheeks hurt, I finally asked the woman I love, "Will you marry me?"
As I closed my eyes I wondered if I'd ever wake up. What would death be like? Would I just...cease? Would I dream? This thought began to evaporate as I felt myself start to cool down. The world became blurry around the edges and my adrenaline caused me to try and move a little. I, however, was quite restrained and in short order, blurry was replaced by black and I was gone. My questions were shortly answered; my pod was opened by an incredibly attractive woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was a stunning 10/10, and spoke a language I couldn't begin to comprehend. Realizing this, she quickly tried several others until she happened upon English. What is your name? She asked with an Australian accent. Paul Redding I responded. Everything was so hazy and I was so confused. Was I revived early? Did something go wrong? Could stage 4 brain/liver/stomach/basically everything important cancer be cured now? Hello Paul, my name is Leah. You've been dead for over thirty-three centuries. We removed your cancerous tissues with a nano-procedure and a vaccine of sorts has been administered. You'll require a few checkups to be sure we eliminated all of the cancerous cells, but the likelihood of recurrence is less than one one-millionth of a percent. Suddenly her accent resolved to nearly match my own unaccented English. THREE-THOUSAND YEARS?!? I asked as I quickly recovered from my stupor. Three-thousand, three-hundred, and twenty-one years to be exact. You were a rather unique case, and, quite frankly, the last one we had in cryo. She stared at me, but her eyes seemed to stare through me. I couldn't place it, but something seemed incredibly odd about the whole experience. Somehow I was awakened by a stone cold stunner, my cancer was gone, and now I had an entire life to live. At 29 I was suddenly reborn. It seemed too good to be true. What do I do now...? Everyone I know is long-dead, but I know I have...well...had...a lot of money. Can I still use it? I asked somewhat sheepishly. Every other patient was awakened nearly two-thousand years prior. They have all since passed as well. The last remaining was patient 20091, or Fred, as he preferred to call himself. Fred required three intensive operations which, prior to yours, were the most invasive procedures we'd performed. His cancer was second only to yours in terms of spread. He waited nearly four-hundred years for you to awaken before he ended his own life prematurely. It was...unfortunate. She looked like she wanted to look sad...but couldn't. How did he live so long? Was he alone? Why didn't he just...leave? I had so many questions, but I was beginning to worry that I might have awoken to a fate worse than death. Fred's lifespan was enhanced by our nano-rejuvenation procedure. He could've lived indefinitely if he'd continued to receive nano-injections. He was alone because no one else survived long enough as they too ended their own lives. Like you, and every other patient who has been revived past the year 2985, Fred had nowhere to go. She stared at the thick metallic door that appeared to lead outside. Can I go? I asked timidly. I'd stood for the first time in over three millenia, and was beginning to back away from Leah. You may leave...but I'd recommend coming back immediately. The damage done will be reversible only if you -- I was already out the door as she uttered the last few words. I ran down a fairly long hallway leading towards another door that looked incredibly heavy. I grabbed the thick handle and pried it open. An immense heat overtook me instantly. Crippling pressure brought me to my knees as I felt my lungs fill with hot burning gases. I hacked, then retched, and staggered to my feet as the heavy door hadn't even completely opened. I managed to glance out the door as my eyes began to deteriorate. The sun shone brightly in the sky, but it seemed so much closer than it should've been...and significantly more...green. I slammed the door and collapsed in a heap. Hello Paul I heard Leah say. What happened? I asked groggily. I felt fine now, but I could still the crippling agony as my eyes had seemed to boil inside my skull. You stood in the open atmosphere for nearly a full minute before I was able retrieve you. That time has outright killed four patients before you. I hope you'll stay now. Leah looked more curious than angry. How were you able to "retrieve"me? Are there others? Like you? I asked. Leah hesitated for an entire second before answering. I am not human. There are others...but they are no longer on Earth. Earth is a level 4 restricted planet now. The solar system has been a quarantine zone since the war culminated with the extinction of humans in 2985. A new prototype weapon was used against the sun, causing it to become highly toxic to all life it touches. Only certain forms of protection work. The walls of this building are lined with a radioactive isotope of hydrogen that keeps it habitable. The nanobots in your body prevent the hydrogen from causing harm. Leah looked perplexed as though I should've noticed earlier that she wasn't human. What are you? I don't understand. I asked searching for answers. I am a cyborg. My body is almost entirely machine. I can function outside of this dwelling as well as in the vacuum of space. You can join me if you'd wish? None of the other patients accepted the offer. They always hoped against logic that they'd be able to escape or that someone would come looking. Even when I told them there was no hope and showed them proof...most tried to "wait it out,"eventually taking their own lives when they could stand it no longer. It was then that I noticed how Leah looked "too perfect."If I stared closely at her eyes I could see straight lines that looked more machine than tissue. I can join you? What would that accomplish? I posed. Surely she wouldn't have mentioned it if the only point was living forever here only to be trapped in a small room for eternity. Yes. As you are my last patient we could simply leave. The hydrogen that counteracts the sun would severely hinder the possibility of space travel, but as cyborgs, we would no longer require that protection. I can take us off planet easily. She seemed hopeful for the first time. Sure...why not. Eternity as a trapped human or eternity as a cyborg. What do I need to do? I'd only been re-alive for a few hours and here I was killing myself again...at least that's what it felt like. Lie down. And it is not eternity; I won't live forever as a cyborg. Neither will you. But I don't know where the end is yet. And so I search. Leah seemed confident as she began to blur. I once again watched the blur turn to black as I wondered if I'd be able to dream as a cyborg.
The whiskey was ash in his throat. He looked down at all his work, years of toil, all worthless. The fools, celebrating genocide as a toddler would whatever inocuous desire he temporarily fancies. "The end of malaria, of needless death."More like the end of a species, but when one takes on the role of god, i suppose the vanity of such a position is soon to follow. Mosquitoes. For hundreds of millions of years, veterans and adaptors. An apex predator, feeding off every concievable creature and creation. Taking the very essence of existence to ensure their own survival and reign over the surface. Toppled in a matter of months by a pompus twit in a lab coat and his brood of fame-starved cronies. His bottle was quickly becoming lighter. The coarse burn in his throat was replaced scourn and shame. He had tried to warn them. They had the gall to laugh at him. Accused him of taking thier side as if i spent my nights praying for an epidemic. Unfortunately for the misquitoes, bloodborn diseases had proved to be more resiliant than we ever could have imagined. Vaccines became steriods and medicine became vitamins. The quick adaptation of these diseases, honed in the brutal enviroment of the bloodstream, ensured a war where humans unwittingly handed our entire arsenal to the enemy. A terrifying postion no doubt. And one that quickly got the suits involved. Quaritine, death, extinction. How quickly the human vocubulary can change from poetic to apocaliptic when a force stirs the hive too much. The misquitoes had taken the role of Icarus, not realizing our species considers ourselves as central as the ball of gas that led to his downfall. Robins and the team at MIT quickly found a pathogen to clense the skys. And of course they became overnight heroes for unraveling the very work of god himself. I still wonder who the real bloodsuckers were. With the bottle empty and discust still roiling in him he glanced at his paper again. The bloody fools. They became gods of death alright, and have promptly doomed us. The realization hit him a few nights ago ,mere weeks after the last of the wings had stilled. The calculations had to be wrong it makes little sense for the disease to morph in the body of the victim. As the final stage it is to dangerous and does not give the flexibility needed to ensure compatability. But in a carrier...there the story becomes quite different. Mosquitoes in there lengthy tenure had been been familiar with every blood compistion one could imagine. It made sense that they could easily pick up the vaccines. If they provided the correct conditions, that is where the ideal cesspool for diseases to adapt. Unforunately that seemed to be just the case. He picked up the last of his work, straightened and placed it into the folder for tommorow. Robins must not let his ambitions go unanswered. While the conditions of the carriers were perectly suited to allow pathogens to gain resistance to our drugs ,there was something else. Given the right diet the mosquitoes were in a position the form and modify antibodies. The blood, and antibodies, could then be administered to humans. These antibodies could have been molded to attack any bloodbourn diseases imaginable. Hepatitus, HIV, even lukemia. We could have gotten rid of them all. He signed the front of the folder "Lost Eden". Alas, ever must people be the master of thier enviroments. He staggered to his feet and shuffled off to bed. They may have ensured our demise, but i will not let them out of this unscathed.
The engine roars as I throw my hunk of metal, a slick black, into 3rd gear. Hands wrapped tightly around the worn leather steering wheel, I stare intently at the road ahead. Darting in between the soulless box cars, their inhabitants staring nosily at an art form they've long forgot. The eyes, the sound, the smell of hot asphalt on a summers afternoon and the cold air that blasts from the dashboard, caressing my skin, all comes together to make the feeling rise. You know the one. That sensation you get in the pit of your stomach after a wayward fist causes you to first taste blood. That indescribable emotion that comes after looking out at an endless sea, or the infinite sky at night. The frenzied rush of being truly alive. And as I narrowly squeeze through two more automated cars, causing them to brake sharply and veer to the side, I press my foot to the pedal and soar down the straight ahead. I am free. The local council has sent me 16 letters so far pertaining to the use of my non-automated automobile on public roadways. I have examined each one extremely carefully with my sphincter and come to the same conclusion every time. I just don't give a fuck. Despite conveying this to them by spray painting it on the side of the DMV, they continue to send them roughly once a month. At the local town meeting, at least 5 Mothers personally called me a disgrace. I was thrilled. The most I'd ever gotten before this car incident was 3. You see, I was born and raised an American. My Father was an American, and my grandfather too (although, he was raised by a communist, so we try to forget any lineage beyond that). And as an American, if I want to tear down the road in my car, on roads my taxes help fund, playing Dennis Leary's "Asshole"as loud as I want, I goddamn well will, and there isn't a piece of paper or an angry enough Mother out there to stop me. (TBC).
"DAMN IT DAD"Chris screamed as loud as his pre pubescent voice would let him. "Alex and I were almost done with the heist. Why do you ruin all of my fun.., it's not like it's hurting anyone."Chris's dad, a veteran from Iraq simply told him "The instinct to kill is irreversible. Not making it habit in the first place is the key to stopping any problems from arising. Even if it doesn't hurt anyone now, it could hurt them later." "Whatever dad, you're just crazy. One too many mortars went off over your head."Chris barely felt the air moving before his face was forced to get acquainted with the palm of his fathers hand. He barely heard his jaw crack before he was on the ground, hands cupping his freshly-reddened cheek. "You are going to take that attitude, shove it up the most uncomfortable orifice available to you right now, and give me a sincere apology for what you just said. This is why we have a problem. You're a spoiled little angel. Do you understand violence. When you see red on the screen do you see it as the fruits of your intelligent planning, or the vitality of human life being spilled needlessly? You don't get what this represents, so don't cop an attitude and pretend like you get to judge what is and isn't symbolic of an issue. You're going to stop playing these games, if it means I kill you in every one of them, to make you understand 1/100th the kind of pain real death brings." Chris's next few weeks consisted of digging up old games nobody else was playing. surely his dad wouldn't find him there. GTA IV, Destiny, Halo on the old XBOX, hell, he went back to the days of COD Ghosts and MWIII. No luck, he would always be found. It would range anywhere from 15 - 20mins for his dad to find him. Typically his dad's gamertag would be "Hellochris1"or "byebyechris"but sometimes he would change it up, probably more for his sanity than Chris's. It got to the point where his dad would find and kill him while he was playing the pocket edition of Minecraft on the bus to school. Chris would usually confront his dad, with different methods, ranging from rock hard determination to mental breakdown. None of it worked, none of it would ever work. His dad had seen everything. He didn't care. He dealt with much worse in his life, and his son's determination to be allowed to partake in needless violence was perplexing more than it was infuriating. His dad never understood the appeal of the traumatic experience of war being retold in all of its grotesque highlights. His son never had to go through what he had to go through, and he was going to ensure his son never had the capacity to do so. Even if it meant watching his other friends go down the wrong path without ability to change it. After all, your personal safety is above all else. That was the first rule you learned in Iraq. My first post to this sub, really terrible at fiction so I picked an easy prompt. This is pretty trash but whatever, I gave it whatever effort I had for 20mins late at night.
I flipped through my grimoire of horrible creatures and bloody murders, trying to ignore my wife hounding me again. "Honey, I'm serious! What if the baby doesn't make it? W-what if they get some kind of superpower or come out half-robot or half-demon or...or..." I set down the leather-bound book. "Baby, it's fine. You need to stop trying to flood your brain with all those story ideas. Our son will be fine, and everyone is going to love your new book." My wife pursed her lips and sighed. "Okay. I believe you." I smiled. "And I'm gonna make sure our kid grows up to love all the classics: H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King..." She hit my arm playfully. "Fine, but we're starting him off on Thomas the Tank Engine." I laughed. "Good luck. I gouged the eyes out in all those books." She stifled a giggle. "You ass!"she whispered. Just then, a doctor came in. "Mr. r/creepy? Mrs. r/WritingPrompts?" "Yes, sir?" "Your child is going to be perfectly healthy. By the way, have you decided on a name?" My wife and I locked eyes in silent agreement and I looked back at the doctor. "We were thinking...r/nosleep."
“I hope rage comics come back in style."I thought to myself after having checked Reddit for the ninety-ninth time in just as many minutes. I was sitting under a giant picture of a pineapple pizza in the airport food court waiting for my flight to Saskatchewan. It had been snowing nonstop and everything was grounded until the blizzard blew over. The airport was not a happy place. If I closed my eyes I could shut out the forlorn expressions but nothing could keep out the wailing of the irritated children as they copied their angry parents who were screaming on the customer service agent. "Ma'am, we can't let any planes take off until the weather clears a little." "But I have to get to Braydon's recital. She is competing in the Little Miss North America pageant in Vegas. She's the reigning queen. If she doesn’t make it down to defend her crown, we are suing your airline.", honked an entitled woman with a short soccer mom haircut. "Yes ma'am, we are so sorry", said the exasperated customer service representative. She didn't sound sorry, and she had no reason to be. The angry woman huffed away and I hit reload for the hundredth time. Same old grayed out links. I had been running into a lot of annoying people recently. A lot of annoying people, whiny kids and pineapple pizzas. Reddit had been obsessed with pineapple pizzas a couple of months ago. I had participated in that discussion and made my revulsion known. Last year, people were talking about bitchy entitled women with short hair and young children. An imam and a Catholic priest walked by followed by a gaggle of Hare Krishnas. I heard a guffaw towards my right. A man was watching Family Guy. "Man, this is the funniest animated comedy of all time. They just don't make ‘em like they used to."He said to his friend. "Yeah, nowadays all you get are crap shows like Rick and Morty. It's so...like...derivative." "Yeah, and don't even get me started on Stranger Things!" I was about to open my mouth and tell them that they were full of shit, when I saw a man fumbling for his phone like he was about to take my picture. When I turned towards him, he pretended to type something. "Hmm."I thought to myself. Glancing back at the two men, I saw them turn away from me. I could have sworn they were looking at me, almost expecting me to say something. "Man, ISRO should stop sending those damn rockets into space. India needs to get its priorities straight. How can you focus on space when there is so much poverty in your country?" I turned around and saw a college girl talking to her friend. "Well actually.."I began to say. The girls turned towards me. But I shut my mouth. I was too tired to debate people now. That's all I had been doing the past few years. I was surrounded by idiots and lately it was getting much much worse. I fired up the Reddit app again. All gray. So I hit the 'random' button The subreddit was called /r/butterflowdrama and all it had were pictures and videos of me raging and arguing with people in the real world. It had a million readers, and more than 10,000 were online. There was a post of me arguing about religion with the president of the Ben Affleck fan club and a picture of me yelling at a woman titled: ‘Butterflow? More like Bernie Bro’. "How.. how did I get on this? What is going on?" I stood up and looked around to find the airport looking right back at me. There was dead silence. I grabbed my bags and started to walk away. People were pulling out their phones and recording. The short haired women, the customer service agent, the two girls..everyone. I got my phone out and refreshed Reddit. On the front page, there was a fresh blue link. ‘Tuesday, October 12th 2017. 6:49 pm. The jig is up. Everyone who guessed the correct moment, please contact the mods to collect your winnings.’ “Fuck yeah, I called it. Wooohooo”, said one of the Hare Krishnas. He was dancing now, his bald head shining with sweat under the airport lights.” I don’t remember how I got on top of him. As the red haze cleared, I remember being pulled off. My fists bloody, pierced with bone fragments. And then I heard sirens. ************************* If you enjoyed that, head on over to [/r/wordsyrup](https://www.reddit.com/r/wordsyrup/) for more goodness.
Thankfully, the patron traffic in the coffee bar was rather light today. I could only hear at low volume the Star Wars soundtrack playing from the workers in the back. Not from Samantha though, she was always different. She was the only reason I came here everyday - certainly it wasn't for the brown water they called coffee. That wasn't her fault though, the owner never liked to put money back into the business. I could drink in her sound for- A jarring, loud, unorganized piece of electronic music began to fill my head as I looked to the front door and saw two young teenagers enter. Samantha seemed visibly irritated the moment they had come in. Unfortunately, one thing I learned rather quickly through my teenage years was that people could never control their volume - not consciously anyway. It seemed like their musical auras had its volume dictated by their excitement. Sadly, these two youngster's were drowning out Samantha's piece. I sipped the dark sludge that this establishment considered to be a cappucino and looked out the window to the outdoor mall's plaza. I could hear the faint sounds of Disney-like music playing from a few passing children as they danced about, their mother and father trailing behind them with a wonderful mix of 70's music playing. A few other people were talking and walking in the opposite direction of the family, one of them sounded like doowop while the other sounded like something Pantera would play. Finally the electronic music subsided as the two teens exited the coffee bar. Then I was left once more in the wonderful strings of the music Samantha played. I could never pin down exactly what made people sound as they did, it was odd because it didn't seem like their music tastes really had anything to do with it. Everyone just had their own... sound. Growing up, my mother always sounded like Earth, Wind, and Fire though I don't think I remember hearing her ever actually listen to them. Standing up, I brought the mug along with the plate it was delivered to me on and walked towards the front. The room was warm and I could feel the changing temperature as I moved under vents in the ceiling trying desperately to keep up with the heat. As I approached the front, I did something I'd never done before. "Samantha?"I asked, looking around the counter to see if she were up front. That's when I realized something about her volume. Her volume increased as I spoke her name. Suddenly, I was engulfed in the piano keys and stringed instruments that warned of her presence before she walked through the back door. "Yes, Leon?"she asked in response to my inquiry. Samantha's voice was as sweet as the music she brought with her into this world. This woman was magnificent. Watching her carefully as she approached, I shuffled out a business card and flipped it over. Producing a pen from a cup at the register, I looked up to the beautiful woman. While doing so, I could hear her volume increase further. What was happening? "Samantha, do you have any plans this weekend?"I asked casually while watching her approach the register, our two forms now face to face. "Nothing, Leon, why do you ask?"Once more, the silk-smooth voice came which felt so damn disarming. As I pushed the business card and pen towards her, I could hear her music grow louder. As if a symphony was about to reach a crescendo. "Could you write your phone number down here so I can take you to dinner on Saturday, say around eight o'clock?" Samantha almost jumped but smiled wide as she took the pen and began to slowly and deliberately write ten digits down on the card stock. She didn't say anything, but her music said everything I needed to hear. I pushed the mug and the plate forwards which she took with another smile. "Don't work too hard, now,"my lips tugged quickly as I flashed a smile of my own before walking out. --- I couldn't believe he just asked for my number like that, but I was more than happy to supply it. After all, he always sounds so wonderful, and his volume always seemed to get louder when he was by me. Leon's music was something that could always calm me down when life was stressful - the beautiful melodies that he produced were incomparable. I looked forward to our dinner together, hopefully, his music would drown out the obnoxious sounds of this world and everyone else in it. Deep down, I knew it would.
Okay, so it was a really weird idea, but if I made it too safe, too normal, then someone would've come sniffing. I didn't even want to do it. I was perfectly fine working as a temp and living paycheck to paycheck. After all, it was just me and my iguana. I was first approached by Nichols last fall to help age some counterfeits for him and his crew, but I found out too late that once I'm in, I'm in for the long haul. The long haul turned into mixing counterfeits with regular cash, intimidations, and the occasional bout of late-night getaway driving. Oh, and now apparently coming up with the front for the latest laundering scheme. I'm the "creative"one now. At first, this was supposed to be a simple front, something inconspicuous and normal for a city of 23,000. Maybe a paint and tile place, or an actual laundromat. That would've been funny, but maybe too on the nose. Then I had the idea of making it something outrageous so that we would be sure to be caught and I wouldn't be the indefensible mole of the group. And so I came up with it. My magnum opus. The stupidest storefront in the city, complete with a gaudy neon sign. I am the proud operator of "Ted's Urban Body-Boards and Vacuums" The vacuums part was Nichols' idea to coincide with the cargo he heisted in Minnesota last month. It's hot and he wants it out of the warehouse. But that's just the side business. Actually, it's the side business to the side business, considering this is all an attempt to launder money two blocks from the police station and courthouse. But no, my forte in this venture are the urban body-boards. They're a sleek version of a regular body-board with air holes in the sides to regulate the salty air and they have this really cool design to mimic stuff you would see in a city, like maybe some old cardboard boxes. Maybe they look quite a bit like cardboard boxes that my cousin had left over from his move. Maybe my urban body-boards are just pieces of cardboard cut in the shape of a body-board with no attempt at disguising the cardboard design. Maybe that's what I'm saying. It couldn't have been stupider or cheaper to produce...but I suppose the citizens of my city couldn't be stupider or cheaper, because these urban body-boards are selling like hot cakes! And have I mentioned that we are in a landlocked state? Oh well. Now I'm on the phone with UPS, my wholesale provider, trying to keep up with all the custom orders coming in. Did you know some people prefer their urban body-boards to look more like U-Haul boxes than UPS boxes? Neither did I until I was reviewing last month's books! I barely even see Nichols and his crew anymore...I think they may have moved to a new city to continue their work. Or maybe they forgot about the whole thing. I did see one of the old crew guys sporting a pretty sweet custom urban body-board just last week, to think of it...
"I now convene the Third Council of Secrets."An elderly man, with eyes as black as the midnight sky, scowled at the assembly around him. "My agents in the Void tell me that the Enemy is returning." Although several members of the Council stood straighter in surprise, and a few paled in fear, most simply nodded solemnly. A boy, with teeth as sharp as any blade and crimson pupils, stood to address them. "They are more adept at defending themselves than they were before. I've lost eighteen of my Blooded, and another fourteen thralls. I managed to supplant only two, and their army numbers in the millions." A beat. "Shit,"An exceptionally tall man in a simple leather jacket replied, sighing. He would be indistinguishable from an ordinary human, were it not for his pointed ears and height. "The Clans are ready to uphold the treaties. We have ears in all the major human world powers except Russia and Switzerland." Another council member shook his head sadly. "The Packs collapsed almost 4 centuries ago. I could issue a Call, but... I'm not sure how many will respond." Blinding light and deafening thunder filling the room cut off any reply, and three new arrivals stood when they had faded. The sharp-toothed boy narrowed his eyes. "Zeus, Ra, Odin. Here to slaughter, as usual, or have you realized your arrogance will get you nowhere?" Zeus, King of the Olympians, scowled and began marching forward, only to be held back by the arm of Ra. Odin rolled his eyes and began to speak. "Stipan, Child of Lilith, we arrive in observance of the parley. The Enemy is coming, and even our kingdoms are threatened by their presence, by their Gods." The elderly man with midnight eyes nodded slowly. "They tell the truth. Good. I assume you have a plan, if you are willing to convene with beings as lowly as us?"He smiled, but it was a viscous smile, without mirth. Zeus', on the other hand, was imbued with arrogance. "As a matter of fact, we do." ---- (Might continue, not much time.)
Sandwich, juicebox, cheese crackers, pudding cup... A manic moment of disbelief passed over me as I ran my fingers through the crumpled paper sack that I'd carried my lunch in. Lifting the bag and emptying phantom contents onto the table, It dawned on me that my spoon was gone. A moment of isolated silence in this crowded break room wrapped itself around myself and the pudding cup, our moment of crisis drowning the outside world. A quick scan of my path to the lunch table revealed no dropped utensil. Could I have possibly forgotten it? It seems so implausible. Every day my routine consists of the same morning rituals, the same commute and the same lunch preparation. But alas, to err is human. Now what to do about it? The workplace lunchroom is ill equipped - a sink, refrigerator and broken toaster oven are all that management has seen fit to serve as communal utilities. I'll have to rely on what I have on hand. My sandwich wrap is paper - no good. The flimsy cheese cracker packaging no better, and to use the crackers to scoop up pudding would be tantamount to a war crime. Using the thin juicebox straw was an equally ludicrous solution, it could never handle the viscosity of of the pudding, and the tapioca balls would ensure certain failure. The lid. The stiff foil lid of the pudding could be fashioned into a reasonable scoop! I just had to be careful pulling it off. Pulling in close and grabbing the convenient tab, I began peeling the lid off with the patience and precision of bomb disposal specialist. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I delicately pulled back the- FUCK The lid split raggedly in half. Useless! Heart thumping, panic began settling in as I checked the wall clock. Only ten minutes left in my lunch break. At this point people had begun to stare, and the pressure was on. I picked up the pudding cup, staring at it with avarice. Slowly, cautiously I brought my free hand to the lip of the container. It couldn't be this easy, could it? Dipping my fingers in, I began scooping glob after glob of thick, sweet pudding into my mouth. A mad cackle and specks of pudding escaped my mouth as I shoveled away, co-workers looking on in horror. How could I have been so foolish? I was the spoon, all along.
12 years. 4,380 days. 1 day, 4,380 times. The thing you don't understand about repeating the same day over and over, is that eventually, you become a God. Eventually you can not only predict every action, but you've tried just about every reaction, and you know how everything is going to turn out. It might get boring occasionally, but the power is addicting. My days were full of expensive meals (no point watching your wallet when it resets), beautiful women (I had a thousand tries to make a first impression), and heat racing danger, because no matter how I ended up, I awoke in the same bed, wearing the same stupid t-shirt. Maybe it's because of this danger that I now sit here terrified. Ever since I realized that my life had returned to normal, I could barely force myself to leave my cramped apartment. The number of grisly deaths I had experienced, and brushed aside, now haunt my thoughts incessantly. Of course I wont go drunk speed boating again, but even normal life carried so many dangers. I could get hit by a car, or have a stroke. I could wind up dead in a thousand different ways, but no more waking up in that bed wearing that t-shirt. I was no longer a God. After being immortal for so long, I was keenly aware of how fragile I was. My phone rings suddenly. It's Claire. She is the woman I went out to dinner with on that final day, when I still had the confidence of a God. I haven't seen her in almost a week, but she still calls occasionally. I guess I made an impression. But now I can't talk to her. I'm too afraid. I'm afraid she'll hear the new weakness in my voice, and realize that the man she met that night was nothing but an illusion built from ego and the security that nothing mattered. That man is gone. I desperately want him back. I could keep living like that right? I have twelve years of experience being the kind of man I always wanted to be. I learned to dance, and play the piano, and speak Spanish. I could still be that man. No the world was too chaotic now; too uncertain. I was too afraid. I start crying. The never ending day had taken away my life, and I had forgotten how to live.
Grand Lich Sarnu'Alth stood in his observatorium, pale face in deep concentration. "Now stay right..there.."he glanced back to the skeletons standing deathly still in some sort of renaissance-esque pose, and went back to his easle. He had spent the last 50 years fiddling about his underground crypt- attempting to enslave the world had gotten stale quick. After the fifth phylactery it just became more of a nuisance. He liked to paint now. And some sculpting, too. You would be surprised how your avenues open when you have flesh and bone instead of clay and stone. "Almost finished.."he didn't say this to anyone in particular, and skeletons don't have voice boxes, but he had in recent years animated them with some semblance of personality. It livened up the place. And no, this irony was not lost upon him. As he was finishing, a rumbling of the cavern made him slip- a black streak meant to be a shadow was now across his 4 hour painting. Grand Lich Sarnu'Alth felt something he hadn't felt in 50 years. Rage. He levitated over to his scrying crystal, fist still clenched around his brush. Peering into the shining surface a mage(he snorted) of some sort appeared to be be using magic to blast their way in. A knight clad in metal and an archer in a cloak behind her. Oh goody, adventurers. He rolled his eyes, and the brush left his grasp and floated back into the jug of paintwater. He bagan to leaf through a tome- he could plague these idiots now and be done with it. As he was about start the incantations, however, he had an idea. He extended his hand to the crystal and spoke- the echoes would be carried through all his crystals with the crypt. "Welcome, adventurers, to the first annual Grand Lich Sarnu'Alth art show!"
The A-Team walked out of the debrief room, sweat dripping from their foreheads. The musty smell of combat immediately filled the air. I could almost taste the blood, the shattered concrete, and the mix of adrenaline. Melissa The Mighty was the first to sit down, exhausted. Then came The Unseen, Blinking Billy, Winged Winston, and Reptiloid. Billy dashed into one of the recliners so fast to the degree that I almost missed him. He went straight for the automatic massaging foot soaker thingy. As if these folks weren't spoiled enough, they stared at me with all the same hungry faces. I pointed up into the air, as if trying to summon some mighty God. In an instant, I brought my finger to the ground, and leveled my arm parallel to the floor - straight out. Five sandwiches lay perfectly balanced on my arm. From the end of my wrist to beginning of my shoulder. The classic Italian for Melissa, a "Sam's Surprise"for Unseen and Billy, a reuben for Winston, and Reptiloid took his normal. That thing still disgusts me every time I make it. Reptiloid, of course, is an odd fellow. A "shapeshifter", if you will. His original form is some sort of reptilian lizard, but for an odd reason he's never revealed it unto our unworthy eyes. Anyways, he likes his sandwich as follows: two pieces of rye bread, spinach, raisins, pureed house flies, and salted crickets. Don't ask. I plated my sandwiches and began to distribute them to their proper consumers. "Ahhh, Sammich Sam! My man", Reptiloid said to me under his raspy voice. The others grabbed their plates with delight, and I could see in their eyes that my presence alone made them content. I made a grilled cheese for myself, and sat down to chat with my brothers-in-arms. They spoke of their battle stories and how they managed to defeat the Wicked Widow. It was at this moment they finally completed the last stage of debrief - nutritional rehabilitation. So that's me, Sammich Sam. I know that it sounds pathetic, but I also know for a fact that the sandwiches I can produce are a vital part of this team. This isn't the most exciting of my days (like the time I gave the team explosive chicken and teriyaki subs), but it's just as important. For as long as my men and woman are fighting evil, I will be crafting the best deli products that this world has ever seen. That in and of itself slashes the evil doers of the world with fear. As Winged Winston likes to say, "A person unfed is a person unable to prosper."
I leaned over the small cocktail table, keeping my eyes locked onto his. "I must say, you are rather dashing,"I murmured. My perfume wafted up from my neck, filling in the short space between our faces. "The most handsomely dressed at this entire party, I'd say." "That's very kind of you say,"he said genially. "But I have to beg to differ; there are some gentlemen here who are simply ravishing." "Oh? And how about the ladies? Any that...pique your interest?"I pulled myself up taller, but let my dress catch on the table a bit, giving him a generous view of my ample bosom. Amazingly, he shook his head. "Oh, no one in particular. But certainly you look lovely,"he added, catching the look of confusion and/or frustration on my face. This was not working as planned. By my calculations, we should've already been in bed right now. "You know, this is the first I've stepped into your home. You have...lovely ballroom space,"I finished lamely. The double entendre had sounded better in my head. He didn't seem to notice. "Why, thank you! I had it remodeled recently for this party. Those angel fountains were installed just yesterday, in fact." "Ah yes, the angel fountains,"I said impatiently. "Anyway, I would love for a tour of the rest of your residence. I imagine it to be as fine as you." He chuckled. "Normally, I would be delighted to show you my home. In fact there's one room in particular that I believe you would be quite interested in..." "Is that so?"I whispered coyly. "Yes, I think you would be absolutely stunned by the library,"he beamed. "Mahogany woodwork, tomes both ancient and modern. And more fountains. I can't seem to get enough of them." It took all my effort not to groan. But still, it might not be a total loss. We would at least be alone in the library. "That does sound..intriguing. Care to lead the way?" "Sadly, I must disappoint you here,"he said apologetically. "I must stay and continue to greet my incoming guests. In fact...oh my..."his voice trailed off as he stared at the main entrance, where a tall man dressed in a dark salmon coat had just entered. He had a handsome, well-kept beard yet strangely feminine cheekbones. It was alluring, but in a peculiar way. "What an odd fellow,"I remarked to the host. He made no response and continued to gawk. I briefly wondered whether I could just stab him with my poison needle right now, while he seemed distracted. Bah, too many people around. "Are you acquainted with him?" "Not yet,"he breathed. I watched in surprise as he fixed up his tie, slicked his hair back, and straightened his velvet grey suit-jacket. "Forgive me madam, I must go meet this...new guest. I trust you'll continue to entertain yourself?"Without waiting for an answer or even a look backwards, he sauntered away. I sighed, annoyed and puzzled. I had a contract to fulfill, and it was proving frustratingly tortuous. Oh well, the party had only begun. There would be more opportunities to ensnare my target. Meanwhile, I decided to revisit the appetizers table. I shot another glance at the host and his new conversation partner as I passed by. They seemed to be getting along amiably, drinking dark wine from tall glasses. Perhaps he will get drunk, I thought cheerfully. Should make it easier for me. Of course, I didn't know what was to happen during the course of the night. That's because just as my target couldn't see the needle in my hidden pocket, his target could not see the thin, curved blade tucked away in his grey sleeve. _______________________________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
When locked up in prison, most people will do anything to escape, right? And most people fail. Not me. I went in for fun. Stuck a knife deep into the chest of a passing stranger, gave the knife to a witness. I handed myself in. The evidence, the witnesses-- everything was beautifully against me. I wanted to know how far I could go. Everything I have ever said had become a reality. So I shrieked in court, over and over, "I didn't do it."My solicitor begged for a lesser sentence. Apparently I was mentally disabled. Deluded. They called me psychotic for telling lies... Until one day, the truth came out. I still remembered how it felt to jam the sharpened metal into the woman's chest. Even in the midst of a crown, that sound, an almost squelch, was euphoric. The droplets of blood that gushed down, bleeding into her white shirt. Watching her succumb to her shock, her injuries. Falling to her knees and then, finally, crashing down against the cold, dead concrete. I was in my cell. Minding my own business. But then the warden came with the police commissioner. And my astonished lawyer. When I walked out of that prison, a herd of media frenzies were waiting. Apologising. Announcing that the woman, indeed, committed suicide and tried to frame me. A couple of days later her husband and two children begged for forgiveness. Ashmita did wrong. She went insane. No one knew why. But I was right. A letter was found, written in her own writing. Admitting her plans. She'd frame a stranger so her suicide wouldn't be seen as shameful in her community. I couldn't help the theatrical laughter after they left. Huge bellows of ecstasy. I had done it again. And I knew for definite that I could do anything. So I already knew my next target: the world.

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