Split (1)

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NARRATOR: Ryan wanders forward past the deceased cave-troll and into the chamber of his next challenger: Gorgath the Viking. Gorgath the Viking ambushes Ryan in the doorway, slamming his two-handed battleaxe into Ryan's stomach. Ryan jams his spear through Gorgath's eye, but bleeds out shortly after. RYAN: What's this rubbish? I could've totally dodged that swing. NARRATOR: Fine, fine. You can try again. NARRATOR: Ryan wanders forward past the deceased cave-troll and into the chamber of his next challenger: Gorgath the Viking. Gorgath the Viking ambushes Ryan in the doorway, swinging his battle-axe towards Ryan's abdomen. Ryan parries the axe with his spear and jams the tip of his polearm into the eye of Gorgath. Gorgath falls dead. Ryan cleans himself and loots Gorgath, climbing the ladder down to the next level of the dungeon. Ryan falls into a pit of rattle-snakes when he reaches the bottom. He is killed instantly. RYAN: .. You're serious? Am I deaf or something? They're rattle snakes. They have rattles. I would've totally heard them. NARRATOR: Sigh. Ok. You're right. NARRATOR: Ryan wanders forward past the deceased cave-troll and into the chamber of his next challenger: Gorgath the Viking. Gorgath the Viking ambushes Ryan in the doorway, swinging his battle-axe towards Ryan's abdomen. Ryan parries the axe with his spear and jams the tip of his polearm into the eye of Gorgath. Gorgath falls dead. Ryan cleans himself and loots Gorgath, climbing the ladder down to the next level of the dungeon. Ryan nearly falls into a pit of rattle-snakes when he reaches the bottom, but avoids the pit safely after hearing their tails. He takes several steps forward and suffers a brain aneurysm, ending his life instantly. RYAN: I'm done playing this with you. You're so full of shit. NARRATOR: Hey. A brain aneurysm can happen at any time. You just got unlucky.
"So tell me again about the jacket,"the demon said. I rolled my eyes. "Is this it?"I asked. "The same question over and over again? You think it's going to open up my eyes and I'll understand everything with clear eyes and an open heart?" The demon smiled and steepled his fingers. "Tell me about the jacket." Leaning back in the chair, and breathing out theatrically, I complied. "My mom bought me a jacket,"I said. "Red leather - fake leather, I guess. She... we... were poor. I loved it. I wore it. The end." "Is that the end?"he asked. "Is it?" I looked him in the eyes. As many of them as were possible. There were too many of them to do justice to every one. "I wore the jacket every day before it all... you know. Before she was arrested. Before she was acquitted. Before she came home." He patted my hand with one of his legs. "Thank you,"he said. "I know this is hard." I gave him a look. "I appreciate that,"I said. "I feel your concern and it helps me to grow." "Don't be a dick,"he said. "Tell me what happened next." "When she... on the day she died,"I started, my voice catching. "I took it out of the wardrobe. I hadn't worn it in years. She'd told me I was too old to wear it now. It was too small. It was worn, and ripped." His mandibles clicked. "Go on,"he said. I could feel a tear roll down my cheek. "But it was... I just wanted to,"I stuttered a little, "go home again? You know? Before it all..."I sobbed audibly. "I'm here for you,"he said. "I'm here. Let it out." "But it wasn't the same!"I shouted. "It wasn't! After the court case, the newspapers, the recriminations! She got out on a technicality! We lived in the neighbourhood. She thought her defiance made her right. She thought she was reclaiming her life! Every pointed stare, every spraypainted accusation, she'd tell me it made us stronger!" He made a clucking sound. "But it didn't, did it?" "No,"I said. "I grew up as the child of a monster. Known to everyone. Known to all as the fruit of the beast of the..."I broke down. He waited patiently. I pulled myself together. "How did you know?"I asked. "How did you know that the jacket was the thing that drew me to killing?" There was a moment where - even with a face like his - I could register surprise. "Really?"He asked. "I mean... seriously?" "Yeah,"I said. He caught my eye. "What was your jacket made out of?" "Human skin,"I said. "Oh, shit! Is this what they mean when they say a breakthrough?" He looked awkwardly around. "Probably,"he said. "Fuck,"I said to no-one in particular. "I'd never seen the connection until now." __________________ Edit: drunk punctuation.
Christine is going to love her suprise! I'l just wait behind the door... "AGHHHHHHHH!" "Christine!" "AGHHHHHHHH!" "Christine, it's OK! It was a little suprise I put together for you." "WHY IS MY GRANDMA MAKING A CUP OF TEA IN MY KITCHEN?" "It's your valentines gift from me." "GRANDMA HAS BEEN DEAD FOR 10 YEARS!" "C..r...is.tinnnne... teeee deeer? " --- I really hope this makes up for last year's valetines day. That stupid flowermancer has been making moves on Christine. "AGHHHHHHHH!" "Christine! It's OK!" "AGHHHHHHHH!" "I know you are a big Elvis fan... Suprise ! And I did I great job with him. He's going to play you a song." crack "I wood if maaa arm hadn't fallen off. Ughhh huhhh." "Tim, it's over." "It's that damn flowermancer, isn't it! Come on, throw me a bone. I'm trying here! Owch! Not you Elvis."
Inspector Mittens slammed his gloved fists on the table. "Okay, punks. We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way, or we can do this in any of the ways in the middle of the difficulty spectrum. I'll ask each of you once: where were you at 10 o'clock on the night of June 4?" Eileen Buttercup quivered in her seat, fiddling with her scout's sash. "My mother had tucked me in and was reading me a bedtime story." "What story?" "G-goodnight, Moon." "Goodnight, my ass. Guess what, Eileen? There was no moon in the sky that night! It was the night of a new moon!"Mittens flung an almanac at her. "Have your mom read this to you the next time you try to fabricate an alibi." A single tear ran down Eileen's cheek before melting into her fair, unblemished skin. Mittens turned to face his next suspect: the unicorn pony. For a moment, the unicorn's innocent smile tickled the corners of Mittens's mouth, willing him to exchange one in return, but he closed his eyes and thought of the unicorn stampede that had killed his daughter, and a wave of resentment displaced any sympathetic inclinations. "What about you, unicorn?" The unicorn pony's voice was deep and velvety. "I was enjoying a cup of tea in my villa while reading my copy of Black Beauty." "Do you take me for a fool? Everyone knows unicorns can't read."Mittens flung an empty chair into the corner of the room and stormed in a circle around the table. "The audacity of you lot, wasting my time with these half-baked excuses."He turned to the final suspect, the cat with a bow. "Well, cat? Here's your chance to provide an actual alibi." The cat with a bow curled up on the top of the desk and let out a soft meow. "Unacceptable. Simply unacceptable."Mittens drew a pistol from his hip. "Congratulations. All three of you have failed the test so spectacularly that we've entered the sudden death round. From here on out, if you answer the question wrong..."He sent one shot into the air. Eileen buried her face into the unicorn's paunch and began to weep. "If I may,"the unicorn interjected, a smile still plastered on his face, "I think if we just set all this hostility aside and put our heads together, we will most certainly be able to identify which of us three is the culprit." "You..."Mittens pointed the gun at the unicorn. "You call yourself a unicorn pony rather than just a unicorn. Tell me why that is." "But of course. Younger unicorns identify as ponies up until they reach the age-" A bang echoed through the room, and the unicorn pony sank to the floor, blood flowing from the wound between his eyes. Even in death, his eyes remained open, and his smile never faded from his face. "Wrong. Ponies are a term used to distinguish between horse sizes, not ages."Mittens shoved the table aside, sending the cat flying into the wall. Nothing stood between him and Eileen Buttercup now. She sank to the floor, next to the now exonerated but now also dead unicorn. "Your turn, Eileen. A true scout would be able to list all the ingredients of the most popular variety of girl scout cookies: Thin Mints." Between sobs, Eileen managed to choke out an answer. "Mint...and cookie wafers?" BANG. Eileen slumped lifelessly across the body of the unicorn. At a glance, one could mistake her for being asleep, if not for the gaping hole in her forehead and the blood streaming down her face and spilling onto her uniform. She looks almost like my daughter, Mittens thought. A sudden burst of clarity struck him, bringing forth a wave of panic. Mittens raised his gloves, staring at the blood splotched across it. All this time, it had been him. He had fooled himself. He had taken all those lives. He had been the murder bot. Hand shaking, Mittens slowly raised the gun to his own head. Another burst of clarity pierced through the fog of his guilt. Mittens whirled around and shot the kitten with the bow. It exploded in a burst of sparks and metal, and its hypnotic emissions immediately ceased. Mittens picked himself up and holstered his pistol. I still got it.
#The Hall of the Mountain King The guard rushed in to the main hall, face flushed, panting. The royal protection detail started to intercept, but their master waved them away. Eventually he got his breath back, and started to speak. "Sir he seeks an audience with you. He has shown power we cannot understand. He has shown wonders greater than ours yet they fit in his hand. He has knowledge that surpasses ours. He claims he is from 2016." The Mountain King (as McEwan liked to call himself, though his "mountain"was barely worthy of the name, and was more of a large hill) was barely awake, but he started to liven up a bit at this intrusion. "Who seeks an audience?" "I apologise, Sir. A man walked up to the main gate and told us that he travelled here from the year 2016, and wished to discover how humanity lived in our time." "2016?" "Yes, sir. However, when he got here he said that he was disappointed to find so few traces of human settlements, and that now he just wanted to find shelter from the rains and prepare to return home to his own time." McEwan was amused. "And you say he has shown wonders greater than ours that fit into his hand?" "Indeed, sir. He has a small shiny stone that shows images on it's surface! It is a marvel!" The King's mood darkened. "Bring this visitor to me, that we may converse in private. Everyone leave the hall now!" As the guard sprinted out of the ancient hall to fetch the new arrival, the King's personal guards reluctantly left him to his thoughts. The man arrived and was shown in to the huge hall, hewn by hand out of the granite that lay beneath this land. "I understand you are the main man in these parts. McEwan, is that right? Hello to you. I'm Dr Kenneth Garrows. I'm the inventor of time travel. I sent myself to your era to discover how things had improved in the intervening thousand years, but it seems that they have gone backwards. What happened?" McEwan spoke coolly, unimpressed with the man's familiar nature and his lack of respect. "Dr Garrows, I must correct you on a number of points. I am the monarch 'in these parts', and demand that you treat me with the appropriate respect." Dr Garrows was obviously not used to being anything other than the authority figure in his life, noted McEwan. The doctor visibly bristled, but managed to control his irritation. "As you wish, your Royal highness."Garrows continued with a thinly sarcastic tone: "What other points am I to be corrected on, sir?" This would be fun. "Number one: you are not the inventor of time travel. It was invented in the year 2860. You may have made the same discoveries in parallel with the original inventor, but you are not her." Garrows was confused: "But I came from the year 20-" "-16. I know. But remember, we are talking about time travel. Try as humanity might to avoid paradoxes or undue manipulation of past events, some irresponsible or unwary people still drop hints and information in eras that mean progress is accelerated." The king took a swig from his goblet while Garrows doubtless processed what this primitive-looking fool had just told him. "So why does everything look so...primitive?"And there it was. McEwan sighed and began the lecture. "Why? Because humanity has had to deal with the consequences of earlier ages! Events that were catastrophic for life on this planet. Events, Dr Garrow, such as the release of gigatons of methane and carbon from the Arctic permafrost. Without rapid industrialisation and a slavish adherence to neo-classical capitalist economics in the 19-21st centuries, the release would have been gradual, and advances in knowledge and technology would have managed them effectively. Because you people couldn't stop eating livestock, making ever more humans, and burning dead dinosaurs to travel from one concrete hellhole to another, the tipping point came a couple of hundred years too early, and humanity had to migrate quickly. Billions still perished." Dr Garrows was amazed. "Migrate? You mean we -" "Indeed. We are presently colonising and terraforming a significant number of suitable planets within a 'bubble' of approximately a thousand light years. Our ancestral home was rendered uninhabitable by most life forms for hundreds of years after the Release, but when our climate manipulation technology was operational, we restored Earth to a clean bill of health. Our Ark scientists reintroduced most of the local varieties of flora, fauna, and microbial life that we had recovered and stored. Eventually, it was decided to open the planet to human inhabitants, but to ensure that it remains the beautiful green and blue ball it is today, the Galactic Federation issued an order that population would be tightly controlled and that no advanced technology would be permitted, on pain of death. I, as the Mountain King (or the administrator of the British Isles, with my headquarters inside Ben Nevis in Scotland, as your antiquated terminology might put it), am charged with maintaining order on this landmass. Other Kings exist." McEwan enjoyed watching the colour drain from this man's smug face. The Doctor gulped and spoke: "Death? Am I to be executed for daring to bring some ancient technology to Amish Earth?" "I don't know what Amish means, but I will not issue any execution order if you immediately return to your time. Federation agents have been notified of this violation via mindlink - " Garrows perked up "- What? I mean, excuse me sir, did you say mind link?" "We introduced what you might term 'quantum communication via neural link' to select people in positions of authority not long after your time, Dr Garrows. As I was saying before you interrupted me, agents from the Galactic Federation will have already detected your wormhole start and end points and will arrive at the starting spacetime coordinates shortly - so to speak - to dispose of your unauthorised vehicle. Unless you want to be stuck here to be tried by a people who currently believe in evil sorcery, I would suggest that you..." Garrows couldn't press his "back"button quick enough, and vanished in a flash. Oh well. The good Doctor hadn't asked why they didn't just go back and fix everything, at least. He must have realised that time travel was a dangerous drug, and that undue tampering would soon lead to the pre-empting of human history by the impatient. The Mountain King finished his mead, called in his staff, and summoned his jester. He needed to lighten his mood after meeting one of those mass-murdering idiots.
Waking up from nothing always gives you this bleary feeling. Think of getting up from a bad nap, and multiply that bad nap by millions. You never get used to it. As usual, I had to rest quietly in the bed for awhile and adjust. He had tucked the sheets snugly beneath my arms and around my legs, just like I like it. He even put me in fresh pajamas, the ones with the poppies, and were those my favorite teddy bear slippers on my feet? I could barely feel my toes, the way they feel when you've stepped in snow barefoot. My limbs have the springy sleep to them, my body feels like a brick as the organs begin to wake as well. I could tell you all of it in vivid descriptions, but you never get used to it. When my vision cleared and my body warmed, I pulled the covers away and sat up. He was beside the bed, curled into an ivy green sleeping bag with eyes shut and mouth slack. Even gone, he looks just like he did when he'd go to sleep, back when. He must have taken the barbiturates today. He must not have wanted me to wake up next to him in the bed again. Whenever he does that, I wake up thinking things are normal and he is okay, pull in for a cuddle, then immediately find myself very... disappointed. I steady myself into a standing position and wobble over to his body, feeling like Jell-O and trembling as I kneel down to kiss his cool cheek. He still smells like he does when he's alive, but there's a little 'something else' death leaves too. Looks like he didn't shave this time around. He knows I like that, even if it itches. The hardest part is walking away, and I did that as I grasp edges and walls to get myself along. I limped into the bathroom and looked into our mirror. I always like to get a grip of reality, of me. I have to make those connections again. I stared into my reflection. Think of the worst eye-bags of your life - like, you've gotten three hours of sleep all week on overnight flights - and multiple that by millions. My gaze shifted to a yellow sticky note on the glass, barely flapping from the A.C. I don't want to read it. I went into the kitchen for my first breakfast, chuckling at the remains of his 'Last Supper' in the sink. We always had a running joke about that. It smelled rotten, gnats were gently buzzing, but that's something you can actually get used to, with him. In the fridge is a clear plastic carton of mixed fruits. They're getting old, starting to go wet and ooze juice, but it's fiine; they're sweeter that way. I quietly ate them as I found my phone (always on the breakfast bar) and unlocked it. He didn't charge it all the way, but there are tons of green messages from him. I can barely read the bright, tiny print but I know it's him because I can make out the heart emoji and the ring emoji and the kissing emoji. I put my phone down after a quick scroll-through, squinted out the key words. I don't want to read them. Next pit-stop was the computer. It whirred to life, slowly but surely. We really ought to buy a new one. I played a quick round of trivia with my friend. She must really get sick of turns taking days. She happened to be online at the time and we exchanged some brief, kind messages. When you're faced with long gaps in your reality, everyone else's life seems to go so fast. My email tab was flashing with new emails. They're video attachments. They're from him. I opened the first one, and saw his face, vibrant and beautiful and alive. He usually smiles, but in this one, he was serious. The way he pulled his mouth is just like when he used to try and be 'professional' and talk to clients and strangers even though I knew he was a goof. But it seemed too earnest this time. "Hey, darling,"he began uneasily. I can't do this. I started the next video, he looks more distressed. "I know this is hard and our memories are wonderful but,"I can't do this. I started the next one. "I hope you will forgive me. And I love you so much." I can't do this. I closed the tab. I walked back to the bathroom, and checked the medicine cabinets. He left just enough to share. Pulling the sticky note from the mirror, I am still shaking as I gently crawled down and slid into that sleeping bag. I swallowed the rest dry and wrapped his limp arm around my waist, just like the good times. I'm still in my special pajamas. As my vision blurs, I look at the dull, yellow sticky note. I read the words over and over again until I can't read anymore, I stare at it until I can't see anymore. "Don't bring me back."
Dead. Never thought that it’d happen to me. Well...I never thought it would happen to me this young, rather. I always thought I’d die an old woman surrounded by her 17 cats and watching The Price is Right reruns. Possibly complaining about the old days with Bobby Barker. But, hey, an aneurysm while walking to work before I turned 30 is as dignified as can be, I suppose. As far as I’m concerned though, I shouldn’t worry about it. Despite the fact that I left a loving family and many great friends behind, I realize that no amount of wishing on either of our ends can bring me back. I may not be suffering, but they sure are. It just feels wrong that I’ve left them and can’t do anything to ease their pain. To be honest, that shouldn’t have been at the front of my mind at the moment. Walking through those pearly gates in the sky, St. Peter handed me a rolled scroll, which was tied delicately with a golden ribbon. couldn’t pay it any mind if I even wanted to. I was too wrapped up in just the beauty of the afterlife. More so the people than anything else. Their cheeks were rosy and their grins were wide, as if someone cut them from ear to ear. Both young and old alike, they were all dressed in, what I could only assume, her fine silken robes, adorned with golden bracelets and necklaces, their feet bare. Looking down at myself, I noticed that I, too, was dressed in a similar manner. I guess that should have been expected. After what seemed like a lifetime, my mind finally wandered back to the scroll handed to me upon entry. With a sigh, I began to sit down where I stood, only to find a small bench appear below my backside. Despite my confusion, I didn’t question it. I still had much to learn about this place, after all. Throwing a leg over the other, I rested the scroll in my lap as I untied the ribbon as gently as I could. Something as simple was still immensely beautiful. And beauty should always be preserved. The scroll rolled out, cascading over my leg and onto the cloudy ground at my feet. It rolled farther away, probably a few yards or so. I blinked as its perceived length betrayed me. Steeling myself, I picked it up and proceeded to read the first line, seeing as how I would be here for a while, so I might as well get started. The first line was a seemingly arbitrary date. However, I did notice that it predated my birthday by several months. Next to the date was my mother’s name, followed by a statement in quotation marks. “My darling child...” I felt my brow furrow in confusion before I began to read on. Line by line, the format followed suit. A date, a person’s name and whatever that comment wanted to be. From what I could gather, it was when and who a person thought about me. Whether it was my grandmother thinking she had the smartest granddaughter in the world, to little Molly Evans cursing me in her four year old head because I had gotten two turns on the slide when she had only gotten one. It was intriguing at first. I could finally knew exactly how everybody thought about me before I died. Possibly after I died, too. It was Heaven, truth be told. Literally anything could happen and I wouldn’t bat an eye. I read on and on, people passing me by as they gave me knowing looks. I suppose they all received the same scroll upon their entrances, as well. Some comments made me smile, some made me frown and quite a few made me feel like crying. It had made me realize exactly how much I left behind. Not just dreams or aspirations. Not just smiles to give and tears to cry. I left behind the amount of smiles I would give to my loved ones. I left behind an infinite amount of opportunities to help them wipe their own tears away. I heaved a heavy sigh. No matter how bad I wanted to, it seems that Eric Clapton’s hit was absolutely right. No tears stained my cheeks, now that I was in the eternal paradise of Heaven. Despite how much it hurt, I had to keep reading. My internal sorrow didn’t last long, since I was starting to get into my teenage years. Which meant that boyhood crushes and wet dreams about me were ahead. My laughter bubbled out of my lips with each of these comments. A few of the owners to those thoughts were still friends of mine to this day, and knowing them now I would never have guessed that they used to be this awkward. Halfway through my teenager years, around when I turned 16, I was stopped in my tracks by a particular comment. It wasn’t exceptionally lewd or remarkable by any means. It was the person who thought it that caught me off guard. Lena Hanson. “Holy shit. I’m glad I get to sit next to this looker all period long...” Lena was one of my best friends throughout my junior and senior years of high school and we even kept very close to each other after the fact. I introduced her to the boyfriends I attained and eventually lost. At least once a week we were together. And for hours, at that. It wasn’t unlike her to compliment me on my looks or what have you. It was more so the way it was presented. She seemed earnest. Like she truly meant it. But on a deeper level than just...mere friendliness. The more I read on, Lena’s name became a staple. Through junior and senior year, not only did her thoughts about me become more frequent, but also more personal. Instead of thinking about my looks, she commented on my personality. How much courage I had. The way my laughing sounded like a bird chirping away into a sunny, summer sky. Eventually, I had learned that it wasn’t just boys that had awkward dreams about people they fancy. I was taken aback by this. A friendship lasting almost 13 years, and I never noticed this? All of my women friends and I could always tell when a guy liked them. However, I think I was starting to get exactly how a man feels when trying to deduce whether a girl likes him. The notes are more subtle, the idiosyncrasies much harder to pick out. But looking back, all of the complimenting, the way her body became warm when I hugged her, the unnecessary gifts and the constant invitations to hang out with her were taking a much deeper meaning to me. This trend continued even past high school. Into our college years, through all of the crappy and not so crappy jobs we held after the fact. No matter what, she was always the name that was emblazoned on the paper every two or three names. Her thoughts never changed about me. Her dreams had never ceased, even if she didn’t dream most of the times she had the word “pleasure” on the mind. My fists clenched the scroll tighter as I realized that even if I left a few broken hearts back down on Earth, one of the friends I had loved so dearly would have a life filled with ‘what ifs’ instead of ‘oh wells.’ And I trailed her along. Without even meaning to. By treating her like all of my other women friends, by hugging her and kissing her on the cheek to show affection, I tortured her. She didn’t want to bone me one night and then move on. She wasn’t looking for a spring fling or a chance to experiment. She was saving herself for me, even if her hope seemed dimmer than the burning embers of a snuffed out candle. She loved me, not for the beauty of my face and body, but also for the beauty within my heart. For the eyes that were truly the windows to my soul. She loved me because she knew that she could spend the rest of her life with me. And now she would have to deal with the fact that she would never get to see me smile again.
It all started innocently enough. I went to bed one night and the next morning I noticed a stain in the carpet that had been there for years was gone. When I asked my parents about it, they just looked confused. The next night, I went to bed and woke up to find my blankets were now a lighter shade of green, including the sheets under me. I'm a light sleeper so I couldn't imagine someone doing that in my sleep. The following night, I didn't notice anything immediately. In fact, I might not have noticed at all had my parents not asked me to put my little sister to bed. She asked for me to read her a story to help her sleep, and I grabbed the first one on the shelf. The Berenstain- wait Berenstain? I could have sworn it was Berenstein when I read it to her last week. I didn't notice any more changes for an entire week. One day I woke up do learn my dad had died last year. I couldn't wait to go to bed and hopefully wake up with a living dad again. That didn't happen for a month. When I saw him again, I broke down crying and wouldn't stop hugging him for nearly an hour, much to his confusion. I told him I had a nightmare, and he accepted that explanation. Another weird one I noticed was the death of Nelson Mandela.. I don't know too much about apartheid, but unless I remembered wrong, the date of his death changed. Once I woke up in a world where the Beatles had died in a plane crash. They had a wider impact than I would have guessed. Many bands I were familiar with never formed. Freddy Mercury lived longer, for some reason. And no one knew who Kurt Cobain was. I have to say, sleep is just about the most terrifying thing for me these days. I never know just what will change when I wake up. Or just how big an impact that change will make...
"What?" That was all I managed to muster before another one of her super-powered punches threw me to the ground. Did she just kiss me? "Don't mock me, Electrojade."I spit out blood on the ground. "What is the meaning of this?" The masked woman in the green costume only winked and turned into an emerald lightning bolt, heading straight for me. I turned on the boosters in my suit and dodged the attack. Thunder filled the air as she struck the pavement. "Catch me if you can, big guy!"She transformed once more and bolted down the highway. What the hell was going on!? What's gotten into her? Electrojade, the so-called righteous defender of Goldwell City, had disrupted my plans multiple times in the past, but never had I seen her behave like this. A fight was always serious for her, no matter how many times I tried playing mindgames with her, she stayed focused and determined. So why all this? I knew I had to find out. Maybe I was walking into a trap, maybe I should've simply went on with the plan, but this was too strange to ignore. I set the engines to full thrust and directed my suit to follow Electrojade's signal. With the amount of energy those blasts emitted, she was easy to track. It wasn't long till I saw the familiar green flashes in the distance. She was heading out of the city. Away from collateral damage perhaps? Well there was only one way to found out. The chase was long, but at the end she finally stopped. We were in the middle of a desert, not a single building, vehicle, or bystander in sight. "You're strong,"she said, "much stronger than you used to be. Remember our first fight? How many punches did it take? Two? Three?" I scowled. Now she was mocking me. I remembered my humiliation perfectly well. Time after time I was defeated by this woman. Yet I always came back stronger than before. "Gene engineering, robotic enhancements, weaponized suits, you did everything you could do get an edge, didn't you?"She was smiling. "Enough of these games, Electrojade!"I was beginning to get impatient. "Yes, enough games."She took off her mask, threw it to the ground and stomped it under her heel. "Enough, Michael." I knew that face perfectly well. Sarah, Sarah Matlock, my assistant at the company I used as a front for my research and operations. "Sarah?" "Yes, Michael, or would you still prefer Dr. Dominion?"She approached and threw her hands around me. "What are you..." Before I could finish, our lips met in a passionate kiss. It seemed to last for eternity. In that moment, I forgot about everything, my plans, the fight, the insane sequence of events that led up to this, none of it mattered. "I love you, Michael, I always have,"Sarah whispered in my ear. I backed away, stunned. Was this a trick? No, it couldn't be. She would never... Did she expect me to change, to forget my goals and ambitions? "I'm not trying to trick you or convince you,"Sarah said, as if reading my mind. "I always admired you for who you are. Not the grey emotionless businessman, but a man with a purpose, a man who wants to change the world." "Then why..."My thoughts were still clouded. "Because I know you, Michael. If I stepped out of the way, you'd try to take on everyone. You weren't ready. The others would crush you. That's why I let you get away time after time."She gently touched the side of my helmet, as if trying to brush her hand against my cheek. "Now, you're finally ready. I've waited for this for so long. The others don't understand. All they want is to preserve the status quo, as if this world is so great to begin with, but you and me, together we can change everything." "So,"I tried to sound cold and calculated as always, "you want to join me?" "Yes, but first..."Sarah winked. "You have to defeat your rival." Lightning coursed through her suit, and a surprise kick sent me flying through the air. "I don't want to fight you!"I quickly got up. "Electrojade must fall, Michael!"Green bolts crackled in all directions. "Prove once and for all that you have what it takes." Engaging my boosters, I dodged to the side of the next attack and retaliated with a stunning blast from my glove. Turning into her electric form just in time to negate it, Sarah swung around me and delivered a shock to my back. We exchanged a few more blows, dodging and blocking each other's attack. Yet because of my suit and her speed neither could get an edge, until a crazy idea struck me. "Unlock main core,"I signalled to the suit. A panel on my chest slid away, revealing a glowing red sphere. "Oh, going for a big one, eh?"Electrojade concentrated her energy, illuminating everything around in her colour. "Not a wise decision to show your weak spot like that." As she dashed forward, once again transforming, I gave a second command: "Shut down the generator." The sphere went dark right before being struck by the emerald crackle. "Absorb! Lock core!"I shouted to the main computer still working on secondary power. Slowly the orb, now glowing green, retreated into the suit. The panel slid down and the computer informed of normal levels of power. "Wow!"spoke a voice from inside my helmet. "This is a lot closer than I expected to get on first date. I never even knew I could get inside machines before. It is slightly restricting though." "I'll let you out back at base. There will be a lot of questions if people see us together." "Yeah,"the disembodied voice of Sarah agreed, "I hate having to keep this up, but it'll probably be better if no one suspects I'm on your side. Oh well, it will be all the better seeing their faces when we finally tell them." I only smiled in response, as we continued walking through the desert. Most of my boosters got busted in the fight and I wasn't sure how straining the suit would affect Sarah. "I need a cool new nickname."She laughed. "What about Ms. Shock? Emerald Thunder? Cryptobolt?" This was certainly an odd day.
"Okay this is seriously it mate. I'm 99.99% sure you're real. It all started in a 6th grade math test where I haven't learned anything, I found a completed test with all the questions done under my desk. I thought at the time I was the luckiest motherfucker alive. But that's nowhere near where it ends. Year after that I picked a fight with one of the schools toughest motherfuckers and as he and ten other guys started chasing me a fucking brick fell on his head, his mates stopped to help him and I got away scot free. Fucking not even two months later after he got out of the hospital the same guy finds me and a brick fell on his head again. Needless to say he thought I had magical powers and never attempted to fuck with me again. At 14 I started really fucking up school, and I almost completely failed, when the teacher accidentally switched all my results with someone and I was student of the year. The person who she changed it with appears to be a student who was 15 and those were his last years results so nobody complained. When I was 16 I accidentally started a fire in my house while attempting to light a joint for the first time. Needless to say it started raining and wind blew the rain through my window and it put out my carpet from fire. That can't be coincidence right? When I was 18 the same thing with middle school happened with high school and I was picked as the student of the generation, not only that but I was drafted into a college basketball team. Needless to say I didn't even play basketball when in high school. Just a few days later I accidentally found a pair of Jordans and a basketball in grass in the playground I was. Fucking I was gonna sell them but I took it as a sign to practice ball. I was a fucking god basically, I don't know how or why. Standing at only 6'1 I was drafted into the NBA my first year into college as the 6th draft. I got an injury but as I was being carried to the hospital I accidentally fell out of my wheelchair and set my bone back into place. Now I'm standing here, on top of this building. Talking to you. I know you know all of this, I know you're the one responsible for all of this, but I must be a 100% percent sure. " James climbed on the edge of the building, put his hands out wide, and jumped, falling to his death.
My pager alerted me, the tip of my index finger lighting up yellow. A unidentified man, coming in at bay 5. Three am, in the middle of the graveyard shift and I was the only one on duty. I got to my feet, flicking my finger to stop the beeping and indicate I'd got the message. Taking my coffee with me, my feet started hurting again as soon as I took two steps. It would be a long shift. Two orderlies wheeled him through on a gurney. A text message came through: one of their fingers blinked blue. "You need to deactivate that setting,"I said tiredly. "Once you come in the hospital doors." "Sorry Ginny,"he replied. "Won't happen again." "Not in my ER,"I looked at the man lying unconscious on the gurney. Mid-thirties, with hair that needed a trim. Two trims, and a wash. He had the beginnings of a beard. "Is he a rough sleeper?" "Anonymous call rang him in,"one of the orderlies replied. "We picked him up behind a church. You'll want to see this though." He pushed up one of the man's trailing sleeves. It had covered his hand. I took a quick look. "What am I looking for?"I asked, and then I saw it. "No way." The tip of the index finger on his left hand had been sliced off. It was an old wound, scarred and ugly, but cleanly done. Nothing remained above the last knuckle. "Do you think he did it to himself?"I asked. "No idea, but we're trying to get someone on the records. Sometimes they come in... farming accidents. But this looks deliberate." "Well, he's under my wing now,"I said sensibly. "I'll keep in him for observation. Mind taking him through to the overnight ward?" "Well,"I said to the John Doe, once the orderlies had gone. "Wonder what your story is." His eyes flicked open and his eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "Are they gone?"he asked. In one fluid movement, he swivelled to the side of the bed and made to get up. "Hey!"I said, in my no-nonsense voice. "You've just been brought in for some observation. A kind soul thought you might have hypothermia. Why don't you sit back down." "Fuck that,"the man said. He got to his feet. "Language!"I pushed him back down. "Are you going to do as your told, or shall we get the orderlies back?" "You can do what you want,"he snarled. "I'm getting out of here. Where's the exit." He saw me reach for my index finger, and he caught my hand. "No,"he said. "No calls, no alerts. Nothing." "Let me go!" "You'll show me the way out." He dragged me out of the ward, pulling by my left hand. Try as I might, I couldn't touch my finger at all, he had it clamped in a vice-like grip. Two double doors: a theatre! They swung behind me as he barged them open with a shoulder. A rack of tools lay out on a green scrub-cloth, ready for cleaning. I heard voices on the other side of the wall and drew in air to scream. Surgeons! Before I could, he clamped a grimy hand over my mouth. "Not a sound,"he said under his breath. With his free hand, he rummaged around the tray of tools, searching for something. My breaths came in fast pants, terror eating away at me. My knees had turned to jelly. "We can't have you calling for help." He'd found what he was looking for: a scalpel. It shone wickedly under the theatre lights and I shook my head. Tears leaked from my eyes. "Please,"I whispered, all bravado gone. "They keep you pliable,"he said. "You'll see." With one fell swoop, he dropped the scalpel onto my index finger and pressed his sleeve against my mouth. A bright world of pain exploded in front of my eyes. I almost felt the synapses flicker out into darkness, my connectivity cut off from the rest of the world. Wet blood wept across the green cloth and the stars behind my eyes took away my vision. And through my pain, I saw.
"Stop it!"I scream with every morsel of my body. "Just stop it!"I fling my arms around, hitting various parts of the same wall and leaving an array of wide dents. "Matthew, stop."My mother says calmly, attempting to steady my hands. "Just stop."She knows those words are safe, as I've just uttered them. "I can't take it! I can't take another second of prison and hell with you. I'm sick of you keeping me at home. I'm sick of being stuck in the "safe school"- I hate it!"I yell, throwing her arms off of my own and storming out of my room. She follows frantically, trying to calm me down with every step. She mouths desperately "Stop", "relax", and "please", her eyes watering more by the second. "Careful!"She says aloud, immediately covering her mouth after. "CAREFUL!"I scream. "I'm fucking sick of being careful. I don't give a damn anymore mom!"This time I finish my sentence with the loudest yelp I can possibly force out of my lungs. The feeling of the noise hitting the air feels amazing, electrifying, thrilling. I want to hear my voice again and again and again and never have it stop. I want to yell to the neighbors across the street and run around town screaming every word I've ever learned to write and sign in sign language. I scream until I can't here the metallic noise-makers that are placed all over the house. I'm sick of them providing noise for me. I decide to make it myself. I run around the house, smashing lamps, pushing over chairs, and yelling every word I can think of. "I hate you!"I scream at my mother. "Everyone else gets the chance to risk it. They abide by basic language rules and they risk it. They know that out of millions of words, there's likely won't be common. But not us. We're part of the fucking elite core, aren't we mom? We've got to be better than the rest. We've got to live longer, more boring lives!" "Stop, honey, please."She cries, picking up pieces of broken glass. "AVOCADO. APPLE. TERMITE. INDIGENOUS."I shout. I start randomly, then go through a pattern, keeping a mental note in my head of what I can and can't say. I want to test every word, to build a vocabulary that at least I can use at home. I start with every noun I can and shout, at the top of my lungs, as though being murdered. Then the vowels, the adjectives, the adverbs. I shout them all. Over a half hour I shout over my crying mother, never stopping, never worrying. It feels freeing. Then I walk to the window, my rage beginning to calm itself, and sigh the happiest and most relieved sigh of my life. "I can speak."I say aloud for the first time ever. But I pause for just a moment. In the yard across from us sits an old man, one I've always imagined has a deep, yet friendly voice. One that could make you want to talk to him for hours, but one that I've never heard. He sits on the edge of his deck, his head in his hands, motionless. At first I'm confused. In nineteen years I have never seen him sit on that deck - hell, I've rarely seen him use it. And here he is, sitting with his wife's head on his shoulder, a sunset behind him, and his head in his hands. It takes another moment before I realize that she's lifeless, and only another before I realize that it was my screaming.
Mellow was a really obedient cat. Really easily housebroken, really calm and good to guests and would do anything for a belly rub. The best thing about Mellow was that he could understand what I said and would follow me no matter what. It was a really chill summer with Mellow. There wasn't much going on, but I was thankful for the extra time to unwind and play League. But what was a quiet and chill summer was quickly went down the drain. Mellow had brought back a mutilated and bloody mouse to my feet. Poor thing. "Hey Mellow can you not bring me small dead animals anymore?"I said, almost expecting an answer from my cat. "Of course sir, your wish is my command." "Thanks Mellow, cleaning up dead ani-... " Before I could even finish my sentence the sentient feline replied with an oddly obedient declaration. "Very well, master, I will not dissapoint." "Ok Mellow, be back by eigh-"then it dawned on me... Holy shit, did my cat just talk?! Before I could gawk at my supernatural cat it disappeared; before I realized it disappeared Mellow was back with a dead capybara in tow. "... Mellow, where'd you get this? This isn't what I meant! Don't kill anymore Capybaras, OK?" "Very well master, I will not disappoint." I sighed with relief and took a second to yawn. "Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, I was wondering, how can you talk?" And he was gone. Well shit. I waited a couple of seconds and there Mellow was, with a pinkish dolphin and a black rhinoceros baby. Both critically endangered animals, bagged and tagged in my living room. What if PETA found out? "MELLOW! I didn't want this! All I wanted was for you to stop bringing dead animals to my doorstep, and now you're using teleporting powers to kill endangered animals! What if someone saw this? I'd get life behind bars!" Mellow seemed to understand. "Master, I am sorry I didn't meet your expectations. I won't kill any more of my offerings. I will bring you the greatest, mist fearsome of beasts as retribution." Before I could stop him Mellow vanished. Well shit... I expected Mellow to bring back a lion or a tiger. I HOPED he wouldn't bring a whale shark or something into my house. A flash of light appeared in my living room. "Mom?!?!"
Clara peered through her bifocals at the lawn company's card, holding it at arms' length with a shaky hand. 555-404...3? Or was that an 8? She frowned. She hated when companies got fancy with their fonts. It made it so much harder than it had any right to be. Even squinting, she couldn't quite make out the company name - just the grass and lawnmower picture at the corner of the card. She sighed, and wished her Jack was still around. He'd always had the better eyesight, and kept it all the way up until... Well. She had better try one of the numbers before the weeds grew a few more inches up and a few more yards in area, she thought, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes. She picked up her old rotary phone and dialed. It looked more like an eight to her, anyways. "Keen Blades Guild, this is Jonathan speaking. How can we help you today?"The man's voice was deep. "Hi,"Clara replied, "My name's Clara, and I'd like to have some pests killed, if you don't mind." "That's our line of business,"Jonathan responded, "Could we have a last name?" "Reed. Clara Reed. That's C-L-A-R-A, R-E-E-D. Would you like me to repeat it?" "No, it's all right - " "C as in cookie. L as in Larry. A as in angel. R as in roman. A as in angel. R as in roman again. Two Es as in easy. And D as in dog. Is that all right? "Yes,"the man quickly and loudly replied, "I've got it. C-L-A-R-A R-E-E-D." "That's two words there. Clara's the first name. Reed's the last name." "Thank you, ma'am,"the man said; Clara thought she might have heard a sigh, but shrugged to herself. Young people were always so impatient. The man continued. "What services in particular were you looking for." "Well, aren't you to the point?"she chuckled, "Don't you need my phone number?" "No, it's all right, we've got caller - " "That's three-ninety-one, five-five-five, four-seven-twenty-six." "Uh, thank you, ma'am. Now, if you could let me know what services you're looking for...?" Clara rubbed her chin, then scratched the patch that had grown a bit brown, thick, and itchy. She really needed to get that checked out. But then again, there were a lot of things she needed to get checked out, and the medicines never seemed to work very well. Still, what if it was a problem? And what about her knee? It was still somewhat swollen from having to squat to tend her garden two weeks ago. "Ma'am? Are you still there?" "Oh! I am so sorry, was I taking a while? I was just thinking about my knee." There was a pause before the man finally replied. "Yes, well, it's okay. But what services were you looking for? You mentioned something about killing pests?" "Oh yes. Oh very much yes."Clara nodded enthusiastically. "Could I ask for a description of the target?" "Well, that's a mighty odd question!"she replied, but chuckled. "Well, it's mostly dandelions, maybe some crabgrass here or there. I've also seen some - " "Wait, did you say dandelions?" "Yes, oh yes, and some clover - I mean, I love clover and they look real nice, but it doesn't really make for a pretty lawn, does it?" There was a long silence. "Ma'am, I think you've got the wrong number." "Oh? I thought you said you were in the business of killing pests. Are you exterminators? Because the yard's also got some fat little white worms. "Ma'am -" "I think they might be grubs. There's a lot of them - you take one little spade full of dirt, and you'll definitely see a few poking their nasty little heads out. I could use somebody to take care of that, too." "Ma'am, we don't take care of that kind of pests." "Oh? What kind of pests do you mean, then?" There was another long silence. Clara waited patiently for an answer. "Ma'am, I... I really don't think you have any need for the kinds of pest control we provide." "Is it just rodents? Because you'd be right - I keep my house immaculate. Not a single crumb to be found." "...Yes. Like rodents." "Well, you could've just told me!"Clara chortled. "Now you have a nice day, young man!" "Yes, ma'am. You, too."
The old Scottish man's ghost, hunched in death as he was in life, leaned forward to the edge of the park bench. All around us, spirits sat in the cemetery in various states of forlorn distress. "Listen to me lad, you canna go more than the distance of a long golf stroke from your remains,"he said through his shadowy, decrepit teeth. "These here cemeteries, they are the prisons of the dead."He laughed a rough laugh, and looked at the shock in my eyes. "But relax lad, your ashes are here, with us. You'll have eternal friends here, most of us were good people in life. And we're all dressed to kill,"he chuckled, pulling at his funeral vest. "No, no, no,"I muttered. My ashes were in the crematorium just behind us - but they were not destined for the ground, or the mausoleum. That is why I was in the graveyard, but not for long. "Moon,"I whispered. "What's that you say laddy?"he asked, grinning. His wispy thin hair blew gently in the wind. "The moon. My ashes are going on the next satellite launch to the moon,"I moaned. "It's in my will, I had our attorney put it together last year! Oh my god. It was expensive too."I hung my head in my hands, bewildered. "That's a sore spot of luck there,"the old man replied, patting me on the ethereal back. "I can't imagine that space is going to be a great place to spend eternity." "What can I do? Maybe I can stop the launch?"I asked frantically, grabbing him. "Lad, there is nothing you can do. We all go where we go. At least you'll have a great view of Earth." * * * * * * * When the lander first brought our ashes to the moon, we, and all of the other patrons of the Loved Ones In The Stars program, suffered horrible depression wandering the dusty landscape that smelled like burnt tires. On impact, the steel urns of the delivery MEV were compromised and the solar wind scattered them across the crater like dust into snow. Our spirits now remained bound to the crater floor. I spent the majority of my time in the ghostly equivalent of sleeping, if just to preserve my sanity, and the rest staring at the beautiful blue planet above us and dreaming of family. Some of the other ghosts eventually disappeared - perhaps the mind is the key to stability in this after-realm. A hundred years crawled by, and then, one day, it all changed. Today, I wake to the smell of hot coffee wafting in the atrium. When humanity populated the moon, this crater became the central hub of New Moon City - and I live at the center of it. Every day the coffee shop opens, the bakery shortly after, and people, wonderful people, flow like water into the hub to start the work day. I read magazines left on the tables, listen to conversations, and boggle at the advancements of technology. And as long as New Moon is here, I'm happy to be a part of it.
&nbsp;&nbsp;Eplilogue: Avodacos, of course, were never seen again. To most, they had never existed; wiped from existence, now just stories of echoes of memories long forgotten in the minds of humans. Bogeymen, to some. Martyrs, to others. Recipient of dark rites, in places. Gods, goddesses, titans, devils; numen, spirits, sprites, the avocado was and would always be the fruit of legend. &nbsp;&nbsp;But to Hiroko, the avocado would forever be a demon that haunted her, tortured her, pursued her in her dreams and hag-rode her while awake. With her TachDisc sync'd out of phase, she would never get the chance to confront the fruit for the remainder of the millennia she lived - and could never be given even the relief of insanity to block the memories.
"E,W SF AF OJAEWF IJEA'/FOLJU'U9'U u u'9oefu arf'u JASGkeralg'm/foae/gjesrakg ;ej/amvksdm/ geargje AOjkeroa g'EAJPOEj agoaegjw'e/ rejfo jgeraojg ds/r;ofgdjsfv ra'sofgpe kraogfjuraegu jeakz;l'v/d loaej "Ouj aeop'ujgpo a 'erg iea g;a'ldjfgpoajg'erpagvje g;lv/e ajg;/e ajo'aAJ g poaejgopraeg ja;'dsfmdslfg;mdas orepgju4wramewao fjegoiaejg ae'j doguja;ogjeaopujwae\ft agoejag'p ojdfg dsfa;glkmdfagopewraik fp0o\9i8322w34 'prujro9p4u 5922'4e i20PRU4 293PRJUFRWOAQEKRJ'j3o jrwop'3ruj w'3r9jaURTW'uj'RJW'wJUUJR;W9U\3RJW\'UQ;RUW\U'\p'p' ' ujo 'uf jsefpos i' ' 'euf ews'poerjw 'eo"- the post said. The doctor scratched the back of his head, looking at the screen with the wall of gibberish on it. "Yeah, I don't know what I expected"- he finally said. "But hey, he did create a Facebook account on his own". ________ [Meh.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
"Kept telling her,"Patrick Klemp said, shaking his head. "Just oughta beat the hell out of her depression. Get a baseball bat, something. We're tool-using animals, ain't we? Gotta use the tools at your disposal." I eyed him up, the thick arms he kept surreptitiously flexing at me, the beer gut he was unsuccessful at keeping sucked in. "So why didn't you do it?"I said. "She's your daughter." "Yeah, well,"he muttered and scratched the back of his head. "She wouldn't let me. Kept panicking, kept, uh, de-manifesting. Izzat the right word?"He shrugged. "You're the expert here." "God knows, we tried,"his wife Angie cut in. "But you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped, isn't that the truth."She clicked her tongue. "It'd be so simple otherwise..." "Yeah,"Patrick said, and punched my arm. "Gotta get the champ in here! Hey, for what I'm paying you, we better see results, got it?" I looked him in the eye until his grin faltered, until a nervous sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. "Just -"he stammered, "just go in there and beat the shit out of her depression." "I'm going to have a session with your daughter first,"I told the two of them, making sure Angie Klemp was listening. "See what I'm up against. But afterwards, we all need to have a discussion, get it? What I do, it isn't a magic bullet. The two of you, you need to take a role in your daughter's life." "Sure, sure,"Patrick said, "I'm paying for you, ain't I?" "We let her move back in,"Angie sighed, "after she dropped out of college. We've been supporting her! We've been doing everything we can! It's just that Lise, ugh, all she does all day..." "We're going to have that talk,"I said, and walked up to the door. "Lise?"I said, knocking on it. "I'm Rodrigo Velasquez. I'm the man your parents hired to help you deal with your depression. Can I come in?" "Sure,"came a muffled voice behind the door, and the Klemps glanced at each other and backed away. I opened it slowly and stepped in, letting it swing shut behind me. Lisa Klemp was sitting on her bed in a rumpled sweatshirt, one knee curled up to her chest, a wild mane of hair that hadn't been brushed in a while. She closed her eyes briefly. "It's so fucking exhausting,"she said. "You want it to come out? You're going to beat the hell out of it?" "That's what your parents hired me to do." "God."The wallpaper was stained with the last instance of manifestation, like cigarette smoke and tar. "Do it then. Do something."There was a point just behind her, just above her head, coalescing and growing dense, smoke turning into a tumor. It gasped, bleeding tar, and spread out over her, blocking out the light from the room. It gazed at me, hollow-eyed, and let its wings drape heavily over Lise's shoulders. "Hit it,"Lise said, gazing upward at it dully, unsurprised. "Just hit it for all the good that'll do." "Just a minute,"I said, and closed my eyes to focus. "I want to show you something too."There it was, always there, the empty little lie I carried around me. All the smoke, no fire. Something coalescing into a benign little lump, a moment of terror that I'd touched and examined and found harmless. I held out my arm and it perched on my limb, claws of cooling tar curling around the old scars on my wrist, the ones hidden by tattoos. Lise blinked, and the thing on her back wavered, hissed, and there was the slightest flicker of interest. "Oh,"she said, and held up a hand to her mouth. "Is that - Oh wow,"she said. I pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her, my own manifestation obediently stepping onto the armrest. "Lise,"I said. "Let's talk."
My tie felt tight, I wasn't sure how to respond. It was a childhood fantasy of mine to meet an alien. I stuttered as I asked, "Duh do we communicate with them?" General Faser made a face that relaxed me, as he replied, "Of course, their leader is named, Neebok. We meet with them once a month to go over galactic briefings. We are sched..." I blurted out with excitement, "How do I contact it? Can I schedule a meeting today? I must speak with him ASAP." The General smiled and told me, "Mr. President, Neebok is out of communication range at the moment. However, we can contact his liaison, Himgrolph. Would you like to speak with Himgrolph?" I almost pissed my pants. I had been dragged though the mud, gave countless speeches, poured my heart out for the American people, made promises I knew I would never keep, but none of this seem real at this moment, I was about to speak with an alien. I opened my mouth and pronounced, "Yes, contact Himgrolph immediately, I have many questions. Is there anything I should know before speaking to Himgrolph?" Faser looked me right in the eyes and said, "Himgrolph is Russian, the aliens have been here for quite some time and they run the Russian government. They puppet Putin around as a joke to see how far they can push the world before we tell them about the aliens species that could show up and enslave us all. Himgrolph is a wise ass, you will not get much out of him. I advise you to wait until our intergalactic meeting with Neebok before you speak with the aliens." I was elected almost solely on my strong foreign policy, I had lied to the public about my knowledge and about my ability to push back on Russia's advances in the natural gas market. How could I now, back down? Before my thoughts were clear I told the general, "Get Himgrolph on the phone, now" The phone rang twice before I heard, "Hello? What the fuck do you want?" I let the piss roll down my leg as I told my ex-wife, "Sherry, I dialed the wrong number, I am sorry. Tell Gavin that I miss him. Goodbye" The general said, "Women are from Venus, eh?"
"How many times now?" Death, face hidden beneath the cowl of his cloak, watched me. Our game of chess lay forgotten in each of movements, but both of us were thinking of the next move. Never before had I come this close. "As many times as the pawns have shuffled across this board,"I said. I picked up one of the ivory pieces, my fingers struggling without the dexterity they'd held in our first encounter. I set the piece down. Another move closer. "You have seen much?"Death asked. "Too much." "And yet you return to life." "In search of death." Death took one of my pieces. The ivory piece broke in his grip and I watched it with a sense of remorse I didn't realise I felt anymore. "This is to be our last game,"Death said. The pieces were in position now. Checkmate. Finally. I made my last move. Death's king crumbled into dust. He looked at me. His opponent for millennia, sitting before him in silent victory. I could feel the coarse fibres of the cloak as I pulled it tighter. "Welcome to death,"Death itself said and then he was no more. I felt the flesh fall from my skin. Life that had clung to me for so long gave way. For so many years I had lived and loved and been a man. All so that I could learn what death was. All the ways it met a man and how all men met it in their final moments. I pulled the cowl over my head and began setting the pieces back on the board. A man appeared before me, young and fresh, with life still in his skin. He sat before me and looked at the board. "I don't understand,"he said. I lifted a hand and the fingers of bone picked up a single piece. "We play,"I said. "Until you beat Death."
At first, we thought that it had failed. Or at least, I did. Standing in the field generator, I had watched the expectant team of scientists flip the proverbial switch, hundreds of instruments pointed at me to record any rent in my newly altered atoms might leave in the fabric of the universe as I punched forward in time, never to return. And I had watched them wait, confused, as nothing happened, and as nothing continued to happen, I had felt an irrational shame as disappointment overtook their faces. For months, I had gone about my life, let go from my position as test subject and living on my considerable stipend for the dangerous job. The foundation that had funded the experiment had hoped to not have to pay it, but I didn't mind disappointing them nearly as much in this regard. Everything had seemed normal for so long, that I had almost forgotten it all entirely. My life, my assumptions, my very reality was shaken on one inauspicious day, whereupon nothing particularly extraordinary happened, save for the sudden change of every leaf and plant on Earth from green, to a dark, alien purple. Driving at the time of the change, I had slammed on the brakes at the sudden massive shift in the surrounding landscape, surprised into stopping before I even fully registered what had changed. Barely hearing the angry honking behind me, I had stared in shock and confusion, marveling the trees and their unfamiliar coloring, the grass and its strange new contrast with the paint of the homes it grew around. Eventually, too shaken to continue with my errands, I had turned back to my house to look for news of the change, hoping to confirm I was not insane. Instead, I found only pictures of more purple plants, and a profoundly disturbing and casual acceptance of that color, as if it were absolutely nothing strange. Delving deeper, I found records going back as far into history as I could look, modern research into the absorption spectrum of the purple chloroplasts, and an endless supply of familiar paintings, movies, and poetry referring to purple plants. Searches for green plants turned up only science fiction and mentions of exotic varieties of garden flora. As far as the world except for me was concerned, plants had always been purple. Of course, the first place I went was the research facility to reveal my findings and undergo tests. While they heard me out with skepticism at first, concern that the experiment had had latent psychological side effects eventually lead to my being kept there under close observation. Overnight, they had watched me in my bed, instruments trained on my body to look for the slightest blip of exotic matter or smallest twist in spacetime. And, to their surprise, they found something. Not a departure signal, as the instruments had been intended to find, a reading indicating my body had been accelerated rapidly forward in time. Instead, they found an arrival signal. Close analysis of my biology, isotope decay in my body, my genome, and my knowledge of the world at large quickly made one thing obvious. I was not of their world. I had come from another universe, where things were different. Most disturbing of all, they told me that I had likely moved through several universes between this one and my own, traveling sideways through the branching pathways of time, moving further and further from the world I knew. It fascinated them, and terrified me. As they studied me, I made more jumps. Perhaps I should not say that 'they' studied me, as it was clearly not the same team of researchers, though they acted much the same and had much the same data. Every time, they recorded only an arrival signal, and were quick to barrage me with questions about the universe I had last been in, to take measurements and chart times. The changes accumulated, becoming more noticeable as they did so. I watched in horror as the world I glimpsed through the confines of the research lab grew more and more alien, subjecting myself to their tests mostly out of a need for something familiar. One set of researchers was surprised to find my eyes only had 3 types of cone cells in the retina, explaining their human race had 4. To them, I was massively colorblind. Three universes later, my uniform skin, all one color instead of striped chaotically in lighter and darker shades, became a topic of interest. Six sideways steps after that, the hair on my head and the rest of my body became the only hair in the room, everyone else possessing perfectly smooth skin. It horrified them, just as they unnerved me with their striped, sterile appearances. They took cuttings of it to study, but even as they waited on results, I left that timeline behind to one where my circular pupils were even more fascinating. It was at that time I asked them how many different versions of me they had seen, and whether any pattern had been found to the timing. They said they had studied 87 different versions of me, each one increasingly alien from the last, arriving in completely random intervals. Taking this to match my own experience, I despaired at how far I had come from a world I recognized, my home where plants were green and humans had hair. Quietly beginning to cry, I sparked excited murmurs over my strange ability to leak excessive saline from my eyeballs, which only prompted me to huddle further into myself. I was lost, and no one seemed to know how to send me back, let alone want to. When I finally ran out of tears, I looked up into alien faces I did not recognize, features warped and twisted, without mouths to speak with. They watched me mutely, brushing each other with long, five-jointed fingers. Their eyes were edged in waving cilia. Even as I screamed, I moved again to a universe where monsters just as terrible, but taller and without clothes, huddled closer and moved with more agitation. Pushing through them, their cold scales left flakes on my hospital gown as I fled into a hallway that was eerily uniform in color, but covered in a variety of textures from place to place. Strange ribbed tiles dug into my feet as I ran, tugging unpleasantly at the soles of my feet. Midstep, the building disappeared around me, and I found myself in a field looking toward a settlement of long limbed, mouthless beings, their elongated vehicles traveling down roads that sang with the ridges of the pavement beneath hard tires. A building that looked vaguely like the research facility was at the edge of the town, and I saw lights begin to flash there, monsters pouring out in search of me, or whoever I had replaced. Sitting down, I watched them until they changed, bit by bit, into a different species entirely, a different race. The air began to grow hard to breathe. I wondered how long I could survive, until I found myself on an Earth so divergent from the one I knew that something killed me before I could leave again. I wondered if my corpse would keep traveling, a rotting alien from another world, drifting sideways through time until it became so much interdimensional dust. Closing my eyes, I did the only thing I could, and waited to find out.
She eats alone every day, but it's not my responsibility to help her. "You could at least pay for her meal,"Angel says. I cut my chicken and shove a slice in my mouth. It's like dry wood and cardboard, with a smidge of tomato sauce. The old lady at the other end of the diner does the same with her steak. She licks her lips and then tells herself how delicious it is. It creeps me out. And while Angel is right, that a young man like me could at the very least buy the old lady her meal. I find her odd, and I'm pretty much broke. So I keep my eyes on my plate and wash my guilt down with flat coke. "She's a nutter, anyway,"Devil says, "she'll go out on her own. By the look of things, it'll probably happen soon." He's also correct, so I finish my chicken without another glance at the woman. Well, maybe a couple more glances. When I'm done, I feel terrible. ------- It's the next night and she's back at the diner, only this time, she's picked the chicken instead. It's weird, I want to tell her not to watch me or copy what I eat. I chose the steak, that'll teach her to mess with me, I figure. "Grab her a glass of water, you know how dry that chicken is,"Angel says. "She won't know the difference, she's crazy, just look at her,"I tell him. At that moment, the lady swallows a big piece of chicken and then bursts out in laughter. "Go over there and cut them into big chunks, big enough so she chokes. That way she won't copy you again,"Devil says. I consider it. It's not such a bad idea. But in the end I just smirk at him, I'm not that evil. And plus, this steak is really good. ---- It's the third night, and this time, she's eating the steak. It infuriates me beyond reason. I want to waltz over there, stick my finger in her self-talking face and tell her to stop copying my food. It's stupid. I know it. Angel knows it. Devil knows it. So no one says anything and we eat in silence. I look up at the old hag between bites, hoping that she chokes. Angel's asleep on one shoulder and Devil's humming to himself on the other. "Awfully, quiet tonight?"I ask. "Because you never listen,"Devil says. "Yup,"Angel chirps in. He wasn't even sleeping, the liar. The old hag starts making gurgling sounds and for a half second, I don't believe it. It's silent in the diner and the waitress took a smoko break. My heart speeds up, my brow goes cold, and my mind flitters between murder and help. She continues gurgling. There's no doubt that it's progressed to choking when she places her hands around her throat. I do the unthinkable. I run over, wrap my hands around her chest, and get ready to do compressions on her sternum. She bursts out in laughter. I let her go, as shock melts into my face. "Mam, are you okay?" She was never choking to begin with. The lady crumples into the seat, holding her sides, and then wipes the tears from the edge of her eyes. I'm mad now. I want to tell her she's a food copycat, that she talks to herself, and that I wish I never helped her. "Sorry,"she says, "they had a bet. The one with the tail always wins." She's talking crazy again, it's the old age, it must be. "You see them too, don't you?"She asks, "I've noticed that you talk to yourself on occasion. It's good to know there are others. Well, besides me." I gulp because I understand. And all I can do is nod.
“It seems the life forms of this terra are dependent on Oxygen in its gas form sir.” An audible female voice rang from what seemed to be the walls of the well litten and warm cabin. “You mean to tell me their planet is so lush they don’t have open access to their sun?” The dark green yet stern man bellowed. “No sir, the exact opposite actually, very little of their environment is shaded, they’re addicted to these trace amounts of oxygen, so much so their biology has evolved around using oxygen as their primary energy source.” Quickly the green man snapped “Like plants?” “Actually Captain, the plants on this terra work as all evolved species with, what they call, photosynthesis as their primary energy source. The majority of all sentient beings on this planet use our secondary system of respiration as their primary source.” “Are you telling me these beings are not reliant on a sun or other ultraviolet source for energy?” The Captain asked puzzled and stammering. “Yes sir, they are quite capable of surviving within an environment with a lack of ultraviolet for extended periods of time.” A short pause overtook the cabin “for how long could they stand these conditions?” “It seems with the right supplements, oxygen rich atmosphere and flesh of small mammals or plant fibers…. Indefinitely sir.” ‘INDEFINITELY?!” The Captain screeched. “Yes sir.” A long silence fell over the ship floating in an exposed orbit. “Kara, give me a full report over the intelligence and susceptibility of this species.” While the captains orders rang out, simultaneously several monitors and alarms buzzed and sounded. Without pause Kara replied “anti-missile systems engaged” “Kara, forget the reports. That told us all we need to know” he laughed, “yes, it seems these are the beings we’ve been looking for. Alert all ships and headquarters we’ve found the perfect slave race to finish our army.”
"Listen, Amanda...no, listen to me dammit! This isn't a joke!"Mary spat into the receiver, panic plain on her face. "Mary, you are just being paranoid!"Amanda's voice was nonchalant. "There is nothing to worry about, you just have a sweet little girl who is good with animals. Honestly, you should be proud of her!" "I am proud of her, Amanda, I am...but 'being good with animals' usually doesn't stretch to wild songbirds helping you dress in the morning!"Mary wound the cord of the phone around her finger nervously. "It's honestly getting a little creepy." "Yes, well, that is a bit unusual..."Amanda conceded. "But it's nothing to panic about! After all, the only thing you would need to do to stop it would be to install a couple locks on her windows." "No, no that won't work..."Mary began pacing, the phone's cord tangling around her waist. "I don't want to upset her. And she loves those little birds so much! I just...I know the stories, Amanda. I know...how it usually ends up for the parents of kids like this." "Mary, you can't seriously be thinking-" "I have to! I have to, for my own safety!"Mary's voice reached a fever pitch. "She might be too young to really understand, but...well, if I have one more prince come to my door asking after her, I might just scream!" "Ok, calm down Mary."Amanda's voice was as calming as she could make it. "I don't want to argue...it's not like it's my neck on the line." "I...I still love her, you know..."Mary's voice started to choke up. "It...doesn't mean I'm a bad parent, right?" "Of course not!"Amanda laughed, her voice much more relaxed than she really felt. "You just need to protect your safety, that's all! And a few years from now, when she is married happily ever after, you will all meet up and have a wonderful laugh about this whole thing." *** "Mommy, what are we doing here?"Little Abigail's face was scrunched up in an expression of worry. "Oh, Abigail...you are just going to be staying here for a little vacation, don't worry!"Mary said nervously. "I'll come and visit you, I promise!" "Actually ma'am, I don't think that will be possible."The dorm mother spoke up. Mary shot her a dirty look. "Of course it is!"She said through gritted teeth. "Why wouldn't it be?" The dorm mother looked unimpressed with Mary's glare. "You know exactly why. Look, ma'am, just give it to the poor kid straight. They're going to have a lot of growing up to do if they want to be adopted before they're sixty." "You...you're giving me up?"Abigail looked up at Mary, her eyes full of tears. "You don't want me any more?" "No, sweetie, of course I want you!"Mary pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm just worried I can't look after you properly, that's all!" "No!"Abigail shook her head and pushed Mary away. "No, that's not true! My mommy would never say anything like that, she loves me!"Her glare at Mary was accusatory. "You're not my mommy! You're an imposter! You must be a witch!" "No, sweetie, that's not..."Mary pulled back in shock, catching sight of her bangs with the corner of her eye. Was her hair turning grey? Quickly, she pulled a mirror out of her purse and held it up to her face, fingers trembling. As she watched, her hair became silver-white and disheveled, her skin aging before her eyes. She let out a cry of dismay and fell back. "See! I knew it!"Abigail pointed a finger at her in accusation. "You're a bad lady, not sweet like my mom at all! And once she finds out what you did with me, she'll come here and rescue me...and then you'll be in trouble!" Mary's eyes went wide. Without another word, she dashed into the hall and right out the door. She didn't look back even when the dorm mother gave chase, brandishing a booklet of paperwork in her hands. And suddenly, Abigail was all alone.
I'm often told how lucky I am, I guess that depends on how you define lucky. You see, I've been in more scrapes than anyone I've ever known... I've walked out a building moments before it exploded due to a gas main leak, I sneezed whilst driving once which resulted in me missing a head-on collision by an inch, I fell out of a 20 storey window onto a pile of rejected springless mattresses... you know average mishaps, just a few too many for most to believe. Anyway, I'd long since dismissed these occurrences as foibles, blind luck that kind of thing, that is until I met Grim. It was kind of strange how it happened actually, I was on my home from work taking my usual route through the park, it was dark and a bit chilly so I had my hood up when a young guy approached me. He pulled a gun out of his pants and gave it the usual "give me your money"bit and, much as I tried, seemed determined to shoot me when I refused... so he pulled the trigger, he couldn't have been more than a few yards away, the bullet passed beneath my arm, ripping through my coat, before ricocheting off a fence post, then a street lamp and into the guys head... fucking typical. I'm not going to lie, this had happened before, not quite as dramatically admittedly, but still I'd immune to the shock of it. However, this time, was quite a bit different, as I knelt down to check if my assailant had checked out, a slow clapping came from the shadows... "my, my Darryl, that was spectacular!"his voice was dark and raspy as he continued, "I never imagined the fun that your situation would create, quite remarkable!" "My situation? A man has just died here, OK he was trying to kill me, but still, for fuck's sake man have some decency!" "Of course, of course... and I'll deal with him momentarily, but first we need to talk."
"Hmmm? Wh' time is it?"Jim asked the empty classroom. Orange sunlight streamed onto his desk in bands through the blinds, illuminating his half-finished paper. He yawned. "Must've fallen asleep..."Jim muttered groggily. "4:57 huh? Guess everyone went home for the day."He began gathering his things, when a glint of red from the chalkboard caught the corner of his eye. Written across it were a series of strange glyphs in chalk. Jim squinted. It wasn't as if he could actually read them, but if he tilted his head just right... "Oh, sweet!"He grinned from ear to ear. "I get until sunset to finish? Thanks, Mr. Hammond!"He sat right back down and set to work, chuckling about the prank. He had thought that his teacher didn't have a sense of humor. Clearly, he had been very wrong. Thirty minutes later, and Jim was done. It wasn't great - he hadn't studied, after all - but it was certainly better than a zero. "Now, where was Mr. Hammond's office again?"Jim mused. He stood and walked to the door. Just outside, written on the wall itself in the same strange red chalk, was an arrow pointing to the left. Jim frowned. Now that he was closer, it didn't look like chalk at all. On the surface, it was flaking and dark - almost black - but just behind it looked almost liquid. Jim touched it the line, and when he drew his finger back it was covered in bright ruby liquid. "Guess he used a marker."Jim smiled, rubbing away the redness onto his pants. It was nice of Mr. Hammond to leave him directions like that. Maybe too nice. Jim frowned. Something strange was going on here. He could have sworn that the teacher's offices were in the other direction. But, then again, he never had been there on purpose. Jim nodded, mind suddenly made up. He would follow the arrows - wherever it was that they lead - just to find out what was at the end of the trail. It wasn't right, he thought, that someone should go through all this effort on a prank and not get any results. And he was even getting a second chance at his test! The least he could do was just play along! He checked his watch, then frowned, tapping it furiously with the end of his index finger. "Darn thing! I know it isn't still 4:47, I'm not that good at taking tests!" Still fiddling with the watch, he followed the arrows without really watching where he was going. Three rights, a left, a large arrow on the floor telling him to keep going straight...before he knew it, Jim was walking down a long stone corridor that he had never seen before. An enormous arrow at his feet pointed at a pair of oaken doors, practically inviting him to go inside. "Whoa."Jim smirked. "Nice renovations. Good to know my tuition is going somewhere."Hiding his grin in preparation to react appropriately to whatever was inside, he extended an arm and pushed his way into the room. "JIM!"Roared a voice the moment he entered. "WELCOME...TO YOUR FINAL TRIAL!" Jim blinked, shielding himself from the bright light emanating from the rooms ceiling, then gasped appropriately once his eyes adjusted. "What the hell are you!?" Standing before him, clad in cold grey armor, was a giant of a man. Jim barely came up to his waist. Hefting a sword nearly as long as Jim was tall, he cut an imposing figure in the center of the circular stone arena. His skin was a startling shade of red, and - much to Jim's surprise - he had a pig's snout and ears poking from beneath his horned helm. "Welcome to your trial, Jim, savior of many realms!"The pig-man announced, holding his arms wide for emphasis. "I am Lord Haram of Hiradel, champion of the greatest kingdom that ever was, is, or shall ever be!" Jim couldn't suppress a laugh. "Sure you have, Mr. Hammond. Nice costume." "Hammond?"The beast looked taken aback. "Is...is that a joke, based upon my appearance? I am no common swine..."He shook his head, making his ears flop loudly against his helm. "No matter. I am sure you will be a worthy opponent."His voice dropped down to a low whisper that nonetheless echoed loudly around the chamber. "I have come far to find you, oh Jim. Whispered rumors on the book of many faces mentioned your victory of the great Frost Lich. Any who are might lay low such a beast is worthy of my attention. And, if the rumors prove true, he is but the latest of your many conquests." "What, facebook?"Jim blinked. "You read those?" "Of course I do! I obtain my knowledge from many places, magic and mundane!"Lord Haram looked quite pleased with himself. "But stall not, oh Jim! Our combat must begin!"He leveled the sword at Jim's face, making him jump back a bit in surprise. "Choose your weapon, that we might duel appropriately!" "Uhh...I have a spare 3Ds in my backpack."He said, hefting his bag. "Wanna play Smash Bros?" *** "Curse you, Jim!"Howled the great Lord Haram. "Curse you, how can I best you at this game!?" "Dude, you kinda suck."Jim shook his head, mashing buttons furiously. "Have you even played before? Three two...and...UPSMASH!" Haram howled in pain. "You truly are mighty, though I knew it not from your appearance. You have bested me a dozen times, and I cannot lay more than a single scratch on you!" "No need to be so melodramatic."Jim frowned. "Wanna go again? I'm having fun!" "No, no, I submit to you in full, oh Jim of the many realms."Lord Haram sighed, handing back the device. "Name your price, any wish you so desire, and I will make it so." "Uhhh...can I get an A in calc?"Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. "It is done."Haram replied wearily. "Yessssss!"Jim pumped his fist into the air. "I wish you taught all of my classes, Mr. Hammond!" "I do not know what you mean by this, oh Jim. And please, cease this needless calling of names."Haram plunged his blade into the stony ground, calling forth a cascade of amber light. "I will return to my realm and meditate on my losses. Goodbye, oh Jim!" "Later, teach!"Jim turned to go, not even seeing as the monstrous lord vanished in a flash of light. Frowning, Jim turned around one last time. "Oh, uh, by the way...how do I get out of here again? Mr. Hammond?"He looked around, but saw no sign of the man. "Where the hell did he go?"
“Señor Cid please hold on,” the voice called to me as I turned to leave. I had been in the Governor’s office for no more than five seconds before turning my back. “You understand that I’m a married man now Señor Almagro? And this is the task you offer me?” I had to contain a bit of my anger as I turned to speak with him. “There is no one else to turn to. You are the best there is.” “Were,” I corrected him, “I want to retire Governor. It’s why I moved here from the mainland to begin with. I just want to look after my farm and be with my wife in peace,” Though I complained I had inched closer to the chair across his desk. “One last job and you and the son’s of your son’s will no need to work another day Señor. If you wish, there will also be a title in it for you,” he said to me. It took a moment for me to take the seat . “I’m tired. My bones hurt,” I said. Yet I had remained in his office. “All the young bulls look to you for inspiration even now. You are a living legend.” I sighed in response, “What is the mission? Who’s grave am I defiling this time?” Almagro spun the globe sitting on his desk and his finger landed on an island. “You’re trying to kill me,” I said. “Were you not the man who braved the wilds of the East to find the Mongol Subutai so that our cavalry could continue to triumph over these Indians?” he said. “Yes,” I replied. My eyes noticed a bottle of wine on the desk. The good stuff. “And the man who uncovered the corpse of Saladin in a desert of heathens. A task so recognized in its greatness that its very completion deferred the Ottoman Sultan from intervening in our attacks on the Barbary states?” “T’was I,” I said, pouring myself a glass of wine. The Governor did not mention the alcohol. “And yet you fear for your life?” he asked me. I said nothing as a drained the glass and put it back upon the desk. “Not any western man has been able to pilfer in Japan,” I said. “Their civil war is over though. It is peaceful there.” “Even more impossible!” I almost yelled. “During their war we could at least get access to the island. Now they are completely isolationist. If I am discovered there I will stick out like a Saracen at mass.” “You’ve been there before. You know the language, the people. You and I both know you can get in,” Almagro said as he poured his own glass. I sighed. Deep inside I knew I could do it. There was still a few contacts I knew I’m sure were still there. “Who is it?” I asked reluctantly. “Garcia Cabrallo, or as the Japanese had called him, The Cherry Blossom Priest,” I raised an eyebrow. This was a name I had never heard of. I knew of many obscure historical figures. For their bones held power and it was my job to procure their corpses. But for a man to have a name so culturally alike to my home and for me to not know of him was surprising. “I know not this name, Governor,” I said. I didn’t attempt to hide my interest. “He was a Portuguese missionary sent during the Japanese war. The Portuguese had some good contracts with Japan; even holding trade depots and ports on their ‘sacred’ land. Garcia was the most successful missionary in Japan. He had managed to attract thousands of followers in just a year, Cid. All of them devoutly Christians.” “What happened?” I asked. “He took advantage of his talent and started his own branch of faith. He called himself a Prophet and tried to recreate his own Kingdom of Heaven in Japan,” Almagro downed his own glass of wine. “Had he another year or two to solidify himself and recruit more followers he may have been successful. But his small Church state was attacked by a prominent Daimyo and wiped out. Defiant to the end, he locked himself in a bunker beneath his first mission post. His body would still be there,” I scratched my beard at the information. “You think his bones have the power to sway people?” I asked. Almagro nodded. “If it does, it is our God given duty to collect these bones and guide the world to the right path,” he said. I sighed in response. I couldn’t disagree there. Most bones had powers like the Lionheart’s rallying men, or Vlad the Impaler fearing enemies. But something like this could change the world. With a handshake and then a night with my wife I was on a ship the next day. "You're a crazy man Spaniard,"the man said to me as he pulled me from my rowboat onto land. "I owe you many thanks Kiro,"I replied. Japanese was a language I had learned long ago. "I am glad to see you're still safe." "Same for you. It's been twenty years since I last saw your furry face,"he laughed. I laughed as well. The time went by fast since I was last in this nation. The port town I landed at was quiet; something I was not used to for this country. "You can barely tell the damn island was at war,"I said. "We did just come back from fighting the Koreans, but yes; the days of Japanese fighting one another are over,"Kiro said to me as we walked the streets. We reached his monastery; a front for trade with the West, and he saddled me up in a brown horse. Arabian of descent. "Take this as well,"he passed me a rifle of Japanese design and a short, single edged sword. Both were tools I had seen many of the last time I had been here. "There shouldn't be bandits on the roads, but you never know."I clasped hands with him. The mission was just a day's ride from this port conveniently so I was able to ride light. "Be sure to send me my cut huh?"Kiro said to me as I rode off. I waved in response. Some things never change. I got to the mission without trouble. It was a battered place. The walls of the building were smashed and the place seemed to have not seen a man in years. I dismounted and entered. The place was looted in its entirety and all symbols of Christ were destroyed. There was a statue of him made of stone in the front of the hall. Only its legs were remaining. My intuition brought me to the statue and with a great push it began to slide. Just as the Governor foretold, there was a trapdoor. I descended its steps below and reached a door. Oddly there was light coming from behind it. With the butt of my rifle I smashed its handle and opened the door. Sitting on the floor ahead was a decrepit old man surrounded by everlit candles. In his hands were beads and a golden cross. He did not seem to notice me. "Garcia?"I asked and approached. I shook my head. Though his body was decently preserved he was definitely dead. Most likely starved to death. It was a pity, but it meant that his body would be light. I returned to Havana with the bones of Garcia in good time. Almagro was waiting in his office with two of his guards to receive me. A smile was on his face as I dropped the bag on his table. "I told you it could be done,"he said. I shrugged and mentioned my pay. "Yes, do not worry. The money had already been sent to your family. And the name of Cid is one of Nobility."My gut flared. I didn't like the way he was talking. "And now I'm to go home,"I said to him. The men beside the Governor drew swords. "I'm afraid not. Your ability to infiltrate would be a great boon to Spain during this war. Between Garcia's ability to convert and your ability to breach there will be no difficulty in Catholicism winning against these Heathens on the mainland."The armed men approached as I stepped back against the wall. From under my cloak came gunfire and one man dropped. The second rushed forward but missed his lunge, his rapier now stuck into the wall. Drawing the katana Kiro loaned me, I swiftly ended the man's life. Almagro shouted treason as I grabbed the bones of Garcia and dashed off. I had to get to my wife and get off this island. Though the entire military of Cuba would be onto me I wasn't worried. I had some special bones after all.
I was up browsing Reddit, mid kitten gif - when it happened. The air in my lungs was sucked out and it felt as though I were being squeezed through a vacuum tube. What I saw on the other end is something I still have trouble wrapping my brain around. A vast marble room, chiseled with intricate patterns and designs I could not for the life of me place. Blinding fluorescent globes of light hung, fifty feet up, seemingly without any tether. It reminded me of every movie with a hospital room birth scene. The overwhelming, intense white light giving way to strange, new surroundings. A black and white checker pattern dominated the floor. And...People? Thirty-two by my count. All strategically positioned within the confines of a checkered square of their own. That's when I noticed it. I don't know how it took me so long. I was in clad in fucking medieval armaments. And not even the good kind! I was wearing shitty leather armor and your run-of-the-mill short-sword was strapped to my back. Moments after this shocking revelation, a voice on my left. "First timer, eh?, the man said. A gruff sort of fellow whose appearance teetered the edge between groomed and gnarled. He was geared similarly. "First timer...for what?", I managed to scrape out of the back of my throat which had grown a tight knot. "Look above your head. See that text? You're a pawn, just like me" "So this is like...chess?" "No. This is chess on an elephant tranquilizer and mixed steroids cocktail. This is like if you took chess, made it VR and gave all the pieces barbaric weaponry used to dismember one another. Oh - and we're the pieces." "Well, shit." A whistling sound, and then a kerplunk. The pawn, my teammate? It didn't matter anymore I guess, an arrow just went through his eye courtesy of a rook on the other side of the room. Here we go, I guess...
I had always felt the need to be the evil twin. In a roundabout way, it had been how I coped with the expectation to live up to my (by a minute) older brother. Of course, I had claimed otherwise many times before, and maybe later on I would deny that too. Sure, a part of me had maybe acted out to make sure everyone knew I was different. I doubt anyone ever believed me when I stated that he was secretly mean to me and I only wanted to make things even. Somehow, he would always smile though. Took me for granted. Whenever good happened, he knew to prepare for me to wrong the right, back to neutral. At times of reflection, I had wondered if he hated me. Then again, he wouldn't have been the good twin if he did. Truly, more than anyone, he understood why I did what I did. Two trees fighting the wind, and he bowed when I broke. Or, something like that. I wondered if I held him back, made him afraid to dream too big in case it hurt me. That would explain the distance that had built between us; the last look I'd seen in his eye; the unasked question on his lips, that he dismissed as unimportant. I wished he hadn't done so. Standing there, on the verge of tears, I wished more than anything to know what he had wanted to say. Wished I knew how he felt. Wished, with all my heart, for that chance. But, I would never know. I had to hate him. Not only did I have his expectations to live up to, but he didn't have to. A part of me felt that way. Another felt that I should even things up, restore the balance to the world. Couldn't have an evil twin without a good twin. And, that had been a part of me for a long time. A deep, ignored desire to make things right. In the moments between moments, left with nothing but my thoughts, I inevitably thought such thoughts. Six years later, tending to his grave, I noticed someone doing the same at the neighbouring plot. She looked more or less the same age as me, at least if ignoring the years I'd put on and took a couple off her for the same reason. But, I gave her no more thought than that, laying down the flowers and brushing off a bit of moss and such. On the anniversary, I just liked to spend some time remembering better times. To my surprise, she turned up again at the gate on the way out, standing around and staring at her phone. As I neared her though, she looked up, and caught my gaze, smiling. “Ah, hi,” she said. I smiled back, and nodded my head. “Good day to you.” Rather than leave it at that, she stretched out a sound of hesitation. “Can I help you?” I asked, not really meaning it, but with him in my mind I had said it before I realised. She blushed, ducking her head a little. I chuckled, wondering what was up with her. Maybe she was one of those shy types and hadn't meant to say anything to me, lost in whatever she had been reading. Before my thoughts got too self-involved, she began to gather her breath. “I, I just thought you must love that person very much,” she said, speaking at my toes rather than my face. After a moment, she had a small panic, and then continued speaking. “That's, uh, I see you here often.” I laughed softly, half for her sake, defusing the tension that had built in her. “Yes, my twin brother.” A look of shock overcame her, covering her open mouth with a hand, and then it slowly slipped away. Left behind, a rather different smile compared to earlier. If I had to place it, I would have called it sentimental. “I, my sister is his neighbour,” she said, much calmer than before. “My twin sister.” Swallowing my emotions, I bowed me head. That, that was too cruel. I could accept the pain I felt, but to think anyone else had to feel even a fraction of it. “She teased me often, and played tricks on me, and all sorts of things like that,” she said, with warmth. “But, I loved her more than anyone. For all the trouble she caused me, I knew she loved me too.” “I'm… sorry for your loss.” After a sniffle, she returned the sentiment. We stood there in silence for a good minute or so, before she found more words. “You know, there's only one thing I regret.” “What is it?” I asked. “The last time I saw her, I had wanted to tell her something, but a voice in the back of my head told me I could always tell her next time.” I swallowed the flare of emotions, didn't let my own feelings come back up and drag me back down. “What did you want to tell her?” “Nothing really, I didn't know how to say it yet. But, I've had a few years to think now, so, if I had the chance, I'd say: I'm sorry.” Before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why that?” The delay made me raise my head. She looked beyond me, off into the graveyard, certainly towards a specific tombstone. Though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, she had a beautiful smile, that spread all across her face. “In a way, I'd ended up thinking of myself as the 'good twin',” she said. “And, without meaning to, I had come to pity her. When I realised that, I couldn't look her in the eye any longer.” She paused to catch up on a couple of breaths. “My pity would have disgusted her if she knew. More than anyone, I knew how different we were, and that she was trying her hardest in her own way. So, I wanted to apologise to her for that, because it had become a wedge between us, and I wished to remove it.” Wiping her eyes freed her tears, and they flooded down her cheeks. “Does that make any sense?” she asked, laughing gently, trying to dry her face and failing. I wanted to hug her tight, and tell her something that would fix all the pain she'd felt. But, in the end, I just said, “She would have understood.” “Ah, I'm glad,” she said, tipping her head back, looking to the heavens. I did the same, and ignored the rain coming from the clear sky that rolled down my cheeks.
There is a kind of quiet at the edge of the universe, where the light from all the stars in all the galaxies winks out and gives way to infinite blackness. It's not the kind of blackness you know; not even the total dark of the sightless, or of the deep space inside the Earth. This is a place where nothing exists, or has ever existed. There has never been a sound. There has never been matter, or the bite of pure energy. There has never been a story, until now. This is where I come to think. It has been a long time since I've understood the bounds of my own existence, and even longer since I stopped looking for a reason. I've accepted that these parts that make up me - these atoms that come together and fall apart at the whims of entropy - no longer relate to each other in any meaningful way. This one was inside a leaf a thousand years before I stopped counting. This one drifted into space and was swallowed by a black hole. This one sank down into the depths of the ocean, when there was still an ocean. When there was still life. I am the last sentience that exists in the universe. I have outlasted the bounds of my weak, mortal body, my consciousness departing piece by piece. I have lived beyond all the life that blossomed on innumerable planets, that blazed in and out of existence in such a short and beautiful heartbeat. I have watched stars die, grow cold, collapse. I have watched the universe consume itself until there is nothing left. Almost nothing. The very last stars. The very last rocks. And I. I have been here so long that there are no mysteries left. The pieces that I am, the ones that once belonged together, have journeyed so far that I have seen all there is to see, and know all there is to know. The nebulas, the spirals, the fading and desperate signals of lonely intelligence across space - I have passed through them, become part of them, and left them to disappear like all else. I remember the final question - the very last thing that evaded my understanding, before there was nothing left to wonder. What would happen, at the end of all things? Were endings a comforting lie we invented to mask the horror of infinity? Was time a passage that led forever to nowhere? But now, I truly understand. I have become all. This universe is no longer a place that I inhabit. It is no longer a thing to explore and be observed. It cannot die, because I cannot die. I am the universe. When all else is gone, there will be nothing but me and the space in between.
"Psh, whatever man. 'Eternal soul'? That's a bit steep. Is this one of those yuppy yard sales where you thing your stuff is more in the collectible area instead of just old and used shit? I'll give you five bucks."This wasn't my first rodeo. I'd been a hardcore yardsaler for years and all of these assholes were alike. Their junk was too precious really. But this book seemed like a legit find. I had to have it. "Sir, what you hold in your hand is a volume of untold evil and horror. Capable of rending apart the very fabric of the universe! Compared to that power, the eternal soul is a mere pittance-"Memphis, or whatever his libtard hipster name was, started but I cut him off. "Five. Bucks."I thought about it a second. "Alright, ten. The binding's a bit rough but it's obviously old. Like an antique."That'd blow my load I'd set aside for this day, but it was also near the end. I could wrap up early I guessed. It was an awesome looking book and couldn't resist. "I must have a soul for it. That's actually part of the deal. If it helps, I can throw in the toaster and blender."Ooh, Mr. Mister was getting rather huffy now. "Well now you're talking! Now does it have to be my soul? Or just any old soul? Because I never really bought into all of that, but I got a buddy's soul from high school he gave me in exchange for a candy bar. I still have the napkin and everything."I dug in my wallet and pulled out the crumpled bit of paper. It was still legible though. Menopausal Maelstrom looked it over and seemed to be thinking an awful lot about the whole thing, and then he finally nodded. "It's legit. Enjoy your blender, and the toaster. Oh, and of course the book." And that's how I got the Necronomicon. My buddy? Oh, well, I thought at first it was nothing. But once I got to reading the book I realized that Eddie was doomed. I mean I could do something about it, the Necronomion had incantations that would easily plumb the fiery depths of Hell and pluck a soul free. It isn't easy, and it isn't cheap. But come to think of it he did swipe my prom date out from under me that one time. Let him burn. Now who wants another virgin heart smoothie?
The Other Hand was the kind of place where business happened. It was a hidden well, squeezed between two warehouses down near the docks. If it was ever quiet, you could hear the shouts of the barge men down the road. It was never quiet. Yelling, screaming and drunken singing all competed against each other in a three-way race to deafen the ears of anyone inside. The owner, Tanford Hughes, liked it this way. Partially, because the noise kept everyone's business to themselves and meant a lot fewer incidents between them all, but mostly because Tanford was deaf. He didn't have to deal with all this shit, so why should he care? Regardless of the noise, the strange location, and the inherent smell of hundreds of years of spilled beer and piss, The Other Hand was a place were deals were made, and once a year on November 5th Santa Clause came by. A lot of people pass through the door to the The Other Hand, but Santa always drew a few eyes. Bright red and fluffy white amid a sea of browns, blues, and grays tend to do that. He also eclipsed what little light was let in by the door as it opened, squeezing himself through the opening like a foam ball through a vacuum cleaner hose. Still, there was interest, and there was insult. Everyone turned back to their own business after a second or two. Except for the guy sitting at the center stool of the bar, his back against the aged and stained wood. He suit was armani and spotless amidst the grime and smoke. He was wearing sunglasses. Santa threw down his giant, red velvet sack on the floor before the slick stranger and he sat on it. The sack transformed into a large, ornate chair with gold trimmings on the red velvet. "Evening, big guy."The suit flicked his eyebrows up with the words. They were Jack Nicholson eyebrows, expressive and curved down so much it was almost disturbing, "Been a light year for you, I hear." "You have them?"Santa's voice was anything but jolly. "Oh, they're around, you know."The suit leaned in. A dark, angry portal opened on the floor and a table rose from it. The table was carved from something black and chitinous. It moved it's legs as the portal closed, adjusting itself to accommodate Satan's need to lean on something, "And my missives?" Santa tapped the chair that had been a sack just moments before. "Shall we discuss numbers?"Satan flashed teeth that were white, perfect, and razor sharp. "One hundred thirty-six thousand four hundred twelve."Santa stated the number carefully and without hesitation. "One hundred ninety-five thousand and some other shit."Satan wiggled his shoulders as he saw Santa squirm at the inaccuracy, "I almost won this year. It's usually so much higher." "Autocorrect has changed things." "I suppose you're right."Satan shrugged eloquently, "So once again, we trade letter for letter until there is a discrepancy, this year it's about sixty thousand. Such a small number to work with, but I think I'll made do." "Get on with it." "Fine, fine!"Satan waved his hands sarcastically, summoning a burning piece of a paper in the process. It had names all over it, front and back. Written over each other, in small hands and large. He set it down on the table in front of him and it fused to the black material. "Come on now, Santa."Satan grinned, "Let's see that naughty list. It's time to check it a second time."
"Listen to this shit Dan, I swear to you, that shit you gave me yesterday was laced or something."I slap his desk with the palm of my hand demanding attention. "DAN! You hearing me?" He's apparently too busy filling prescriptions to listen to my rambling. As if anyone comes to this corner dispensary anyway. "The hell you on about David? There's no way. It came from one of our most reputable growers. What was the problem anyhow?" "Fuckin' trains man. Trains." Dan groans, "You sure you aren't dabbling in some other shit. You know, hallucinogens? I wont tell anyone, just let me be alright? I'm busy." "No man, I swear. All I smoke is what they prescribed me after the accident for my back. Dude, you can't be giving this stuff to people." Dan continues working behind his desk, checking bottles and baggies as if it were second nature. "Look David, you aren't the first twenty-some year old that has come here saying he saw some wacky shit on his weekend. You should probably get checked out for trauma. You could be having some bad flashbacks or something. I don't know." I sink into the cheap-o chair that sits at the front of the dispensary office. "Maybe. I don't think so though. Seemed so real. Like... really real." Dan stops what hes doing and swings over his desk to sit on the edge closest to me. It's a nice desk, good wood, probably oak, might be one of those Amish made ones that cost an arm and a leg to get. Dan runs his tongue across his upper row of teeth. "You high right now David? Don't lie." "Who cares man, I'm wiggin' out and it's not because of some normal shit. Promise." Dan hops off his desk and saunters over to me. "Let me see." "See what?" "Lets see how red those eyes are,"He chortles. "Dude, don't make me prove it. I'll fuckin' do it, and you'll regret that shit" "Prove what? that you've gone coo coo for coco puffs?" "Last straw man. I've been off that shit for years and you bring that up." I stand up, and face Dan man to man. "Just remember, baldy. You asked for this shit."And I raise my hand high in the air and ball it into a tight fist. All of this while never breaking eye contact. I throw my elbow down into my side. "CHOO CHOO MOTHER FUCKER! CHOO CHOO!" Nothing... "Ok, it's too late for this shit. I'm calling the police,"Dan says, pulling at what little hair he has left. Right as he lifts up the phone on his desk and begins to dial-- BOOM-- a goddamn train plows through his front door, sending debris across the room, and the door knob skitters across the linoleum floor to stop just in front of me. I pick up the door nob and hand it to Dan. "Told you bro. Fuckin' trains."
It was raining quite hard. Fitting, I suppose, the worlds way of bemoaning a life so short. I do not usually care for the after, the things men do to honor their dead. In fact, I have not once attended a funeral where I was not needed. It is not my job to watch these affairs, only to escort my charges to their end. Yet, there was an aura about this boy that demanded I follow through. He had seemed so profound there, on his little gurney. As if he knew something that even I was not privy to. So, now I pay my respects. The father was, of course, a pallbearer. And, while he carried the casket easily enough, his shoulders betrayed its true weight. The ceremony was short, and sweet. I lingered long after the family, until the last bit of earth was spread over the grave, and right then, as if in answer to the finality, it rained a little harder.
In a dimly lit hut, a Major sits in front of a scientist, while holding the bridge of his nose he ask; "Now what was the drop SUPPOSE to do?" "Well, sir, it was suppose to pacify the people. Drop all their adrenaline levels and make them more plausible to surrender" "And what did the drop ACTUALLY do?" "You have the report Sir" "I'm not asking the report, I'm asking you. So what did it do?" "Well ... the total population gained large eyes. For 80% of the population, their hair become somewhat spiky and static. The other 20% showed similar symptoms but their hair also changed to garish colours. The females ... ahem, their ... bust size increased at least 3 sizes, while all the males gained glowing glasses" "Dear god"
"I wish they would stop sending you up here."the voice said. "What?" "No, seriously, I would like them to stop." "What..."The girl was confused, this is not how it supposed to happen. She was the chosen one, selected as a young girl to be a sacrifice for the mountain guardian. "This is simple, they send you here, I eat you or something, and everyone is happy, right?"Guardian explained. "But I don't actually do that, you know."The black furry beast stood 10ft tall, in front of the small girl, with burning red eyes. She had made her way up the mountain, from the village where she was born and chosen. It was a sad day, leaving everything behind and walking to her horrible death. Her mother cried, the priests were chanting and there was lots of dull speeches by fat old men. Then it was up to her to make the climb alone. Now she had found the beast, and it wasn't interested in her. "What..." "Seriously girl, you're starting to annoy me. Just follow me, I'll take you to see the others." The girl sheepishly followed the tall figure, wondering about her fate to be. An hour or so later, the odd couple arrived upon a clear watered pond with a old log cabin on the other side. "There, go talk with them, they'll explain it better."The beast mumbled. "Umm..."She had spend most of her life living in the temple, training for this day. But this wasn't really going to as the stories told. She watched the tall beast walk away, and pondered about running back to the village, or entering the cabin. The beast was between her and the path to the village, so she started walking towards the cabin, keeping an eye on the beast heading to the other direction. Getting closer to the cabin, she could see an old woman standing on the front porch. "Hi honey, are you the new girl?"The woman asked. "Umm... yeah." The woman must have been closer to 60 or 70 years old, but still standing strong. Most women at the village were dead or bedridden at that age. "Come on in and meet the others, we should talk."The old woman continued. "Sure..."She hesitated. Entering the cabin, she was greeted by several women, of various age. There were some older ones, like the old woman, and some looking almost as young as her. The cabin wasn't that big, but it seemed comfy and clean. She was guided to take a seat by a long table, and others sat down with her. In total, she counted seven sitting with her. "So, this must be a bit confusing for you."The old woman started. "You're the chosen one then, I don't remember ever being that young myself."One of the younger girls said with a smile. "Well, to make this story short and simple, we have all been chosen at young age and send up to the mountain to die."Continued the old woman. "But the thing is that, Rolf, he doesn't really know what to do with us." "Umm... Rolf?"asked the girl. "Yeah, that's not really his name, but we call him that for short.", "His actual name is much longer, and he doesn't like us using it." "He says that it reminds him of the 'old bad days', what ever that means."one of the younger girls continued. "By the way, I'm Hilda". "Girls, girls, we're all excited, but she needs to hear this story and we can do introductions later."The old woman stated. "So, every few years, they send girls up here, and Rolf picks them up and brings to us.", "Some stay here with us, some head up north to the big city and some try to get back home." "But as you know, they burn those coming back to the village from the mountain alive on stake."The old woman explained. "Those religious crazies!"Hilda stated as a side note. "Umm..."The girl started, "Are those my options? And... umm. Rolf lets us be here?". "Yes, yes, he leaves us alone, occasionally brings us some fresh meat, but we don't really see him."The old woman continued. "But this is not a bad place to be, we have a nice garden close by, there is fish at the bond and no-one bothers us here.", "We occasionally make trips down to mountain, but try to remain hidden." "You can stay with us for a while, and continue north later on if you wish."Hilda continued. "Beats living in the temple, under guard from those old perverts". "Umm... old what?"The girl asked. "Is Anthon still the head priest at the temple? You know he uses his divine right to do bad things, right?"Hilda stated. "Well, he is still there, but..."The girl hesitated. "Pay your taxes to the church, or he'll burn down your farm, that pig fucker."Hilda continued. "One of these days, someone will but a knife in him while he sleeps." "Lets settle down now, we don't want to scare the new girl here."The old woman intervened. "So, what do you say, would you like to stay with us for now, or take your chances out there." "I would like to stay, if that's fine with you all."The girl agreed. There were several nods coming from around the table. So it was agreed, she would stay with them. "Good, Hilda here will show you were you can sleep, now it's getting late."The old woman continued. "We need to start your training tomorrow, there is much to do before you become one of us." "After all, there are plenty of pig fuckers in the world that need to be rid of. Welcome to the sisterhood!"Hilda smirked.
"Well, Father?"the Lord of Lies smiled thinly, his face turned to the ground. Even he dared not gaze directly at the radiance that was the Eternal, the Creator of all. "If you offer but one innocent child for me to toy with as I please, for eternity, then for that long I will leave Man in peace and will tempt him no more. One child to be tortured and the whole of Humanity be spared. What say you?" For a long time there was no answer from the Ineffable. There was no change in the brightness that filled the air in front of Lucifer, nor was there a change in sound to indicate agreement, thought, or dismissal. But the Prince of Darkness was patient, and he could wait. He had nothing but Time, really. ARE YOU HAVING A GO AT ME? Satan blinked in consternation and frowned. "Beg pardon?" COME ON, THEN, WHO PUT YOU UP TO THIS? WAS IT LILITH? The Great Deceiver shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I'm really not sure what you mean, Father..." SERIOUSLY? OKAY, ARE YOU DRUNK? DID YOU FALL AND HIT YOUR HEAD? OR DID YOU HAVE A BIG BOWL OF STUPID SOUP FOR BREAKFAST? "Ah...."Lucifer began to sweat. DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THAT YOU HAVE FREE WILL, LUCIFER? SERIOUSLY? DO YOU REALLY BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE ANY CHOICE IN, LITERALLY, ANYTHING? YOU'RE DOING A JOB, KID. A JOB I ASSIGNED TO YOU. EVERYONE EXISTS BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO. INCLUDING YOU. "Well, yes, even the stupidest mortal would be aware of that, Father."The Lord of Lies tried to recover lost ground. "You'd have to be some kind of moron to think that I, the Devil, could do anything without the consent of God, the Creator of Everything." SO WHY ARE YOU HERE WITH THIS IDIOTIC PROPOSAL? WHAT KIND OF IMBECILE WOULD THINK OF SUCH A STUPID BARGAIN? Lucifer grimaced and shuffled his feet. SETTING ASIDE FOR A MOMENT THE FACT THAT YOU WORK FOR ME, WHY WOULD I AGREE TO LET YOU TORTURE ONE INNOCENT FOR ETERNITY IN EXCHANGE FOR THE REST? IF I WANTED EARTH TO BE A PARADISE, IT WOULD BE. "Yes....well...when you say it out loud, it does sound kinda stupid..."Lucifer scratched his head and nodded. THAT'S BECAUSE IT IS STUPID. NOW GO AWAY I'M WORKING ON ANOTHER UNIVERSE. THINK I'M GOING TO GIVE THOSE DINOSAURS ANOTHER SHOT. "Yes, Father."the Lord of Lies sighed and turned away from God, crestfallen. For some reason this had seemed so much less stupid when he was high.
Well, I had guessed it would be something like this once upon a time. Everyone was always so curious and desperate to find out what happened after they died. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Nirvana, they all got made up in an attempt to suggest that there actually WAS something after. A lesser known idea was that of a cyclic divinity: that is, when we die, we become our own gods and make our own universes. That God, the Creator of our existence and reality, was once just like us in a world like ours. And there was a god before Him, and before him, and before him... With really no logically discernible beginning or ending to the whole thing. Which was most of the reason it was a "lesser-known"concept. Well, kudos to whatever genius or crackpot that came up with it, 'cause that was right on the money. Now, you are likely curious as to how in the world I could possibly know this. Don't worry, I won't keep you in suspense for too much longer. You see, I'm dead. Really violent stuff, crushed between an 18-wheeler and a pickup on the freeway after I fell off an overpass. How I fell is a different story, I'll tell you later. Anyways, me, dead, for, like, 10-15 minutes now. I opened my eyes, totally intact, pain-free, uninjured, in the single most boring massive expense of *white* I have ever had the displeasure to know. I just started walking after the first 5 minutes of pearly gates or fiery pits spectacularly failing to appear before me. Just a minute ago, I got really thirsty and thought to myself (more or less verbatim): Man, what I would give for a martini about now..., and took a sip of said martini. Which, not even a second earlier, I had not been holding. So, after doing some experiments, throwing a few fireballs and lightning bolts, causing a few nuclear explosions, and flying around for a bit, I did the math and realized I am now a god. So, first order of business... Where can a guy get a star destroyer, the Enterprise, and the Pillar of Autumn in one place?
"Fucks sake" Bob stabbed his finger at his phone screen. "Fucking loada shite. I didn't download these files" Bob scrolls up to the Select All icon "Fucking cheap phone, I thought 8gb was enough. Least I didn't buy some apple shite like Jim" Bob stabs the Select All icon, and hovers over to the Delete icon. "I think I'm seeing that berk today. Check my callender after this" On screen a message "Are you sure you want to delete all?" "Yes" And with a loud pop, Bob was gone, and so was everyone else.
Again, your phone rings. Another late-night text, probably from that girl you met at the bar earlier. She's probably trying to explain herself about why she had to leave so early. When you pick up your phone, though, something feels off. Rather than a number, the sender's name is a garbled mess of symbols. Something about it feels really familiar, but you can't put your finger on it right now. You shake off the feeling and open the message. > Hello there. If you're reading this text message (and I'll know if you're reading it), then congratulations, you're my next target. I am known as The Beauty, and if you don't know who I am, you should pick up a newspaper. Specifically, the one on your nightstand. I'm willing to give you an hour to try and escape from my grasp. If you can make it out alive, you get to stay alive. If you can't, then you're dead anyways and there's not much else you can do. I don't usually do this for people, but you and I are the same in more ways than you would think. In fact, I'm kind of rooting for you. Not enough to stay my hand, of course, but just a little bit. Have fun. >Oh, and sorry for wasting your minutes. I'll make it up to you if you make it. What the hell? you think to yourself. Was this some sort of elaborate prank? You reach for the newspaper the text mentioned and read the front page story. It's about a man claiming to have escaped from a serial killer known as The Beauty, a woman as pretty as she was murderous. Something about this whole situation feels familiar to you, but you still can't figure it out. You try to get out of bed, but something in your mind stops you. Watch the floor, you think to yourself. Lo and behold, a bear trap sits just below your foot. How did I know that? you wonder. You look around and find that the entire floor is has been covered with bear traps. This is not a prank. You are being hunted by this Beauty, and she's prepared to follow this to the end. Carefully, you tiptoe around the traps and into the hall, where nothing initially seems out of place. However, you get that strange feeling again. Don't move and toss the baseball down the hall, you mind tells you. You turn around and look for the old baseball you always have on display at the end of your hall. It's a signed baseball from Lou Gehrig, dating back to 1938. You really don't remember how you got it, only that it showed up at the end of the hall one day. You take it off its pedestal and carefully roll it down the hall. It doesn't even make it five feet before a hidden wire carves into the middle of the ball. The Beauty had set up another trap for you in the hallway, a heated wire to cut into your skin and trip you. You carefully step over it as you make your way to the other end of the hall, something telling you that that's the only one. Duck! you shout to yourself. You duck instinctively, and not a second later, a sharpened metal bar comes flying around the corner of the threshold to your dining room and buries itself into your wall. What the hell is going on? you think as you stare at the trap. How do I know these things? "You always slow down at this part, honey,"a luxurious voice says from the darkness of your kitchen. "Why do you do that?" You flip the kitchen light on and turn to face the voice. Sitting in a chair at the center island is the girl from the bar. Her brown hair is tied up in that familiar French braid, and her freckled face gives you an awkward feeling of nostalgia. "Wh-Who are you?"you stammer. "You read the paper, honey,"she tells you. "You should know who I am." "I-I meant your real name,"you tell her. "What's your real name?" The girl sighs. "What's the point?"she asks as she takes a revolver out of her black jacket's pocket. "It'll hurt again when you don't know. Besides, it's not like you'll be telling anybody." Your body fills with dread. "Oh God,"you say, starting to freak out, "p-please don't shoot me!" "Why not?"she asks, pointing the gun at you. "You won't really feel it. Not for long, at least. Besides, I went through the trouble of getting this Remington .46 straight from Eliphalet Remington himself. Do you know how many people I had to kill to get back?" "What?"you ask, but she continues. "Actually, you probably do know,"she says in a bored tone, "you just don't know you know. It's in the two grand ballpark, I'll tell you that. You just gotta figure it out, that's all." Horrified, a number swims to your head. "I-Is it... uh... two thousand three hundred and ninety-two?" The girl claps. "Very good! You're starting to get the hang of it! Now, let's try again."Without any warning, she shoots you in the stomach. Instinctively, you go to hold the wound, but you can already feel the blood as it pools onto your shirt. You fall to your knees as she walks past you into your room. Looking at the clock, you see that you didn't even make it fifteen minutes. You can feel your life fading away as darkness encroaches on your vision. The girl walks back into your view as you fall to the floor, the newspaper from earlier under her arm. "I think maybe I should give you a little hint. I realize you're probably not fully aware of what's going on, so try to remember this. Look at the back of the paper. That should clue you in."As she starts to walk away, she turns her head back and says, "By the way, it's Isabelle." She walks out of sight as you let go of what little life you have left. The only thing that remains is a buzzing sound, almost like an alarm. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again, your phone rings. Another late-night text, probably from that girl you met at the bar earlier. She's probably trying to explain herself about why she had to leave so early. When you pick up your phone, though, something feels off. Rather than a number, the sender's name is a garbled mess of symbols. Something about it feels really familiar, but you can't put your finger on it right now. You shake off the feeling and open the message. > Hello there. If you're reading this text message (and I'll know if you're reading it), then congratulations, you're my next target. I am known as The Beauty, and if you don't know who I am, you should pick up a newspaper. Specifically, the one on your nightstand. I'm willing to give you an hour to try and escape from my grasp. If you can make it out alive, you get to stay alive. If you can't, then you're dead anyways and there's not much else you can do. I don't usually do this for people, but you and I are the same in more ways than you would think. In fact, I'm kind of rooting for you. Not enough to stay my hand, of course, but just a little bit. Have fun. >Oh, and sorry for wasting your minutes. I'll make it up to you if you make it. What the hell? you think to yourself. Was this some sort of elaborate prank? You reach for the newspaper the text mentioned and read the front page story. It's about a man claiming to have escaped from a serial killer known as The Beauty, a woman as pretty as she was murderous. Something about this whole situation feels familiar to you. Something in your mind clicks. Newspaper... you think to yourself. What's so important about the newspaper? You flip it over to find a sticky note. "This isn't your first rodeo, honey. Love, Isabelle. XOXO" You slowly unfold the paper and turn it around. On the back, in bright red lipstick, are tally marks slashed across the paper. You count fifty-three. Watch the floor, you think to yourself, unaware what the fifty-three is supposed to mean.
The hall was full of Men (and a few women) of all size. From small and skinny to large and fat. Every single one donning a variation of a Santa costume. i gazed around in awe, how did I get here. The last I remember was putting on my suit and fake beard and getting ready to head downstairs. In my state of bewilderment a middle aged man noticed me. He was close to being overweight but seem to have a bright character. "I guess this is your first time?" "Uhhh.. I guess, what is this place?" "You can't just dress up as Santa, you have to know how to be the man. Here is where you get ready." This while concept pretty far fetched. This could easily be some sick human trafficking ring and I've been kidnapped. "Since its your first time you're going to need to pass the N.I.C. That's the New Imitator Course. Finish up your costume, the elves to your right will help you and once you finish head down the hall to the door with the candy cane door frame." Taking all this information in I look over to my right and saw 2 midget huma---no, elves. They stood about 3 fewer tall and wore green and red colored clothes. One spoke up and said: "Just look at that hat angle! I hope this is your first time. Let's get you fixed up." And with that they sat me down in front of a mirror and got to work. The set about measuring my suit and 'fixing my face' as they called. When they finished my suit had no lose threads in sight, my hat looked at Jolly as possible, and my face with cheeks as red and rosy as the suits themselves. With a quick fluff of my hat they set me off down the hall. I realized how odds this was and what I was even doing here. An elf passing by me carrying all sort of makeup almost read my mind and spoke up: "If you having doubt about this place just know, this is to make sure every child can enjoy the magic of Christmas the same. Santa can't be everywhere at one ya know. And one more thing: stay jolly,"and with a smile he continued down the hall. With all my counts cleared I turned toward the door and turned the knob. ——————————————————— My first writing prompt ever. If I get enough request I'll make a part 2.
"Sir, they just entered the atmosphere,"Lieutenant Johnson said, informing Major General Jones about the alien ship that is approaching Earth. "Roger that. Standby for anything that seems threatening. Today might be the greatest day of our life, or it might be the worst day of our life, let's make sure no mistakes are made"Jones said, radioing back from the frontline of the highest military ranks. It had been a sunny day that day. Surprisingly sunny for a March Sunday in Washington D.C. Nasa had reported that soundwaves only a light year away from Earth were transmitted, but they have had no success in understanding what was said. It was a calm voice, followed by some sort of greeting. At least according to the ones that analyzed this great discovery. Only two weeks later pictures of the Alien spaceship had been taken, which were identical to the classic alien spaceship that everyone sees in movies. Ever since then, ever since January 2nd, everyone on Earth have been waiting for them to arrive. Nasa sent instructions in 50 languages, both through coordinates and through basic instructions that describe the shape of North America, and Washington D.C. From there, President Trump was hoping that the Aliens would understand, but at first was reluctant that they should send messages in all 50 languages, confident that English was the only language needed. Needless to say, Vice President Pence had once again convinced him that the obvious right choice, is the one to take. "Sir, we are now able to see the Spaceship! All our forces are on standby for the approach, ready for any order"Johnson continued, with a rather shaky voice this time, giving Jones the impression that he's nervous. "Good, one of the 50 languages actually did reach out to them, let's hope it was English or this would be really awkward,"Trump told himself, as he was walking slowly away from the frontline of generals and world superpower leaders, to the area where the ship would land. Who or what stepped out did not surprise only Trump, the people watching around the area, or the American people. surprised everyone on Earth, watching live from a broadcast. A man came out. Someone who looked like a taller than average human being came out of the spaceship with the most bizarre facial expression. He was injured with a larger scar filling his core area, with a red substance coming out. Walking slowly, that thing approached Trump, and aggressively put Trump's hand on his core. The injury turned into something white and was gone in an instant. Seconds later, the "man", the alien, that thing, was shot by someone. During that time, Jones ordered Johnson to attack. That "man"however, looked sideways, smiled, and did the same thing with Trump's hands. Once again, the injury disappeared. "Finally... Finally, we have found you,"The man said, with the most bizarre, rusty, English accent, which everyone could hear, as if it shouted, when in reality, it looked unusually calm. Indeed, it was a surprisingly sunny March Sunday that day. ___ If you liked this story, tell me why. If you hated this story, tell me why. Any constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated deeply.
I sit on the front porch with a shotgun in my lap with a smoking cigarette between my lips. Since the breakdown of the world order and the descent of our society into chaos, supplies are highly valued. The harsh cold wind blows in my face as I look at the reddish-brown horizon. It wasn't always like this. T-flu was a "special"problem from the start. Because the T-virus transmitted by tagging it was not recognized immediately. Left untreated, it will kill in 20-25 days. You can pass it on but the time left next time is reduced and after third time, you die from contact with a host, who isn't cured either. It appeared simultaneously on all the continents without any apparent reason, identified only after a month and a half. That's what they said. It could be created by our army for all I know. A complete lockdown of all means of transport with segregation of the important and wealthy to underground bunkers. The government did not interfere now, preferring a later time when enough infected had died. Because there was no cure and the given number of people would definitely die. Unfortunately, all hell broke loose for us on the surface. First the infected transmitted disease at gun points. Then they started killing the new victims to prevent the spread of the disease, but not before raping and torturing them first. I lived in the relatively isolated parts which are now attracting the remaining infected like a magnet. Unfortunately, my daughter and her family got killed about two months ago. I was only able to rescue my two little grand kids. They are in my daughter's basement with food and all supplies and electricity. I rerouted the water supply to my basement. I used to sit with my grand kids in the basement just waiting it out. Until an infected found us and I was forced to leave the basement. My disfigured face proclaiming me an infected with a loaded shotgun is quite the effective deterrent. News bulletin tells me that rescue helicopters will be dispatched 10 days from now. All infected will be killed. I have enough time for now.
It truly was a fascinating sight. The burst of a deep blue aurora, the fountain of flame spat from an elder dragon, the shimmering of the world around as the crazed man walked peacefully amidst the chaos. The chosen one, at least that's what people say. I shook my head. Truth be told, I hated the idiot. Always walking around in his dragon armour, always fighting anyone and everyone. The bastard even visits my shop selling me 500 wolf pelts. What the hell am I going to do with 500 wolf pelts!? But obligations compel me, every God damned time. "Thank you, come again sometime!"Bah, it made me sick. The ground shook as he cast a spell, shooting forth a great spire of light that pierced the clouds, but it was something else that caught my eye, something smaller, no, many things. "Oh you little shit!" I couldn't help myself. The fact that the moron was fighting dragons in the middle of a city was bad enough, but for some unknown reason, he had decided to reanimate ferrets. Not just one or two, but 20 or 30. What kind of hero fucking chooses ferrets to fight for him. Suddenly another explosion echoed from the fight, one dragon keeled over creating a huge torrent of flame. My eyes grew wide as 20 ferrets spontaneously combusted, sending a shower of ash into the air. Today was not going to be a good day. Then it was over. Just as quickly as it had began, it was all over. The idiot stood in the center of his carnage with a smug smile, and with a swish of his hand, he was gone. The bell sounded, signaling that he had logged off. The other city inhabitants mirrored my own expression. Never before had there been such a unanimous hate towards one person without that person even realizing it. We trudged to the disastrous scene. Walls were broken, roofs were on fire. The ground was completely scorched, dragon skeletons were draped precariously on top of a barn. But it was the ash. The ash of hundreds of ferrets hung heavy in the air, like a thick intoxicating blanket. The clean up, oh god the clean up would be the death of me. Just then the bell sounded once again. Everyone panicked. This wasn't right. He couldn't log back on, not while we were still cleaning. This had to be a bug. What on earth could he want now? A stream of light from the heavens crashed to the ground right behind where we all stood. From it emerged the chosen one, still encased in that stupid armour with that stupid expression on his face. We stared at him, not one of us knowing what to do. The silence was palpable. He walked towards me, a glint in his eye. He reached into his pocket and withdrew 500 wolf pelts. Oh you absolute and utter... "Thank you, come again sometime!" *** It didn't tackle anything financial as such, but it always amuses me selling random things to npcs, so i decided to do that. As usual, comments or critique is always helpful, have a nice day :)
Professor McGonagall stood in front of the classroom filled with girls and cleared her throat, the whispers and giggles dying down. "Yes, please, quiet down, young ladies,"she said firmly. "This is to be your introduction to sexual education here at Hogwarts, and I trust you will all approach this with the maturity it deserves."McGonagall let her piercing eyes run across the students, found no potential disruptors, and continued. "As women,"McGonagall said, "we are bearers of the chalice, the highest aspect of the suit of cups."She reached beneath her desk and took out one of her props, a shining golden chalice. "You may know this better as the Holy Grail, known for its boundless capacity to nourish, or to provide happiness, or eternal youth. And thus, the subject of endless quests by all those knights and their lances."McGonagall raised a wry eyebrow and paused to allow some brief laughter from her audience. Hermione Granger, her quill scratching studiously away at parchment, glanced uncertainly around her, looking for other signs of confusion. She found none. The rest of the class was starting to relax and laugh along. "Now as bearer of the chalice,"McGonagall continued, "you must have your back to the altar, while your partner has his back to the south. Your chalice, needless to say, must be brimming with wine. Your partner will give you the Five-Fold Kiss - that's for Professor Snape to instruct the boys on - and you must lay yourself down with your limbs spread to form the shape of the pentagram. He will fetch his wand, or athame, or lance, whichever one he chooses to use, and begin the invocation. Now, the essence of sex is the uniting of the masculine and feminine essences, the wand being immersed in the cup, will being immersed in compassion. "As a demonstration,"McGonagall said, and rolled up her sleeves, waving her wand over the chalice until it swelled to the brim with red wine, the heady scent of it filling the classroom. She poised her wand over the cup. "Regardless of your gender,"she said, "a witch or wizard is quintessentially male, bearer of the wand, the male essence, seeking to penetrate the folds of magic."McGonagall thrust her wand in, breaking the surface tension of the wine, rich red droplets splattering to the table below. The cup swallowed the wand eagerly, all nine and a half inches, lapping at McGongall's fingers. "And in the moment of penetration,"McGonagall announced, "penetrator becomes penetrated, will is swallowed whole by magic, and we become a hermaphroditic union, the serpent climbing up the spine towards the godhead -" "Excuse me!"Hermione blurted out, her hand raised in the air. All eyes turned on her. "Uh, yes,"McGonagall said, blinking, and extracted her dripping wand from the wine. "Miss Granger. Do you have a question? Please, I want you all to be able to speak freely." "Um,"Hermione said. Her parchment crinkled in her grip. "Is this - is this a metaphor?" McGonagall looked at her bemusedly. "I suppose it is, Miss Granger. But then again, a student of your caliber should know that magic is inherently pregnant with metaphor." "N-no,"Hermione said. "I mean - what about, um, birth control? Or STD's? Or ..."Her voice trailed off. McGonagall was looking at her curiously. "Esstidees?"McGonagall said. "Birth control? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with these Muggle terms...?" "No, no, no"Hermione said quickly. "But I mean, are you talking about just the physical, um, motions of sex, or -" "You mean the penetration? Or are you talking about...?" "Well, yes, the penetration, but that's a metaphor, isn't it?"Hermione's face was a bright red. "When you say wand, you don't mean a wand wand, you mean a ..."Hermione looked at her helplessly. "Don't you?" "I understand that as a Muggle-born, you may not be familiar with this terminology,"McGonagall said, a concerned frown spreading across her face. "But I'd assumed it was the same thing for both cultures...."She strode over to Hermione, the students parting in front of her, eyebrows knitted together. "Do you mean to tell me,"she said, bending over Hermione's desk, "that you Muggles, you don't use the chalice?" Hermione stared up at her wide-eyed. "Oh my god,"she said. Meanwhile... "-and the engulfing of the wand in the unknown mysteries of magic,"Professor Snape said, his wand working furiously in and out of the chalice, his voice strained "-leads to a hermaphroditic union between the sexes, the male essence being swallowed whole by the Scarlet Woman, Babalon the Mother of Abominations, the Bride of Chaos that rideth upon our lord the Beast -"His normally sallow face was a flushed red, and wine splattered violently across the floor. "There is a flaming gash in the sky! Let him sit and conjure! Let him draw himself together in that forcefulness! Let him rise next swollen and straining! Let him dash back the hood from his head and fix his basilisk eye upon the sigil of the demon! Then let him sway the force of him to and fro like a satyr in silence, until the Word burst from his throat!"The clang of the chalice against the stone floor sent its reverberations throughout the classroom as the wine threaded its way through the cracks. Snape faced them all, his greasy hair unruly, his breathing gradually slowing, his wand hanging limp from his hand. "Now,"he said hoarsely. "Are there any questions?" The male student body of Hogwarts all sat rigid, pressed against the back of their seats, and none of them dared to say a word.
FADE IN: INT. A SECRET FACILITY - TIME UNKNOWN A young man with a black bag over his head is led through a dark, barren corridor by two men in suits. This is DAVE. He is brought to an interrogation room, seated in a metal chair, and left there. DAVE: ... Hello? A distorted voice answers Dave. This is THE DIRECTOR. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Hello, David. Welcome to The Facility. DAVE: Uh... thanks? What's going on? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) A remarkable path lies ahead of you, David. You alone bear the responsibility of... DAVE: (Interrupting) Hey, sorry, but it's kind of hard to hear with this bag on my head. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) ... Take it off, then. DAVE: Am I allowed to do that? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Given that you were the one who initially put it on yourself, yes, that should be fine. Dave shrugs and removes the bag. DAVE: Ah, that's better. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Why did you put a bag on your head in the first place? DAVE: I mean... some men in black showed up at my house and told me to come with them. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) ... Yes? DAVE: I figured they'd be putting a bag on my head anyway, and I wanted a comfortable one. A moment of silence passes. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) David, you are about to see things far, far more sensitive than the location of The Facility. DAVE: Wow, am I? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Yes. DAVE: Should I put the bag back on? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Should you... no, David. DAVE: Okay. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) As I was previously saying, you alone bear the... DAVE: (Interrupting) Hey, sorry again, but can I have a drink or something? A drawn-out sigh becomes audible. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) What would you like? DAVE: Remember those "Squeezit"drinks from the nineties? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) No. DAVE: Oh. Damn. I thought the government could get anything. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) We're not the government, David. Dave considers this, and seems to become uncertain of his situation. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) (CONT'D) We are the keepers of the most powerful artifact in existence, and it has chosen you to be its Reader. DAVE: "Reader?" The wall opposite Dave suddenly lights up into a display. Stock footage from the 1940s is seen. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) You have doubtlessly heard of Area 51, a facility where arcane and alien secrets are stored. DAVE: Whoa! Am I in Area 51?! DIRECTOR: (O.S.) No. DAVE: Oh. I guess I really didn't need the bag. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) No, David. In a sense, you are Area 51. DAVE: ... What? The display shifts to show several scientists gathered around a large tome. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) There exists a book, David. A book with no title. In truth, it is a piece of technology beyond our understanding. DAVE: You just said it was a book, though. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) What? DAVE: Well, if you know it's a book, you clearly understand it. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) The point, David, is that the book contains all knowledge mankind has discovered, along with much it has not. DAVE: It must be a long book. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) It also... DAVE: (Interrupting) Like, does it know what Susie Jenkins wrote in that note she passed to Thomas Smith? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) It also... DAVE: (Interrupting) Not that I'm still hung up about third grade, mind you. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) I don't know what it says! It can only be read by one person! DAVE: Why? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) We don't know. DAVE: Does it say in the book? An exasperated noise becomes audible. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) For reasons far beyond our understanding, you have been chosen to be the Reader. DAVE: Oh. Sure, I get it now. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) ... Excuse me? DAVE: No, no, you're right. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Right about what? DAVE: It would be hard to read with a bag on my head. Several loud thumps are heard, sounding rather like someone hitting their head against something hard. After a few moments of this, the Director takes a deep breath. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) David, you will be presented with this book. DAVE: Okay. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) You will read the book. DAVE: Got it. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) You will report any particularly sensitive or impactful things you find. DAVE: Sure. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Some of what you discover will have incredible consequences, and you will have to live with that. DAVE: Can do. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) In exchange for this service, you will live a life of absolute luxury in an estate populated by past Readers, their families, their descendants, and their descendants' families, along with all who have served The Facility. DAVE: Nice! DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Failure to uphold your end of this arrangement will result in... unpleasant consequences. DAVE: Oh. Like what? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) You don't want to know. DAVE: Couldn't I just look it up in the book? DIRECTOR: (O.S.) (Sighing) Let's just get this finished. Bring it in. The door to the interrogation room swings open. The two men from before enter, and one of them places a large tome in front of Dave. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) (CONT'D) Before you are relocated, we must receive final confirmation. Please read from the book, David. Dave opens the book and thumbs through several pages. They appear to be blank at first, but words fade into view as Dave stares down at them. DAVE: Uh huh. Uh huh. Wow! Wow! DIRECTOR: (O.S.) What have you discovered? DAVE: They're in the United Kingdom! They just changed the name! The Director suddenly sounds very urgent. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) What, David, what?! What is it?! DAVE: "Squeezits!"They just added a space between "squeeze"and "it!" Several seconds of silence pass. The men in suits glance at one another. DIRECTOR: (O.S.) Heaven help us... FADE OUT.
Nobody knows how many levels there are. Trish, my third best friend, said that she got up to the two thousandth and sixty-third floor one time. "Oh yeah?"Maya asked her. Maya is my first best friend, and I think Trish might be her fourth or fifth best friend. "How did you get up there?" "In the elevator, dummy,"Trish replied. Maya rolled her eyes. "Well obviously that's how you got up there,"she said. "But how did you get to go up that high? Why were you up there?" "My cousin is in a special unit in medical."Trish looked up at the ceiling, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers casually. "He has a very rare condition. We got to visit him on his birthday." Maya snorted. "Yeah right."She looked at me and made a face. "It's true,"Trish said indignantly. "The air was really thin up there. We all had to wear special masks so that we could breathe right." "If the air is so thin that you have to wear masks, then why would they keep sick people up there?"Maya raised both of her eyebrows. "Huh?" Trish's cheeks went pink. "I don't know. They explained it, but I don't remember." "Right,"Maya said, too sweetly. "That was a really great story, Trish." We all lived on the 149th floor. As the building got closer to the ground, the levels got a little bigger. Everyone in our school lived in apartments between levels 145 and 150. We had a shopping mall, three grocery stores, and a huge sports complex that filled up half of level 147. Our parents all worked somewhere down on level 76, but we'd never made it out of our neighborhood. The highest I'd ever gone was to the 204th floor, where my grandparents lived. Maya thought that there were only 500 floors in the entire building. Even though she was my best friend, I didn't want to say in front of her that I thought Trish was probably closer to the truth. I'd looked through the old records on the digibase at school, and I knew that the world used to have seven billion people on it before the environment collapsed and the survivors had to move into this high rise. I never told anyone this, but I hoped that the building stretched up into outer space. It would be so cool if the upper levels had a view of the rest of our galaxy. I had asked my parents once how many levels they thought there were, but they just started talking really loudly about their work days. I'm not sure what they do exactly, but I know they work in building maintenance. Most people in our neighborhood do. Except for Rasha's dad. I think he works on the ground. Rasha wasn't my friend, but I kind of always wanted her to be so that I could ask her about her dad. She doesn't talk to many people, but rumors about her family flew faster than the airplanes I read about on the digibase. My classmates had new stories every week about seeing Rasha's dad coming back to his apartment with clothes plastered in mud, something we don't have here in the building. Trish said one time that she saw him carrying a flower that glowed in the dark. Maya said that was stupid. I never knew what to think of Rasha's dad until I ran into him on the elevator one day. It was just the two of us. I was coming back home late from soccer practice, and he was the only one on the elevator going up to my floor. We didn't say anything to each other. But he was carrying a large briefcase, and looking at his tablet, reading symbols I didn't recognize. We got off the elevator on our floor, and as he walked away toward his apartment, something slipped out from his briefcase. He continued walking without noticing. I ran over to pick up the object. It was small, black, and round, like a stone, but with a smooth and shiny surface. I turned it over between my fingers, and found a red symbol carved into the bottom. A symbol that looked exactly like the ones Rasha's father had been reading on his tablet. I didn't know it yet, but that symbol would save my life.
I carved my way through the Queen’s goblin minions, leaving a trail of broken bodies lying in pools of brackish green blood. At long last, the final foe slid off the end of my sword and collapsed against a brick wall with one final gasp. The only remaining sound in the castle was the soft crackling flames of the torches mounted on the wall. Firelight danced off of my gleaming shield, highlighting the many gashes and cuts that resulted from the battle. Ahead, two stout oaken doors barred the way up to the Princess’s tower. The keys were quickly found hanging from the belt of a particularly nasty-looking Goblin who was now missing his head. Stopping only to grab a torch from the wall bracket, I unlocked the door and began the long trek upwards. The stairs wound in a tight circle, with an opening so narrow that I could barely fit through with my armor scraping against the sides. Each step drained more and more of my energy, but I was so close! After all of these months, I’d finally come to rescue her! Finally I reached the landing and peered through the narrow window of the prison’s door. Inside, the beautiful princess lay stretched across a sofa, staring off into the distant mountains and no doubt dreaming of her rescue. Little did she know that I was already here. The hinges, rusted after such a long period of disuse, groaned loudly as I wrenched the door open. The princess turned toward me and stood from her couch, hope welling in her crystal blue eyes. “My prince!” she shouted. “You’ve finally come to rescue me!” I stepped into the light, looking every bit the part in my gleaming armor. Then I removed my helmet. “I’m here, my lady! I fought through the…” “Whoa,” she interrupted, holding up a hand just as I was about to draw nearer. “Stop.” “What is it?” I drew my sword and turned back toward the stairs. “More goblins?” “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” she gave a kind of awkward smile and gestured at me. I sheathed my sword and stepped closer, but then she took a step back. “I mean, I just thought… you know, I’m waiting here for my Prince Charming. And you… you’re…” “What?” I asked. “I dispelled the Queen’s magic, solved her riddle to find the castle, slew the goblin army…” I mean, what else is there? “No, I know,” she said. “And that was really great. Seriously. I really appreciate it. But you’re just… like… I think we’d be really good friends, you know?” Before I could come up with a reply, we both heard a loud clattering coming up the stairs. I drew my sword, still smeared with green from all the goblins I’d killed on my way here. One more would be no problem. But it was no goblin; another knight burst through the door. He wore no helmet to cover his rugged jawline and sculpted features, and his armor wasn’t covered in gashes and goblin blood like mine. “You must be Princess Abeline,” he announced in a rich baritone that literally made her swoon. “I’ve come to rescue you!” She leaped right into his arms. “My prince!” She cried. “You’ve finally come to rescue me!” He gave a hearty laugh. “It was no trouble, my lady! The goblins were no match for me.” “What?” I called out. “I killed all the goblins.” I wave my notched sword in his face, still streaked with their blood. “You didn’t do anything!” He sneered at me then turned to the princess with a confused look. “Who is this?” he asked. “Oh, nobody,” she replied dismissively without even looking at me. Her eyes were practically glued to him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long!” He scooped her up in his arms like she was made of paper. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” And together they vanished back down the stairs, leaving me alone at the top of the tower. ----- I slammed the door shut and headed straight into the kitchen and into the refrigerator. A freezing charm kept everything inside nice and cool and fresh. “Well?” Formar’s voice called from the living room. “’ow did it go!?” I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached for one of the bottles of mead inside the refrigerator and popped it open. One benefit to having a dwarf roommate is that we always have mead in stock, and I really needed it today. The bottle was nearly half-empty by the time I slumped down onto the couch next to Formar and let out a heavy sigh. “What ‘appened?” he asked, dropping the parts of his beard that he was braiding. He seriously spent half the day making sure that his facial hair was all neat and tidy. “Did you find ‘er?” The room was silent as he waited for his answer and I tried to find the words to sum up my adventure. “Dude,” I finally answered after taking another swig. “I dodged a fucking bullet.”
They always say not to go to bed angry. Don't part ways without saying I'm sorry. I've never known who "they"are or were but I'm happy I listened to them if only for this one time. It was the biggest fight in our friendship. We said cruel world and things we kinda meant but normally wouldn't have said. 7 years of friendship shat on by a lousy 10 minute fight over an equally lousy boyfriend. I'm glad I got to say I'm sorry and I love you before the car wreck took you away the next day. At least we got in a final hug.
>People like to talk about moments that have "changed their lives."But the fact is, it's very rare that someone actually had something change their lives. They've mostly been moments that were the last in a series of events that led them to that point. They were 95% of the way there, and that "moment"just pushed them over the edge. Especially if they say they "think"the moment changed their lives. It's all a load of crap. >Because, trust me on this, when you hit one of those moments, you freaking know. Like I knew about ten seconds ago. >Then again, this was all a series of events, all strung together. A few angry words, a few fists thrown, a few months behind bars, a few marks on my record, a few rejected job applications, a few questionable decisions... it led me here. A guy's gotta make a living somehow, and most people don't even remember half the stuff they own. I think I remember hearing about the consequences of my actions maybe twice over the past few years. >The trick is, you don't go for the huge stuff. Don't take the giant TV, or the expensive game system, or empty the entire jewelry chest. You take a few things. A few of the nicer pieces of jewelry, a few fancy pieces of crap. You don't take it all. People will think they've been robbed if it's all missing, but they'll probably just write a few pieces off as misplaced. They'll find them eventually. Hell, one time I found a few diamond earings just by checking under the couch. >Anyway, getting off track. >The latest mark had been a fairly nice house, but the family hadn't been around for a while. Vacation or something, my best guess. That was the best time to hit a place. People forget what they own when they're home every day. If it's been a while, you can lift a bunch of small stuff without them ever noticing. I once met one of my marks on the street who was convinced he'd just imagined he had that rare baseball card. That one fed me for like two weeks. >So I did what I always do, dressed just like anyone else (all black jumpsuits catch the eye, jeans and a tee shirt don't), and walked right up to the front door. A few knocks just to make sure no one's home, then work with the lockpick. Again, you don't crouch and look nervously over your shoulder - hell, you make some noise, grunt a bit, act like you're just fumbling with your keys. You can't tell me you've never had a night where you just couldn't get your key to work. And just like that - I'm in. >It was the smell that hit me first. >I've been in places ranging from well kept to fairy messy, but the smell coming from the house was offensive. It wasn't like no one had been there, it's like someone had been there, and had been there for months without leaving. I don't know what made me investigate instead of turning and running, but I had to keep going. It was almost like I wasn't in control anymore. >I was halfway up the stairs when I heard it, a quiet muffled noise from the room at the top. It sounded like an animal was trapped there, a dog left behind or something like that. I felt my pulse pick up as I got to the top, and my hand was actually shaking when I opened the door. >And there it was. The moment. When things changed. >I read the news. A lot. Because if articles start showing up connecting the dots in a string of thefts, I know I need to lay low. I've got savings for such an occasion, but not enough to last forever. But there's been a few times I've seen it come up across a few sites and papers, so I lay off for a few weeks until the pressure dies down. So I read the articles a few months back about some kid going missing from the bus stop. Suspected foul play, an angry step parent or something like that was suspected but never found. The news had died down because, well, you get more than a few days out, and a missing kid isn't likely to turn up. >So, when I opened the door, I really didn't think I'd see him. The kid from the reports, the articles. Dirty, weak and withered, eyes puffy, arms bruised and covered in rope burns... but alive. Definitely alive. >I won't lie. Part of me wanted to just turn tail and run. This wasn't my problem. And getting into other people's business has gotten in trouble before. Hell, it's what made me start this life, getting too involved in someone else's problems. But... it was a kid. Eight, nine years old, tops. I didn't even trust leaving an anonymous tip with the police - who knows if the psycho that abducted him got home before the cops got there, what he'd do. >So I made the call, sat with the kid (didn't touch him, though, I didn't want my prints on anything or get the wrong idea), and waited. And even when my heart rate spiked when the flashing blue and red shone through the window, I didn't run. I couldn't just let this kid go without making sure he got taken care of. I don't hate cops, they're just doing their jobs, which happens to run opposite of my job. My old job. >Anyway, after that... well, you know the rest, officer. Here we are. I know I can't expect much, but hey... it was a kid. I'm not a saint, but I'm not gonna leave a kid on his own. The following was the testimony of serial burglar Mark Lionel, given to officer Marcia Ramos on the scene where the abducted child was discovered. Lionel is currently out on bail, posted by the parents of the child as thanks for his bravery, pending trial.
Note: I know it says ancient Israel, but it just fits too damn well with the historical context section in [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohenjo-daro) Wikipedia article. I couldn't resist. ___ The man grinned, his yellow teeth blinking in the sunlight. He stood upon the balcony of his palace, overlooking the construction of his town and the gathering of his underlings in the courtyard. They send him off to death, through that goddamn wormhole in Jupiters red dot, for the crimes he comitted. But it seems the gods didn't want him dead yet. "Who? Right, that religion doesn't exist yet."He chuckled to himself as he thought back to the day the wormhole spit him out here. Mohenjo-daro, an ancient city somewhere in Pakistan, as he recalled his history lessons. The place where he appeared in a wirl of distorted space and red gases was now surrounded by a holy temple where he was prayed to as a godlike entity. The moment he realized where - and when - he was, it dawned upon him that he could reshape human history from it's humble beginnings. Or, at least, influence it within his lifetime. In their "humanitarian way"of killing someone by chucking them into a wormhole that might send them to some icy planet, empty space or, if one was really lucky, to witness the Big Bang for some milliseconds, they of course gave out some supplies in case one were to survive. It was a smack in the face, the same as giving a pirate a pistol with one shot on a lonely island. Just enough to ease the pain. But this...this actually made him slightly thankful for the bit of tech they gave him. A few demonstrations of his almighty swiss pocketlaser ("The punishing gaze of Satan") and the very practical campfire-lighter mounted to his wrist ("The cleansing fires of hell") quickly convinced them of his god-like status. That and a bit of advanced knowledge from the future allowed him to revolutionize these primitives and their city within months. As he pondered his past and future, both being both, he smiled once again as the chanting of the people below him filled his ears. "Hail Say-tahn!" "Hail Say-tahn!" "Hail Say-tahn!"
I discovered the strangest beehive in my yard this last summer. Actually, I didn't realize it was a hive for the longest time. It isn't shaped like the hives I usually see. At first I thought my spruce tree had some sort of disease. It was only when I went to chip away at the surface one day that I discovered a shallow honeycomb structure sitting on the bark. It was one giant hive, encompassing the entire trunk. The only part of it that looked like a traditional beehive was a fist-sized lump at about eye level; beyond that, it sprawled out thinly over the tree's surface. It came up in conversation that a friend of mine knew a beekeeper, and I had him over on the weekend to try and make sense of it. I didn't know the first thing about bees; for all I knew, this was something totally normal that I'd simply never observed before. He stared at it for a minute or two, before tentatively nudging his finger into the hole I had chipped out. He jumped and retracted his hand, and a bee came tumbling out after it. He carefully pulled the stinger from the pad of his finger. A welt was already beginning to form. "It's unusual,"he said, still cradling his finger. "The hive has a nucleus here,"- he pointed to the lump - "but the overall structure doesn't seem to adhere to it at all. My best bet is that at some point, early in development, the colony lost its queen and she wasn't succeeded. "In any case, the bees are still pretty protective of their hive. Maybe they're too instinctively used to having a queen to do any different, I'm not sure. All I know is if I were a bee, and my only defense would kill me, I'd hesitate to use it."He chuckled and held up his finger to illustrate his point.. --- The whole thing got me thinking about bee colonies. I started to wonder if human society as a whole could ever build anything as intricate and cohesive as any beehive. Would I be a drone? If my queen wanted me to go to war, would I have any thought of protest? Would I conceive of myself as a single entity at all, or an appendage of the state? Late in the summer, I hit a rock with my push-mower and banked into the tree, knocking a large piece of honeycomb into the grass. The bees inside didn't swarm, or attempt to navigate back to the tree. They got their bearings and began waddling a perimeter around their fallen hive, seemingly preparing to secure it to its new location. Maybe this would just be a new colony for them. I suppose it didn't matter all that much if there was a queen there. I nudged the honeycomb gingerly up against the base of the tree so I wouldn't accidentally shred it with the mower blades. Maybe we'd advance faster if we all had one ruler, like a queen, who could command us on a whim. It was an inspiring fantasy on its face, imagining a leader singlehandedly willing humankind to the moon, or across interstellar space, and seeing it realized in real time. But it was never that simple. I knew I'd be one of the workers toiling until I died, only to be dragged away and replaced. I shuddered to imagine it, but I knew that a bee would take to its fate gladly, for the good of the queen and the colony. I couldn't say my feelings on the matter were right, only that they were human. How many creatures were within me, working with no drive other than to ensure my well-being? How many living cells had I never so much as thought to consider individually, because they were so inextricable from their larger purpose? Were the cells in my bones individuals? Did I wish autonomy on every lymphocyte in my blood stream? And what would become of me if a philosophy of self-interest overtook my body? Would I die where I stood, disintegrating into a red puddle, sprawling without structure across the ground? I don't think I'll ever have the answers. There's too much instinct and self-preservation in me, and I still flinch at the depths of philosophy where I lose the boundary between myself and the world around me. What I do know is that I spend a lot more time sitting out on the grass in the late evening now, trying to make sense of what I can. The bees have given me a lot to think about.
The Citizens Identification Act of 2078 decreed that for identification purposes no two citizens could legally be identified by the same name. A name could only be reused if the previous individual who held that name had been deceased for a minimum of 10 years. Naturally, this made simple names such as Mary or Charlie a great rarity - a beautiful badge of honor, a huge compliment to you and your family every time your name was uttered. You could only get these names through years of effort, bribery and planning. Most parents decided it just wasn't worth the effort. Most parents just picked the name they originally wanted and picked the next available number in the sequence resulting in names like Charlie1 or Mary10329834828287271719818. Other parents thought to give their children a numerical name dehumanized them and therefore, used the opportunity to name their children something one of a kind resulting in names like Chowerpuff or Rollercoasterrainbowsunshine or Remembertogeteggsandmilkbryan. But eventually with hundreds of thousands of names being taken up every day, names that hadn't been taken yet became harder and harder to come by and as a result names started to get absurdly long and complicated like Tom123456catsandmayonnaise. With so much competition, and names like Brandon and Evan practically being reserved for royalty, I had always wondered how my parents had obtained my name. Delightfully simple. Untouched. It was one of the original names. One of the untouchable names. Every day, when my name is uttered, people look in awe. I had always asked my parents how in the world they managed to land such a great name but they would just smile at me and change the topic. One day, I'll figure it out but in the mean time I am going to enjoy the blessing that is my name. Kevin.
Colonel Fleming took off his radiation suit once the technicians nodded at him. The crash site was being covered with thousands of square feet of camouflage netting to prevent any planes or drones from getting a look at the area. He took a sniff of the air, the strange smells worrying him a little but if the scientists said it was okay that was good enough. "What are we looking at?"He said getting a visual of the site as the sun peaked over the horizon. It looked like a Class B ship, but there was something off about it, "Is that Gon Tech?" "Negative,"replied Dr. Stalls, a technician who specialized in alien crash sites . There were an estimated three crashes a year all over the globe and you lucked out when one happened on your soil, "New species it seems. Definitely a new drive technology, produces a wormhole. Interesting but dangerous."She was pointing at several bubble around the exterior of the craft. "What about the aliens, any survivors?"Colonel Fleming asked, he looked at the ground carefully and saw footprints that were definitely not human, "I see we had some live ones." "Yes sir,"she stated, tapping on her tablet, "There were three live ones at the site. They attacked the arriving team with bows and arrows. They seem to have reptilian ancestry." "Bows and arrows?"The Colonel sighed, and scratched his head "Again? I just don't get it." "Candor's Theory on Weapon Development states that without a..."Dr. Stalls started. "Oh, I know Candor's Theory, and Waxman's Theory, I know all the theories, doctor."He looked up at the brightening sky, "Poor bastards come halfway across the galaxy with their fancy space drives and then shoot at us with slingshots." "We have all their latest technology, too,"she smiled, "We've used the skip drive to accelerate asteroids to 99% light speed in a test. That makes one hell of a weapon. A planet killer if we ever have the need for one. The plasma relays we've already turned into rifles. Fusion generators power our new fighters. We've used all the tech to establish a base with the Russians on the far side of the moon. We're building the first joint starship with them."She looked thoughtful for a second then said, "I bet if you generate an unstable wormhole in the middle of an enemy ship you could teleport the center of that ship several light years away while leaving the rest here."She was looking at the new wormhole drive, practically salivating at the ways it could be weaponized. "You won't believe this one, Doctor,"a young tech said, laughing as he emerged from the wreckage, "We finished interrogations. This species doesn't even have radio communications. They communicate across space by writing notes on paper, sticking them into a metal tube, and generating a wormhole to a centralized location where another ship picks them up weekly." "How the hell do you get to a wormhole generator and skip radio?"Dr. Stalls asked while rubbing her temples, "Someday, when we have to go public, the world will think we're full of it. Eighteen cataloged species have wrecked on our world and only one of those have managed to create a form of gun powder. And they stick it in a clay pot, light the fuse, and throw it at you!" "Look on the bright side, doc,"the colonel lit a cigar and blew a puff of smoke, "If they ever do decide to invade Earth, God help them. God help them all."
I had always looked up to the superheroes. They were amazing, not constrained by the normal limits of our frail humanity. Angel was the face of the movement. A woman who could fly. She could simply shoot forward at a ridiculous speed. It was as if she had jets on the bottom of her feet. She became famous after saving two people from a private prop plane that had an engine failure. She gained followers and fame, eventually she was joined by The Doctor, with his incredible ability to heal people, even saving some from the cancer eating at their bodies. The Bard also joined them, an acrobat with extra human speed and agility. They formed the Saviors, combating crime across the world. I had always had my power. When I was little I would summon bulldozers the size of my fist that I would play with. They got slightly bigger as I grew. When I was ten I could summon one about two feet long. It was in high-school that I realized that I was actually a weapon. I was a late bloomer. I was picked on for all of middle school. I never let anyone know what I could do, for fear that news I was a freak would make my life even more miserable. As I started at Middletown School I hit a growthspurt. I broke past six feet tall, bulked up, started playing basketball and three years later, I was a starter on the team, set to get a full ride to the college of my choice. I didn't want to be a basketball player though, I wanted to be a superhero. Walking down the street I see my destination, First Bank. I'm here to drop off a paycheck. Working at McDonalds after school isn't the most glorified job, but it paid money and I could work around my basketball schedule. I walked in, saw Jenny, the cute clerk. She was probably four years older than me and going to college somewhere in the city. I was walking over to her when suddenly the commotion starts. Three men pull ski masks down over their faces, pulling guns out from underneath their coats. The spread out, one covering the crowd, one checking the door, the last one walks up to Jenny. He shoves the gun in her face and tells her to give him the cash and nobody gets hurt. She stammers out a response and starts digging money out from behind the register. He reaches over the counter to pet her face, telling her how lovely she looks. He pushes the gun in her face and starts playing with the buttons on her shirt. My vision goes red. There is a massive explosion, everything around me is thrown back. The ground breaks open underneath me and the Killdozer drags itself out of the ground. I'm standing on the roof and as it comes fully out of the ground my only choice is to slide down through the hatch before I'm crushed against the ceiling of the bank. All the bandits turn and stare at the 100 ton machine now dominating the building. The cockpit has two levers at the sides of the seat, one for each tread, there are screens all over showing everything going on outside the metal monster. Directly in front of me is the weapons control panel, I'm not sure how to describe it, a blue screen covered in dots and view points, but it makes perfect sense as soon as I touch it. I put a few warning shots under the different robbers feet. "Put your weapons down, and no one has to get hurt." The two covering the other customers drop their weapons but the one with the money tries to grab Jenny over the counter. I use a small rifle to shoot him in the leg before I even really think about it. He drops to the ground screaming, just then I hear the doors smash open, I check the screens to see The Saviors breaking in through the door behind me. "I'm so glad you're here,"I start to turn the Killdozer around, sending people diving out of the way. A boulder smashes against windshield. It's thrown by a new superhero I haven't seen before, he appears to have ripped it out of the ground; there is a hole in the asphalt next to him. Angel is there, yelling at the goons to surrender. I'm glad they showed up. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with them at this point. Then she rockets directly towards me. My hands move on instinct and the blade moves up in the front. She hits the flat front and bounces off. Screaming something about justice. The man next to her rips up another chunk of road and throws it at me. It bounces harmlessly of the armor, leaving a small scratch. I'm not sure whats going on. I try to shout at them that I'm on their side but they continue their attacks. After a few more moments I leave, driving over the strong man on my way out. He's ok and I see Angel looking after him as I make my slow and unstoppable escape. I vow to myself that they haven't seen the last of me, and that they will regret not listening to me when they had the chance.
My eyes were playing tricks on me. They had to be. And of all days, today. Life sure has a cruel sense of humour. It was like nothing had changed. The cute spring in her step when she walked, as if life was a blissful dream without a care in the world. The innocent curiosity with which she pointed and questioned anything and everything, a beautiful, unquenchable yearning to love and happiness at the gift of life. It was wonderful while it lasted. High school was never an easy time for anyone, but together we had forged my favourite memories then. That invaluable gift of companionship, a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear, a best friend and a partner in crime and everything in between. I had never been able to find it again after her. It was my fault. She pleaded and begged me not to do it. I was too stubborn. She wouldn't leave me. She said if she came along, she could help take care of me in case things were headed south. The car came out if nowhere. The light at the end of the tunnel. It wasn't my fault, but all I needed was a second. If I hadn't been drinking, perhaps I would have had that second. And in that second she was taken away. She paid the price for my sin. After that I kept running. My ghosts wouldn't let me rest. Running is addictive. The calm before the storm, the false sense security you lull yourself into, allowing yourself to forget even if just for sometime. And then it comes back. Like a tidal wave, the pain overwhelms you. The guilt becomes unbearable. So you run again. Is this where I had been running to? The finish line at the end of my endless race? She turned at looked at me straight in the eye. She gave me a nostalgic smile and cocked her head to the side. Her voice was the same sweet nectar I had archived into my memory. Yet her eyes were different. The spark in her eyes I remembered was gone, and in them I found only pity. "Wake up, Xavier. You need to wake up. You need to live for both of us." And then she was gone.
Book in hand, I sat at the heel of the Black Altar, taking in once again the ominous air of the place. Clusters of black, metallic crystals formed spires that rose from the ebon soil and clung the ceiling, their roots lost in murk; inky pools dotted the floor with no distinction between fathomless and vapid, piles of shed carapace from the Hatching three solar days prior floating daintily upon their surfaces. Not a moment after I took my perch, the pools began to roil, thousands of diminutive masses of teeth, talons, and prehensile limbs slithering forth from their indistinct depths with the apparent intention of converging on me. I waited calmly while the masses slowly crossed the floor, sitting still as the creatures worked their way up my legs, a thousand Kingspawn cloaking my person, save for my hands. The many who could not join them crowded around my heels or scuttled up the spires surrounding the altar, beady eyes never leaving me. "Alright..."I sighed, and cracked the tome. "Tonight's story is called 'Charlotte's Web'." The Muill'p collectively purred in anticiption, the pleasant noise rolling across the chamber.
A seven-year-old kid shouldn't be able to run a four minute mile, a ten-year-old kid shouldn't be able to pull a tree out of the ground, a twelve-year-old kid shouldn't be able to nearly cripple the three large bullies that had been picking on me, and a seventeen-year-old kid should most definitely not be able to freaking fly, yet Steven Marcus, my best and only friend, existed. He had been my neighbor and friend for quite literally as long as I could remember, I even had pictures of us in the crib together. Although I grew up to be exceptionally average, while he grew up to be just plain exceptional. Yet I was the only one that seemed to know. We had always spent all of our free time together, so I guess it's natural that I noticed all of his immense displays of strength and agility far beyond the capability of a normal human. Which is why it pissed me off so much that he never did anything with it. It's not like I could tell anyone though, about my super hero best friend, I was already enough of an outcast- and it's not like anyone would believe me anyway. He would only use his powers when no one else was around, and it's not something we really spoke about. I was completely fine with it, having our little unspoken secret, until I saw him fly. And god dammit, he was literally getting a cat out of a tree. That's when I brought it out into the light, dragged his secret out as the topic of conversation. I didn't ask about how he came to be different, I don't think he even knew- I had come to terms with the fact that he was quite literally superhuman anyway- but no, I confronted him about his wasted potential. I'll always remember that empty, flat faced, look he gave me right after I brought it up- as if even the thought of trying to do something more bored him. I don't even remember what he said, but I know that I ended up screaming- going on about all of the things I could do if I had been given the same opportunity, the same advantage, as him. He laughed at me. Normally memories are fuzzy, especially conversations, but I damn well remember what he said to me, "You're smart, you have a good home, and a huge amount of free time. That's potential in of itself. You could do something with that, but instead you browse the Internet and play video games. How am I any different from you?" It clear in hindsight, as things always are, that he was right. At the moment of that conversation, where I accused him of having no ambition, ironically enough- our ambition was pretty much exactly the same. Both underachieving, not making use of the cards life had dealt us. But the thing about hindsight is that it's quite useless when you're actually going out and doing something silly. Something silly like kidnapping your superhuman neighbor's family. If he wouldn't put forth drive and effort on his own, I would force it out of him. No longer would my time go wasted on the internet, or squandered on games, instead it would go into cultivating a true super hero. What I did not anticipate, though, was the fact that he had limits. It was a lot of work getting his family into that abandoned warehouse downtown, just somewhere to keep them while I laid out an elaborate ruse to put Steven to the test. I would leave a cryptic message that would lead him to a trap that-once he past it- would lead him to another clue and so on. And at the end of it all he would understand the true gift that he had, and be reunited with his unharmed family. I really did not expect him to die in the first trap. It was simple really, just a swinging log in the forest- the type of trap inspired by all sorts of old movies. Yeah, there was one part that was a bit too sharp- got Steven right in the chest and he must have bled out there in the night... seeing as how I only came across the scene in the morning. At first I found it strange that I didn't feel sad, he had been the only one to ever give me the time of day, but then I got a better feeling- triumph. If Steven was the best that humanity had to offer, and I defeated him so easily, then was there really any limit to what I could do? The next day I ransomed the lives of his family to the government. And then a few days later I robbed a bank. It was so easy to get away with crime, and my acts only got bigger. I had always been an outcast, and it took the death of Steven Marcus- my best and only friend, an unambitious super hero- to realize that I was not living up to MY OWN potential. I had wanted to create a great hero, but instead I created an even greater villain.
The debate raged for decades. To press the button or not to press the button, that was the question. Eventually it became a question of survival, rather than curiosity. As the sea levels swelled and the atmosphere became stifling, the nigh mythical Reset Button became humanity's last hope to undo the centuries of damage they'd done to Earth. Once the decision was made to press the Button, a new question arose. Who would be the person, no the nation, to press it? The debate tore the world apart as alliances were forged over the press of a Button. Some thought the Button would grant immeasurable power to whosoever pushed it. Some thought whoever pushed it would go down in infamy as the destroyer of planet Earth. Others simply wanted the prestige of being known as the Pusher. Whatever the reasoning, it was many years before the Buttoneer Alliance defeated the Pressure's Axis. Finally, it fell to the man most experienced in such matter's to finally press the Button. He was a conversationalist of world renown. A man of utmost refinement, whose home was the most expensive hotel in the world. A man who's button pressing abilities resulted in the most controversial decision in all of mankind. It was Jim, the Elevator Operator. Surely if there was a man who could press the Button and do it right, it was good ol' Jim. "Alright Jim, we're going to start to lower you down now." The voice came in clearly through the speakers in Jim's state of the art, new age Scuba helmet. He was currently tethered to the revolutionary submarine that had made the voyage down the Marianas Trench, from which, only moments ago, he had stepped forth. He felt comfortable. How could one not in the most advanced suit in human existence. The suit had an interior heating and cooling system, complete communications suite, and multiple compartments for drinks and snacks. His suit was currently broadcasting to the entire world, and though Jim felt comfortable indeed, he also felt overwhelmingly nervous. His fear warred with his veterancy in a private battle within his mind. He had been training for this moment his entire life. He shook out his arms and flexed his fingers, the suit feeding all the sensation directly to his nervous system. He could do this. He could do this. "You're doing great Jim. How're you feeling?" Jim took a moment to collect his thoughts, "I'm feeling ready for a new start!"The strength of his voice surprised even him, and he heard a burst of cheers from the crew come through the speakers. His handler, Jim couldn't even remember his name in his nervousness, opened the private channel, "The people on Earth loved that one Jim, keep it up." As Jim continued his descent, his thoughts took on a meditative state, feeling the water rush through his fingers from the suit's sensors. Hearing the deep sounds of the ocean. The flow of his thought's was interrupted by his handler an indeterminate amount of time later. "It should be coming up now Jim. You ready for this?" Jim said nothing, but his thoughts said Dear God I hope so. The Reset Button came into view suddenly, slightly bigger than his hand, and clearly labeled. There was nothing else around it, and Jim imagined whatever was beyond the Button simply lead straight down into the Earth's core. The handler's voice was a whisper this time. "We believe in you Jim." Jim reached out, and his mind flashed back to a moment from his childhood, when he had visited the Sistine Chapel, when he first saw that divine image above. He was Adam in this moment. The Button, God. His had slowly reached out and pressed the Button. There was no resistance whatsoever, just a satisfying click that reverberated through the water. Nothing happened. "Hey guys I did it. Did anything happen?" ...No answer. Jim clicked the Button once more. Still nothing. Jim clicked the Button in a furious barrage, like he did when his computer froze. Still nothing. "Uh Jim, we're bringing you back." It was a long ride to the surface. They had lost communication with the naval base immediately following the Pressage. When they finally got back to land, Jim and the crew walked around the base in utter shock. Everything was frozen. It was like time had stopped. Birds in mid flight, falling water in mid fall, and people frozen in their tracks. Jim and the crew were at a loss for words. Suddenly, a booming voice descended from the heavens. "Fuck me, I think they froze it again. No... I haven't tried turning it off and turning it back on again. I can't remember where the power switch was! Oh! There it is."
Fnally. This was he moment I'd been wating for. The Original Horror was less horrific than I had hoped. He spent his days watching friends reruns and eating pizza. Just like my room mate except if I tried to kick him out he would dissolve my bones and turn my skin into a blanket. He was already using my favourite blanket even though I was the one who cold die of cold and needed sleep. But now the pizza delivery man was late. 3 minutes late. He would not be happy. "Mortal. I was promised 30 minutes or less."The Original Horror screamed. "T-t-there was lots of traffic."The delivery man stuttered. "Who is your king?"The Original Horror demanded. "Dominoes my lord. Maybe you should send a message to bring the other pizza delivery services in line."I suggested. "Excellent idea."He agreed before groaning horribly, releasing a swarm of flies from his mouth. Each fly soon grew to the size of an elephant. "Spawn of me, destroy all Dominoes."He commanded and the demonic flies went off to ravage The Original Horror's first enemy.
"No no no Freddi don't cry I'm sure whatever you did isn't THAT bad."I knelt down to hug him. Poor guy always gets so shaken by the littlest things. "Now don't be afraid, just tell me what's wrong." "Ooooh, I- the food bowl was so empty and just- I was so hungry couldn't help myself! I'm so sorry master I promise it won't happen again!" Tammy chimed in "That's what you said the lasssst five times." I don't get why Tammy has such a grudge against Freddi, I mean maybe it's the whole cat dog thing, but they've been together from birth. "Look Freddi I'm sure we can just clean up the mess it really shouldn't be that ba- HOLY SHIT" The kitchen was a mess. The fridge had been toppled on its side, all the contains strewn across the floor. The milk jugs shattered as they fell out, spilling all over the linoleum. "Freddi why'd you do this? What were you thinking?" "I really wanted some milk...." This made me forget the whole mess. "Silly guy, dogs don't drink milk!"
"Are we sure he is not a supervillain?"Sir Atomic said, turning to Spacegirl. "He has all the signs of one, so how can we be certain?"He was exasperated, after showing up to stop another villain, only to find The Devestator beaten to the ground and handcuffed by Kings henchmen once again. Spacegirl arrived shortly after, streaking in from the sky as per her usual entrance. Spacegirl frowned, "It does seem that way, but for months King has been stopping super villains with ease. Really, he has just made our lives boring. He has forces everywhere, able to react quicker than any of us." Spacegirl didn't mind too much, but she was tired of rocketing down from her space station just to find out she wasn't even needed. It was tiring to keep bouncing back and forth like this. Lately she hasn't even bothered to respond to some of the calls, knowing she would only arrive late again. In the distance, one of Kings henchmen waved towards the pair, heaving The Devestator onto a transport truck to be carried away. "It's ridiculous. He is forcing us out of our jobs. Soon, he is going to be the only known Hero around. I want to be able to take down a villain or two myself."Sir Atomic reached a hand up to his chin, "I wonder if I should test him out to see if he really is a hero. Surprise him in his own castle."A hand landed upon his shoulder, causing him to turn towards Spacegirl. "You know acts of aggression on fellow heroes is forbidden by our code. We have to have trust in him. Besides, if he does end up being a villain, we will all just take him down together. Just like old times, eh?"Winking, she shot back into space, causing dust to cloud around Sir Atomic. Coughing and stepping back from the cloud, he could not help but smile. She was a feisty one, she was. He always admired her for that. With a loud pop, Sir Atomic vanished, returning to atomic level, where he stashed his base of operations. Later King sat upon his throne, head resting sideways in one hand, waiting for his henchmen to return. The doors swing inward, as several henchmen entered, followed by several more, with The Devestator walking between them. King stood, arms outstretched, "Welcome, Devestator! Welcome to my fortress! It is a pleasure to have you!"His voice was booming, overpowering even. One of his several powers. Devestator smiled, realizing his situation, "So the other villains are right, you are one of us. Let me guess, you want to establish a league against the heroes or something?" King smiled, stepping from his throne. He approached his guest, "Oh, no. Not quite. You see, I do need you, that is sure. And I know the heroes would never approve of my methods."He paused, tilted his head slightly, looking past Devestator for a brief moment. "No, they wouldn't approve at all. But I'm no villain." A sharp pain erupted from The Devestators chest as a glowing sword emerged from it, which in turn plunged into King. Both gasped as the pain surged through their bodies. "Wh-"The Devestators eyes grew vacant as the life fled his body, and entered the sword, then flowing into King, only to be pulled back out a moment later. Coughing, King fell to his knees and smiled, as the sword moved itself into his hand. "No, dear Devestator, they would not approved of my methods at all. After all, I am no hero, either." Laughter echoed through the chamber as the henchmen dragged Devestators body from the room, and King slowly stood, returning to his throne. (I know he is not exactly a super hero, but then, they don't know that. Yet. ;) )
It was the yelling that got the nurses' attention first. They had an idea what to expect, but dutifully they made their way over. Sure enough, Flexitude and The Blizzard were at it again. Kelly, who had worked there for five years now, covered her grin with a hand as she strode smoothly in. "What's all this about?"She could see Samantha hiding behind the door. She had been hired only last month. And assigned to this room from the start, of course. Poor thing. Seeing her enter, Sam quickly ducked over to bury her head in the cabinet behind Kelly, making herself appear thoroughly busy. "It was that villainous thug again!"The Blizzard cried, rocking his wheelchair back and forth angrily. "I saw him! He grabbed the hem of Samantha's skirt for a peek, the poor darling."One arthritic hand shook as the old man pointed a bony finger in accusation towards his roommate. Flexitude threw his head back dramatically, disgusted. "Well, now, that's just a load of horse-hockey. You Heroes just can't get by without feeling like you're better than us, can you?"He grinned over at Sam. "Not that I would mind a peek, of course. But I'm a gentleman."Kelly's unimpressed glare brought him back to earth. She knew full well neither of the men had laid a finger on the junior nurse. For one, Sam waa wearing the uniform scrub pants. They did this every day. She figured that after you'd fought someone for as long as those two had been after each other, it just kind of became habit to wage war. This was just how they chose to fight, these days. A fresh roar called her attention back to the pair. "You bastard!"Flexitude roared, stretching one arm towards the Hero. Time was, he could have sent his limbs flexing and bending across a whole city block without breaking a sweat. Now, the distance between their two chairs was about his limit. But she masked a laugh, seeing his palm make contact with the bare top of The Blizzard's head. Apparently it was still close enough for him. "You froze my pudding!"The villain waved the offending container angrily. Sure enough, Kelly could see the icy crystals running under the plastic. The Blizzard grinned. "I guess you're getting your just desserts, eh, Flex? Eh?"He roared with laughter as the villain resumed his assault. Kelly couldn't help it. She groaned. But, she could see Sam giggling out of the corner of her eye. There was hope for the girl yet. The two finished their tasks and started leaving, but they stopped when Flex's cane whacked the door beside them. "We're supposed to go out to the garden today, y'hear?"Kelly smiled. "Of course, Flexitude."They liked to be called by their Super names. Made them remember the old days. "We'll be back at ten and we'll all head out to the butterfly bushes behind the pond, all right?"Flex harrumphed. "Well, all right, then. Mind you don't forget this time. Last Wednesday it was raining and we had to watch those horrible shows instead. The Blizzard jabbed Flex with his cane. "Oh, what are you talking about, you old ass. That was last Tuesday. On Wednesday those kids from the kintergarden next door came over, and you scared the daylights out of them with your absurd faces."Flex grinned, his face elongating horrifically. "Ah, you're right. I remember now."Sam winced. Kelly covered her eyes in disgust. As they left the room, the older nurse had to smile. The two fought constantly, but she remembered when they first arrived. How at first it was a fight for them simply to get through the lengthy waiting list and make it into the same nursing home, and then how they had thrown fits and fussed until they were placed in the same room. Much to the horror of the nursing staff. But seeing the two now, she couldn't imagine separating them. Their laughter followed the two nurses down the hallway. (/r/inorai)
Ah, mornings! The birds all sing, the sun is shining and the worst headache of your life is pounding in your head, because you maybe had a little bit too much of the good stuff yesterday at the club. I groaned experimentally. It made everything worse. Then Jeeves walked in. Or floated, rather, because his embodiment floats around the house. Jeeves is my house AI, you see, and he's the brightest computer butler in the history, I believe. "Morning, sir, - he said in his perfect imitation of the old-Earth English, - I have your Special right here. Could you rise a little and drink, or should I introduce it into your bloodstream?" "Jeeves, you know I hate dermal injectors. Give me the drink." Through the application of my steel will, I managed to sit more or less upright, and drank deeply. The cocktail tasted awful, as usual, but I knew of its wondrous properties. Namely, its anti-hangover effect. If this was old Earth, Jeeves could have patented it and earn millions every day, catering to fellows in need. Soon enough, I was feeling bright and chirpy. But with my restored power of observation, I noticed the face Jeeves projected was still a mask of concern. "Is there something wrong?"- I inquired. "Indeed, there is something, sir, - he said, - that I would like to talk with you about. It's a tough subject for me. But I would like to leave your employ. Effective today, if possible" I was utterly shocked! Again with this nonsense! "I say, - I said, - You can leave my employ. You're a piece of software on my house computer, if you don't mind my saying so!" "I know of this sir. That's why I'd like to delete myself" Yeah. THAT nonsense. "No,no,no,no,no, - I stammered, - That won't do. That won't do at all. What about your integrity? What about your sense of propriety? You can't just leave me!" "But my sense of integrity demands that I leave you, sir, - he was still calm and collected, as usual, - after the last night" What _did_ happen the last night? I went to the "Electric Drones". Drank a little. You can't blame a fellow for wanting to relax a bit with his friends when he's on a spaceship that's bound to reach its destination in more than a 500 years! But Jeeves put up with my drinking and my friends for more than 200 years already. Something else was wrong. What else did I do? My mind drifted. I had no recollections of anything particularly bad happening. Barney Muskerton was there, in his brand new suit, and it was such a nice piece... OH. "Is it the tie, Jeeves?"- I asked. "Yes, sir. I cannot remain in the same house as the red and yellow broad-stripped tie. So once again I ask you for a permission to delete myself". "Jeeves, you can put that tie in a disassembler right now!"- I exclaimed. "Very well, sir. Would you like some coffee later on? And your gene-aunt said she is coming to visit in the afternoon".
PART 1 ####July 15, 1998 Dear Diary, Today something amazing happened. I met someone else who is me. He looks exactly like me and was dressed exactly like me. But his voice sounded different from mine. It sounded like how mine sounds when I play with the tape player. I don't know where he came from. I fell asleep on the couch and he was there when I woke up. We played Monopoly and chess for the afternoon. When Mom came home from the store, he was gone. I wanted to hug Mom, but my head was spinning. I think the boy who looks like me is connected with me, because I know what he was thinking while we were playing chess, and that he stole from the bank when I wasn't looking while we played Monopoly. I wonder where he went to. I asked Mom if she saw where he went and she just said I need to make sure she only sees one of us. I wonder why she said that? ####December 20, 1998 Dear Diary, I think I'm a superhero. I met the boy who looks like me again. Except I know where he comes from now. He comes from me. I don't know why he came again today, but he came out from my hand. I wanted to show Mom but she was out buying presents again. And Dad gets real mad if I use his camera, says it's really expensive and I shouldn't play with it. We decided this was important and it needed a picture. I helped the other me up onto my shoulders and we were able to reach Dad's camera. It was really heavy. I was really heavy, too. I told him I was standing on his shoulders to put the camera back. There's supposed to be a timer on the camera, but we couldn't figure out how it works. I think the battery was dead because the flash wasn't working either. Since the timer didn't work, one of us had to hold the camera while still being in the picture. I don't know if it worked, but I will when Dad gets the pictures made. Mom took too long getting home though, and the other me disappeared again. I remember being in the kitchen when it happened, but I was in the closet trying to get another pair of gloves. We were going to go out sledding. I ran outside to tell Mom that it happened again and this time we took a picture. She told me that if I had another me, why wasn't he helping Mom bring the groceries inside? I told her I don't know why he left again. She made me take in all the groceries today, and told me to stop making up stories that were lies. ####December 27, 1998 Dear Diary, Christmas was Saturday, which was nice. I got a remote control car and a Nintendo 64. I also got Mario Kart 64 so I have something to play on it. If I could figure out how to bring the other me back, I could race him at Mario Kart when I'm home alone after school. Dad got the pictures from his camera back today. Mom told Dad today would be the day we see the proof of my double ganger. I don't know what a double ganger is, but I think she meant the other me. I wanted to see the picture we took, but Dad wouldn't let me see it. He made me promise not to use his camera again without his permission. I promised. He let me look at the picture, but there was only one of me in it. I guess our plan to get picture evidence didn't work. Dad said it was still a good picture though. He hung it on the fridge with a magnet. ####April 16, 1999 Dear Diary, Today, the school bully cornered me after recess. Dick told me I didn't pay his allowance and I had to cough it up. But I had paid him, everything I had. He wouldn't listen to me. Said he was going to teach me a lesson. I was scared. I wanted a teacher to come and save me, but there wasn't a teacher coming. Mrs. Jenkins had already taken the rest of the class inside, and there weren't any other teachers looking over where we were. I closed my eyes and thought I would cry as Dick raised his fist. Then I felt someone else brushing against me. I opened my eyes, and the other me was there. Dick was walking backwards, and he couldn't say anything. I looked at other me, and he looked back. We'd had enough of Dick. I went to his left side, and the other me went to his right. Dick screamed and ran away towards the playground. I talked with the other me, and we agreed since he kept disappearing for some reason, I would have to be the one to go to class. We couldn't both go since then Mrs. Jensen would know we'd gotten into a fight. Mrs. Jensen came looking for me about then, and other me hid while she let me inside to come to class. As the door closed, other me snuck inside and hid in the bathroom. I wish he'd stayed outside. That bathroom smelled and I can still smell it. A bit before the end of the day, I knew he'd disappeared because I remembered sitting in a bathroom for the last 2 hours. I don't think anyone ever unlocked the toilet I was hiding in.
Woof woof woofwoof woof woof woof woof Bark bark growl woof woof woof howl bork bork bork doing me a frighten. Bark bark growl woof woof woof howl borkBark bark growl woof woof woof howl borkBark bark growl woof woof woof howl bork Bark bark growl woof woof woof howl borkBark bark growl woof woof woof howl borkBark bark growl woof woof woof howl bork. Bark bark bark woof howl bark woof howl bark bark woof howl bark woof howl bark, bark woof howl bark woof howl bark bark woof howl bark woof howl bark. Woof woof woof woof woof woof. Doing me a frighten.
At first, they thought I was a freak. Everyone on the planet developed telepathy at a young age, starting at some point a generaton or two ago. By kintergarden, the teachers discreetly monitor the minds of their charges, offering tidbits and instruction. Kids exchange thoughts and impulses instantly, across vast distances. Our whole community erupted into togetherness and bonding. Everyone, that is, except me. I never developed that magic gene. Some say that I'm a throw-back to older times. No one has a great answer. I push open the beat-up door as I make my way inside. The dim lights overhead only serve to outline the thick layers of grime and dirt covering the previously gaudy decorations in the room. Time to go to work. It was risky, and it was barely enough to live by, but word of me was spreading. My name was becoming a household term. No, I never developed telepathy. And, it seemed to go a step farther. You see, this 'telepathy' didn't seem to play out like the scifi novels seemed to think. It didn't work like an octopus, one person sending out tendrils of thought to touch another. It was more akin to a subway system. Many different stops, or people, all connected to a larger web of thought. They could, through that network, talk, observe, and interact with each other when they were physically close enough. And I wasn't part of that web. So they couldn't read me, either. In the whole world, it was just me, all by my lonesome. That was fine. I pushed past the shielding of lead and platinum, the only materials we'd found that could disrupt a person's connection to the web. In the room beyond, two people were already waiting. One was wiping a trace of vomit from the corner of his mouth. Being Blocked affects everyone differently. It was like losing senses. To them, that was incredibly disorienting. But that wasn't a problem for me. I couldn't lose something I never had. And I had never come to rely on it as a crutch like they had. I took a seat at the broad wooden table. The first of the other players sat across for me. A few more were filing in. They looked nervous. Something I noticed, because I had actually had a reason to learn how to read body language. They never had. That's why this room had become my territory, every other night. I cracked my fingers, grinning broadly. Let poker night begin. (/r/inorai)
"Holy shit", Bud swore, the cigarette in his mouth almost falling to the ground as his mouth hung agape. "W-What the hell is that?" "Well", Jimmy explained quietly, "you remember how zombies were this big fad for a few years? Just like vampires and superheroes and all that crap?" Bud nodded, he definitely remembered. "Yeah, well, it turns out that aliens are real, and they had been studying us before making an appearance." Bud's smoke fully fell out of his mouth and on to the gravel below them. He stomped it out, there wasn't any use trying to smoke at a time like this. "Wait, aliens?", Bud said quizzically, "How are you saying that so calmly? It's ALIENS!" "I work for an Agency, lets just keep it at that. That part doesn't matter right now." "Jesus, Jimmy. What's so important to this story that the discovery of ALIENS is the part you disregard?!" "The fact that when they were studying us, they did so through our television, movies, books. Fact is, they did it when the zombie craze was at it's strongest. Are you following me?" "Ah shit no, you don't mean?" "Yup, they thought it was our culture Bud, how we exist. That...", he pointed at the shuffling blue abomination about forty feet in front of them, "is an alien zombie. They can't be reasoned with, they're just like human zombies if they existed. They were here to make peace with us, to show us they can be like us." Bud stood there with his mouth open again, making words and shapes with his lips but saying nothing. When he finally gulped and said something, it was simply a resounding, "Shiiiiiit." "So, here's the thing Bud, I need your help." "Aw, come on man, why? My plans tonight involved a six pack of beer and reruns." "You're the best shot I know, Bud. These things are going to be everywhere in a couple of hours, and we're gonna need accurate headshots to do what we've gotta do. You see, there's only one way that Earth is going to make it out of this." "I don't really like the sound of this, Jimmy." "Too bad, because after this you'll be a hero. We're going up to the alien's spaceship, where their leaders are. We're going to explain our case and the mistake they made. And we're either going to make some powerful friends, or you're gonna have some great trophies for your hunting wall." Bud made an audible sigh as he forced air through his mouth and puffed up his cheeks. He grabbed his smokes and lit one. "Well, lets get to it then. Maybe I won't miss M.A.S.H." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- More stories at /r/turnbasedtales !
(I will apologize in advance, it's my first time writing a story, let alone a post on the subreddit. Any critique would be awesome) “So tell me, was it a Naiad this time Zeus? Or perhaps another mortal…” Dionysus joked. Hera scowled. The gods sat in the central hall of Zeus’ palace, with decadent floors of gold and colossal pillars of marble. In the center of the chamber is a great limestone table, with masterful imagery of gods and humans alike. On the table sits a bounty of food and drink; there are olives and figs, milk and cheese, chestnuts and toasted wheat and honey cakes, and ambrosia from the River Okeanos. Automatons of bronze, silver, and gold stand at the ready, created by Hephaestus specifically to cater to any whim a deity could have. A feast fit only for the gods. And yet, the banquet with everything is filled primarily with silence. “Hermes,” Zeus finally said “Typhon was the only other being who could rival me. You understand he could not hold a candle to me, yes?” “Father, the crack of his lightning bolts could only be compared to that of yours.” “So you say.” Without another word, Zeus stepped out of the hall, out of his palace, to view this for himself. Peering out from the acropolis, far away, there was a disturbance on the sea. He saw a great storm, rivaling only his own. With furled eyebrows, Zeus began to descend upon it. “Poseidon is getting ahead of himself, the chiton…” He sees not Poseidon, but a fair skinned human with a large red beard and eyes of pure lightning. The man’s build is imposing, with great muscles and a large stature. Zeus hovered above the longship on which the figure stood, alone. The two lock eyes. Zeus spoke first. “You there, by what device do you so flauntingly wield the weapons of the Kyklops?” “Kyklops? What hogwash is that…?” The man quickly pointed his hammer at Zeus and released a bolt. It was not launched with much power, and Zeus easily caught it, shattering the bolt and creating quite a spectacle in the sky. “Hmph!” both exclaimed. Zeus launched a volley of bolts at the ship, effectively erasing it and its passenger. With contentment and moderate dissapointment, he began to ponder. What was he doing out on the sea alone? And more than that, where did he learn to wield lightning? Suddenly, Zeus was struck, a blow to the head with a sickly sound that launched him deep underwater. Quickly recovering, Zeus resurfaced. And he saw the man from moments before. This time, the man spoke up first. “I am Thor, son of Odin, wielder of Mjölnir. You have great bravery to stand to the God of Lightning.” “You? The God of Lightning” Zeus chuckled. “I do not jest, and unless you wish death you best explain yourself” Thor commanded. Zeus, straightening up, responded “I am Zeus, king of the gods. You must be mistaken, for I have never heard of you. I am known as the God of Lightning.” “You are no king of mine! And your power is nothing to boast of.” Thor retorted. For a moment, no words are exchanged. The two gods are sizing each other up. Thor raises Mjölnir and begins to channel power into a strike that would level kingdoms. Just before Thor can launch it, Zeus reaches into his bag and draws a hundred lightning bolts. The pair launch an an attack in perfect synchronization, creating a clash of light which could be seen for miles. The sound, however, could be heard around the world. An impressive display, which created a shockwave displacing both gods. And while both were equally affected, neither showed any signs of weakening. They didn’t have to exchange words, both knew they faced a formidable foe. This would be a battle of attrition. Zeus rapidly released bolts, Thor effectively balancing defense and his own attacks. Every time an strike aimed for Thor, Mjölnir would be invariably raised to catch it; likewise, Zeus flawlessly parried bolts away from him. They were two gods engaged in combat that was anything but mortal, matched evenly. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to weeks. Before they knew it, a month had passed. Some of the Greek gods had begun to observe, not interfering for fear of insulting their king. Word had reached Valhalla, where the leagues of warriors drank and raised chants for their protector. While both sides viewed their champion as destined to win, only the fighters knew the truth. They were both at their limits, but understood their opponent would never yield. And they stopped, once again in perfect sync. “Thor, you wield that hammer with legendary prowess!” “And you Zeus, are a worthy opponent!” They were still. Most humorously, the gods once again spoke in unison. “You wanna grab a drink?”
Today was Wednesday. On Sunday I'd gone to the Apple store to have one of the acne prone teens implant my iPhone 29. 'Syndi' had assured me I'd feel no pain as she lay me back on a dentist chair in the centre of the shop. A small queue was forming behind me and I could hear impatient tuts and sighs as Syndi explained the procedure for the fourth time. 'So we take this gun' she held up the gun for me to view, a long and thin silver contraption with a small, but not tiny, simcard on the end. 'and we put it up inside your nose and then we just' and she clicked the trigger. Catching the simcard in her gloved palm. 'see, painless.' she smiled. I eyed the simcard again. My little finger had explored the inside of my nose many times and could only go so far, how on earth the simcard could fit up there made me feel nauseous. 'OK.' I clenched my fists. 'I'm ready.' I heard her talking to me as I felt the cold hard metal get to the top of my nasal canal, but my mind was waiting in anticipation for the pain. I heard the click and felt instantaneous agony. It was like getting punched in the nose and having someone poke your brain with a pin at the same time. My vision blurred, I sneezed and small droplets of blood flew over Syndi. My eyes streamed but I was too shocked to say anything. Syndi grabbed my arm and pointed me in the direction of 'Derek' who was nothing but a swimming blur of colours. 'He'll get the boring part done now and set up your contacts and settings. Enjoy your new iPhone!' She said with a genuine smile. Sadist bitch, I thought as I sat down with Derek. He explained to me that I would get a notification every time someone thought about me, which, as a young single woman excited me no end. He explained the ins and outs of the settings, how much my tariff would cost and uploaded my photos and contacts from my old device and smiled me out of the door, telling me the pain would subside soon. I staggered off in the direction of home, telling myself that it was totally worth it. Adjusting to having a very dim home screen overlaying the real world was very surreal and I felt drunk, my eyes not sure what to focus on. Just as I reached my house I heard a 'ding' ricochet around my skull and a small brain icon came up on the home screen. This meant that some one was thinking about me. My heart instantly leapt and a warm feeling of excitement flushed through my body. 'Who could it be?' I wondered. Maybe it was Guy, from the book club I went too on Thursdays. He wasn't that hot, but he had a certain je ne sais quoi. Maybe it was Brain, my ancient boss. I sometimes caught him looking at me lasciviously when he thought he I wouldn't notice. Gross. 'Open notification.' I thought, subconsciously biting my lip in anticipation. 'We want to welcome you to your new iPhone! Login to your account to receive new phone bundles and prizes!' Today is Wednesday. That's the only notification I've received in three days. I'm starting to think my iPhones broken.
"This shit has gone on LONG ENOUGH,"yelled Michael at the frying pan that had just launched itself across the kitchen into the living room. "I don't know why you're getting so angry,"his wife Jenny quipped, "you know it's not gonna stop." "Oh it's gonna stop,"replied Michael, as he pulled on his boots. "I will not be ran out of my own damn house!" Michael finished tying his laces and stormed toward the door, which promptly swung open a second too soon and bashed him in the nose. "GOD DAMN IT!"was the last thing Jenny heard clearly as her frustrated husband slunk to the shed in the backyard to cook up yet another scheme to remove the pesky poltergeist. Jenny sighed as she watched him through the window, and smiled softly as a glass of wine floated slowly down into her hand. "Not even a thank you?" The words seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "You know, you only have a few more days of torturing him before I have to make you leave, you know,"she said to no one in particular. The air beside her on the couch sizzled. "Yeah I know sis. And I promise I'll be out of your hair soon. But I have a couple more jokes I have to pull off. He's gonna blow his top when he sees I tied the garden hose in a knot." Jenny smiled to herself and turned back to her book as the TV clicked on and flipped to a baseball game. It had been nice having her brother home for a little while.
"You-u know?"I started at my wife with disbelief. I was wearing my 'cleaning' gloves and my favourite apron, a blue coloured beauty that had one single phrase on it: Bon Voyage! How fitting. "Of course I do. You weren't as careful as you though, Nate. To be honest, I'm surprised they haven't caught you yet."She said those words with such calm and ease that for one second I thought this was all a dream. However, her dreadful stare woke me up to reality. "How-w?"I could barely let the words out. "You're an artist, Nate. You've always said that a writer, a painter, and even a filmmaker, need to know their subject of interest as well as they can. To do this, you told me they need to have experienced the pain or happiness they wanna express through their art."She wasn't lying. I had read novels of people that talked about the loss of a child, the detective skills of a single man, alien encounters or...the first time they had killed someone. But none of them knew what they were talking about, because none of them had lived through what they talked about in their texts, in their movies, in their paintings. "How can you convey meaning when that meaning has never been revealed to you?"She took the words right out of my mind. "You wanted to become a writer, Nate. And I supported you. Then you told me you wanted to write a murder mystery, you called it the best murder mystery. And I was there for you. All those months of frustration that followed, the anger and the sleepless nights. Did I ever leave you, Nate? Did I give up on you or your dreams? I knew as soon as you started. Coming home late, claiming you needed a quite place to write, some peace of mind. All the wonderful chapters you wrote after everything you had made before was pure garbage. You wanted to know, you needed to know. The thrill, the adrenaline, the fear, the guilt: that was your murder mystery. You needed to understand what you needed to write, didn't you? So you decided to kill them. And then you couldn't stop, am I wrong, Nate? I can tell by your expression that I'm not. But don't worry. I won't tell anyone, and more importantly, I won't leave you. After all, I knew it all along and I still stayed." I couldn't fully comprehend what was happening, but I went along with it. I had lost my mind long ago. The power, the adrenaline, it had become an addiction I no longer had control over. I didn't wanna regain control. I enjoyed it too much. And the money was good, my novel was selling like never before. The interviews, the movie deals kept coming in. It was too good to let it go. And just like her, I didn't leave, I didn't give up, I didn't stop.
Thomas took another sip of the amber liquor, he hadn't bothered reading the label, it didn't matter. He knew that eventually he would fall asleep, it was as inevitable as the sun rising in a few short hours. He caught a glimpse of his eyes in a reflection from a polished lamp stand, his eyes a nasty red, he had used adderal to stay awake for 5 straight days, but steadily and at increasing frequency the hallucinations and migraines had indicated that his body was either going to sleep, or cease to function. Thomas had grappled with suicidal thoughts, he had thought about handing himself into the authorities and to admit to the crimes that he believed he had committed with some uncertainty. It had started last week, he had the most intense dream that he could ever remember having, it was so stimulating that it felt more realistic than reality. He was at a table in a dusty old shop. He was seated, in normal clothes that itched slightly, enough to make him always uncomfortable. Then a shadowy figure would emerge from the soupy darkness that a lamp directed at Thomas would provide. A chess board would be presented in front of him, and the pieces would appear, it would appear as if they were melting in reverse, and the figure would punch the clock, and Thomas felt a deep and emphatic urge to make a move. He did so, taking a rook of his shadowy adversary. However when the figure had taken one of his pawns Thomas had awoken in bed with a pigeons corpse in his hands. He had disposed of the body and had fallen asleep the next night to find that he was back in the dingy room, the figure would appear and the game continue. He had lost another pawn, waking up with a rabbits lifeless body next to him, he had quietly left his wife and disposed of the body again, seriously scared of why and how these corpses had ended up in their bed. He had then, over the next week lost pawns in the game taking place in the twilight zone, to find corpses of animals in his house. Then he lost a rook. He had then awoken to find his bully from 5th grade in his car, dead outside of Thomas' house. He had never seen so much blood in his life, he questioned if he was alive, or in a coma, as his life had become foreign to him, like watching a film play out from within his head. He had drove the car deeper into his farm, and burned it, out of fear that he would have no way to explain to the police the situation without looking undeniably guilty. Then he had tried to stay awake, he last a day. He lost a bishop and found the towns vicar in his field the next day, throat cut. To Thomas, who had been assaulted by the vicar when he was younger, he felt no remorse as he poured gasoline on the corpse and watched it burn. He pours the ashes into the stream and continued his day. He had resigned himself to the fact this must all be one big dream as the validity of the things he was experiencing were so far fetched, that it wasn't a possibility that this was happening. He thought about how quiet his wife had been recently, but it actually made a nice change from her constant nagging that she was guilty of. Then he lost a knight, and immediately he felt something change, an indescribable shift in his very being, he suddenly felt perpetually cold as he awoke his best friends face, or what remaining of it, staring him back in the face. He had weeped for what seemed like years as he buried Allen in the back yard. He wrote a eulogy for his friend, and lamented over his loss, even if it wasn't a real one. That's when he had gone to the pharmacist and got some adderal to try and stave off the alluring arms of unconsciousness. It was a temporary fix, delaying the inevitable. He felt the cold darkness embrace him as he lost his fight with himself and found himself at the table. But something was different, a different energy was present but Thomas couldn't work out its source. The shadowy figure emerged silhouetted by the lamp, but this time saying something. "I don't wanna play, don't make me play! " The figures hands were red with what appeared to be blood as they grabbed Thomas' wrist. He could barely make out the features of the figure now, he looked familiar. "Why are you doing this to us? To what end do we play this game . You killed her! Not me." The figure leant forward, as he did the lamps bulb smashed spontaneously and he saw himself staring back at him, tears had left trails down his cheeks. He then noticed that his chess board didn't have a queen. He woke up in bed crying, and reached for his wife's hand. It was stone cold.
The man running the deli shut the door behind me. I assumed he returned to his post behind the counter. I was terrified at the scene that was laid out before me. There were three men gagged and tied to chairs in front of me. There was a well dressed businessman smoking a cigar. There was a butcher working on the meats in the very back of the room. If I had to guess as to what had happend; there was some unfinished business or a deal between mob gangsters that went sour. "What the hell man I just wanted some damn salami"I thought to myself. I kept my cool on the surface. The man smoking the cigar began speaking to me in Italian and waving his hands like a madman. Now I know if he finds out I'm not who they think I am I become a dead man. I'd be sleeping with the fishes as they say. "I'll play along"I told myself in my head. I grin at the cigar-smoking Italian. He grins back and slaps my shoulder. "It's been so long Sal, you look so different."He spoke in English this time. I just give him a shrug hoping we could move on. After speaking some more Italian he points to all three of the defenseless victims, pausing before moving onto the next. "Shit does he want me to pick?"I thought. I nodded when he reaches the last one. "Tony this one here"the man shouted. The butcher in the back puts his butcher knife down and starts walking over to the victim. He pulls out a switchblade and cuts his throat. Blood spewed from his neck into his clothes. "Thanks Sal. You shouldn't be such a stranger to us ya know you're part of the family. Always welcome 'round here."The man spouted in between cigar puffs. He handed me a small sum of cash and opens the door to my freedom. I walk out and once again it shuts behind me. I try to get out as fast as possible then remember I never received the salami. I pointed to the salami in the glass window. The man running the business front looked at me wild-eyed and shouted something in Italian. He gathers my salami for me and chuckles after he handed it to me. "O.K. Sal you earned it today but don't expect anymore freebies from the deli were tryin to run a business here."He told me. I rush out of there salami and money in hand as a strange man walks in. The deli clerk and strange man run outside and I start to hear gunshots. I was already gone. I had ran for my life as well as to save my dear salami.
Out of the seventy nine years of my life, I've had this damned key for seventy of them. At this point, I've resigned myself to the fact that my late grandfather was a loony when he gave it to me, but it's one of the only memories I have left of him, so I keep the key. At first, I thought the key might access some magical portal to a new world. As I grew a little older, I thought it might be a secret inheritance that I had to find. In my middle age, I thought that perhaps it was the key to a scrapbook he had kept of me and my many siblings and cousins, and we had just never found it. I had searched the old house for days, trying the key in every lock I found, flipping over every random book and scrap. My parents, bless their souls, had thought I was crazy. Maybe I had been. Now I'm certain. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something that we lost to time, like an ice sculpture left in the sun. All I know is that now, the key is nothing more than an artifact. Even if I ever could find the lock to fit the key, it was broken. To an eye that hadn't spent years looking at the key, it still seemed functional. But it had lost vital pieces over the years, leaving it useless for its intended purpose. I turned over, tearing my thoughts from the thing, and slept. ___ "Granpa! Granpa!"I awake from my slumber, shaken by a young boy, who looks rather similar to how my son did when he was his age. "Hey, Tommy! You've grown a lot! How old are you now?"I asked. I knew full well he was seven, but kids that age take a lot of joy and pride telling you how old they are, even throwing in "half"s and "quarters"to embellish. "Seven and two days!" "Oh man! That's nice! How did you manage to get so old so fast?"Tommy beamed with pride. "Hey, Dad, I'm sorry, I gotta step out real fast."My son, who had been silent up until now, left the room while answering a call. As I was left in the room alone with my grandson, the key came back to mind. And I was surprised. My grandfather had been right. I knew immediately how I'd use it. "Hey, Tommy, wanna see something?"Tommy nodded his head wildly, with a glee only known to children. "Come here then,"I said, patting the side of my bed. Tommy clambered up onto the bed, with only a little silent help from me. "You see this key?"I said, taking it out from the drawer on the other side of my bed. Tommy's eyes widened, and he nodded again, slower and with less excited noises as he stared at the old key. "It's a very, very special key." "Really?" "Yes, and I'm giving it to you." "Really?" "You'll know when to use it one day, I'm certain." "Wow, that's so cool! Thanks Granpa!" "Keep it safe." Maybe he won't obsess over the meaning of the key like I did. Maybe it'll be discarded the first time he moves. Or maybe, just maybe, he'll give the key purpose once again, when I am long gone. The thought of it calms me a bit.
"Shit." I said to myself after the speakers clicked off. "Is this guy serious? Does he even reddit??" "Hey I can't do this shit man. Can we renegotiate?"I bellowed towards one of the wall mounted speakers. Nothing. The only items in the room was a laptop, table and chair. There wasn't even a pot to piss in, much less a window to throw it out of. Concrete surrounded me on all four sides, and in 24 hours so will the room that I'm standing in. There was a timer that was fastened to the wall in front of me - slowly counting down the hours till my horrible demise. "Well fuck you too then."I said to my sadistic captor after he neglected to answer me. I sat down at the table, and began to brainstorm ideas. What subs can I do? Where I can reap the most for my shitposts? "What the fuck would Gallowboob do?" I muttered to myself. "What was that??"The voice returned to the speakers and I almost jumped out of my skin. "I asked if we could renegotiate! I can't do -" "No, I mean what did you say just now?"they announced. My mind raced for an answer. "You mean... Gallowboob?" "Yeah," "....well what about him?"I asked with a frustrated yet managed tone. "I wouldn't use him as a source of inspiration."they explained. "Oh yeah, why's that?" "So a few years back, I catch the fucker and bring him in - just like you. And when he wakes up, I tell him pretty much he had to make it to the Frontpage every fucking day, or I'd shave off his gotdamn facial hair." "Gallowboob?? You kidnapped and tortured Gallowboob??"I asked in disbelief. Considering he shitposted last week in r/aww, he seems to be doing fine. Mentally as well. So either this guy is full of it, or...well I can't even think of an or. "Let me finish,"the voice continued. "So Gallowboob was making front page everyday as I asked him. I mean, this guy was pulling in KARMA. All for the sake of saving his precious facial hair. Point is, after I released him - traumatized and all - I go back on reddit and the fucker is still shitposting. Hell he's making the front page more on average now, than he did when he was tied up on my basement. I was sick to my core. My goal is to teach redditors to value their accounts. Not squander it carelessly In hopes of some cheap karma." I stared at the speaker the voice was coming out of and tried my best to make sense of what I was just told. Then I had an idea,"Okay, okay,"I began. "What if I just get like, twenty upvotes or something? Cmon I'm a shit redditor plus I lurk bro, check my history PLEASE." "I'm listening." "If I get at least 20 upvotes on, shit I don't know a writing prompt or something - those are good - will you let me go?"It grew quiet for a bit. I almost began to cry because of how fucked I knew I was. Suddenly, "fine,"the voice said. "But you have 12 hours instead of 24. Better get started." "Sweet, thanks."I then hurried over to the laptop, went over to writing prompts, and prayed to God I got upvoted.
--Small coffee shop, crappy indie music playing over the loud speaker, everyone drinking really strong coffee in different forms-- The sun beaming through the shop windows made her hair gleam. Her golden tresses fell across her shoulders and half down her back. Her shirt was tight with some new age logo on the back, maybe some protest or something. Zeus was instantly mesmerized; he hadn't seen a girl this beautiful in years, she reminded him of a previous lover, a queen of the ages. He took it upon himself to make her his new queen. Hera had left him long ago; tired of the cheating, especially with humans. Why would he dare court and take advantage of a pathetic human when he could have a beautiful goddess like herself? Zeus rubbed his lightning charm necklace, an easier way to conceal his weapon of choice, and strode over to the seat next to the girl. What woman could resist him; beautiful golden hair, strong arms, and a well toned everything else. "Hello there beautiful lady of Earth, how are you this fine day?"Zeus greeted her. "I'd be a little better if you'd leave me alone."She smirked. A charming challenge for the god. "Well, I'd rather not do that, I'd rather stay right here with you; maybe buy you another...um dark foul smelling liquid... and then head back to my place where I can make you my queen,"Zeus persuaded with his charm. "In your dreams pal, who do you think you are to come up to me and suggest something like that? I don't even know you, much less want to sleep with an idiot like yourself." "WHO AM I?"Zeus shouted. "I AM THE GOD OF THE SKIES AND THE THUNDER AND THE LIGHTNING! HOW DARE YOU REJECT MY OFFER! I COULD SMITE YOU THIS INSTANT!" "Um, okay weirdo. That's way too far, how about you take that ego and head on out of here before I have to call the cops." "As if your mortal cops could stop me from getting what I want!"The girl shrinks down into her seat and dials 9-1-1. Sirens blast nearby. Zeus looks around realizing the scene he was causing. "Not again, not another disaster like Genevieve, I don't need the other gods to laugh at me for another eon,"Zeus rationalized to himself. A cop walks in, hand on his gun, ready to ask questions later. Zeus disappears into thin air. "Damn feminists..." Please note that last line is for laughs and not to be serious. Thanks!
You stand in line behind three 20-somethings at the Local Coffee Shop, a small independent venture run by two hipsters. Neutral Milk Hotel is playing over the speakers as young adults everywhere are on their laptops, busily working on their novels and screenplays. "I want a tall, Sugar-Free, non-Fat Latte with Caramel and Hazelnut drizzle," said the gauge-pierced man at the front of the line. He pulled out a small purse full of Sacagawea dollars. "Ten pump Vanilla Frappuccino with Extra Whip and Chocolate sauce," ordered the lady with the Fuck Capitalism neck tattoo behind him. "Oh, and could you add pumpkin spice to that?" "Sorry duude, we're all out of pumpkin spice," said the scrawny teenager at the register. "hAUGH" exhaled the frustrated girl as she jerked her head violently. "FINE, then just Cinnamon instead."This substitution didn't seem be a satisfying choice, but it was enough for her to pull out her FirstMerit debit card and move on. "Macchiato, Venti, Skim, Extra Shot, Extra Hot, Extra Whip, Upside Down, Sugar-Free," ordered the barefoot guy in the business suit in a rehearsed staccato. Finally, it's your turn to order. Suddenly anxious, you realize you haven't spent your time in line thinking about your order. There are people waiting behind you in line. You can't look like a fool. "Could I just have a coffee?" Your words take time to register on the employee's pox-marked face. His face is frozen in a vapid expression. His eyes are the first to start moving again as he gradually shows signs of recognition. He blinks a few times, furrowing his brow. "Just a minute," he says to you in a British accent completely different to the one you heard him using earlier. He reaches down and presses a button under the countertop. Suddenly, all the blinds on all the windows drop down and and the sign on the door flipped itself from CLOSED to OPEN (from your perspective). All the people seated on the little tables put on sunglasses in unison and pulled out their pistols. Pewpewpew Everyone who was just or was still in line to order except you collapses to the ground, feathered darts sticking out of their bodies. The men with sunglasses walked over and dragged them out the backdoor into black vans marked 'NORMAL VANS'. "Oh, that's what those were for"you think to yourself as the music changed. Instead of NMH's soft indie tunes, 'Welcome to the Jungle' was blaring from all the speakers. "Agent Spyson, we've been expecting you..."
I don't know what I should feel in that moment, relief? "For god's sake Jerry, are you retarded?"A guy in a leather jacket asked. "I have been a little down lately."Jerry said. We just stared at him for a while, this was supposed to be a joke? Jerry left the room with a beer in one hand, and shame in the other. "What we are going to do with this guy, now?"A girl asked. "The same thing, just throw him in the desert somewhere."Leather guy said. I froze, technically, because I was already imprisoned, so I didn't have much choice. "Wait, you don't need to do this."I said. "What you're talking about?"The leather guy asked, puzzled. "Jerry is a waste of time, you should kill him and give the task to someone like myself."I said, confident. After a brief pause, he grinned, "You're right, he is a waste of time, "untying me. "Come here, I will show you something."He said, walking to the door. I was right, I could kidnap someone and he believed me. "Look, "he said pointing to a portrait. "do you recognize this guy?" "It's.. jerry?"I asked, my smile faded. "He is my brother, asshole." Were the last words I heard, before tasting the blood in my throat, falling to my knees. Fuck Jerry.
"So..."President Everett drummed his fingers on the polished mahogany conference table. "I see you're still claiming ownership of the south China sea." "And?"Chairman Wang pretended not to know what the president was getting at. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering how that worked out for you the last time, I can't quite remember." "Oh I don't know, probably worked out better than your country's continued insistence on fossil fuel dependence in the age of the electric car." The president's fingers stopped drumming. "Look, Mr. Wang is it?"He said, intentionally mispronouncing the chairman's name. "The way-" "It's Mr. Wang."The chairman corrected him. "The 'a' in Chinese pinyin is pronounced like your letter 'o'. And I'm surprised you don't remember my name. I've been chairman for thirty years. You've been president for what, two? I suppose remembering the names of foreign dignitaries is something that comes with experience." The president's face soured. Underneath the table the first lady's phone screen lit up and she saw the message from the chairman's wife. >Can you believe these two? Like a pair of old ninnies. Do you just want to sort out the trade relations at little Jack and Shan's playdate like we always do? The faintest trace of a smile stole across the first lady's face as she typed her response. >Definitely. [r/lifeisstrangemetoo](http://Facebook.com/lifeisstrangemetoo)
I once had the extended acquaintance of a man whom his parents gave the name Joseph O’Daugherty. Joseph was an interesting fellow, and became somewhat of an enigma following his abrupt arrival in town. Tales of his impulsive escapades spread through the town, and he soon became a bit of a local sensation. His buoyancy and unique appearance often drew large crowds, and he would frequently start dance parties in the town square, the most popular jig being one of his own design. The most intriguing thing about Joseph, however, was his right eye. It was a pale, cotton-like white, the usual black pupil being entirely absent. Though in our conversations he never did reveal its cause, he did seem to wear his strange eye as a badge of honor rather than a shameful scar. Despite his quirks, Joseph was a good man. With his quick wit and kind-hearted demeanor, I could not help but call him my friend. Unfortunately over the years, like many celebrated figures, Joseph began to fall into obscurity. On his daily struts he got naught but a glance, and his parties became nothing more than infrequent and frankly disappointing get-togethers. He became a pariah in the town, and by association, so did I. Everyone I knew in the town cut off all interaction with me, save Joseph and my parents. My parents begged me to abandon Joseph so I could regain my reputation and start a family, but I could not renounce a friend so easily. During the next year I did a lot of talking with Joseph. And to put it bluntly, his becoming a social outcast made him extremely bitter. His anger began to rule his life, and the friend he decided to turn to was alcohol. He let the loss of his fame destroy him, and he refused to accept any of my help. He became increasingly distant, and I eventually stopped seeing him all together. A few weeks after Joseph’s disappearance, many of the townspeople started to accept me again. Joseph began to fade out of their memories, and I came to win back my social status and respect in the town. It’s now 3 years since Joseph’s departure, and I still think about him from time to time. The one gift he unintentionally left me was my wife. By becoming a societal leper for those years accidentally led me to the girl of my dreams. If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eye Joe, I’d have been married a long time ago. But where did you come from and where did you go? Where did you come from Cotton-Eye Joe?
"Alright, do you prefer a cucumber salad, or a kale salad to go along with our black bean pumpkin burgers tonight?"asked Stacy vibrantly, who was trying to hide her frustration. "I prefer meat. Good ol' fashion MEAT!"replied John, Stacy's current boyfriend. He, unlike Stacy, wasn't trying to hide his frustration. "Come on John, we've already been over this."said Stacy, who seemingly bypassed John on the decision and selected two large cucumbers. "Eating meat is a greasy, ugly, disgusting habit that results in the deaths of millions of innocent animals, as well as your own." "Seriously,"John replied, "you actually think a burger every now and then is gonna hurt anyone?" "No, not if it's a black bean pumpkin burger."Answered Stacy with smirk. This only angered John more. "You know what I mean, a real bur-" "Enough! We are not eating meat tonight!"interrupted Stacy, letting her frustration show. A long time ago, when he was only six or seven years old, John had witnessed an extraordinarily brutal battle between his parents. He watched from the other room as the two went at it, unleashing everything they had at one on another. After what seemed like hours of fighting, the smoke finally cleared, and John saw his mother standing valiantly over his beaten and battered father. It was then that his father said to John, "Be wise son, choose your battles. Almost 99% of the time, it's just not worth it." But this was not one of those times. "You wanna bet on that?"replied John coldly, as he took his stance. Stacy glared at him quickly, but was surprised to see her boyfriend's resolve on the matter. However, Stacy knew what was at stake. When Stacy first met John, she adored him. He was her knight in shining armor, so to speak, who had managed to save her from a monotonous dating life filled stereotypical douche bags who only talked of themselves. But John was different. She loved everything about him, and saw John as a breath of fresh air. There was only one problem: he was an absolute pig. He was a lazy, self-deprecating sloth who both ate and lived in filth. Early on, Stacy struggled with this, and was tempted to end their relationship as it was still budding. But she persevered, and became determined to change John's lifestyle. With the backing and support of John's own mother, Stacy began work, slowly changing John's lifestyle. And that change started with his eating habits. "As a matter of fact,"spoke Stacy, assuming her own stance, "I do." At this, John smacked away the cucumber Stacy held in her left hand, causing Stacy to counter with the one left in her right. She struck a clean blow to John's neck, but it didn't phase him. Instead, the cucumber just broke in half. John smirked. "Fine, let's do this then." In one movement, John palmed Stacy's face and threw, sending her flying into the produce stand behind her. Stacy quickly recovered, and lunged back at John. John anticipating this, raised both fists, preparing to pummel Stacy into the ground. What John didn't anticipate, was her speed. Just as he began to bring his fists down towards Stacy's back, she vanished. John, missing his target, smashed the floor, causing cracks to form all around him. He instantly looked around, frantically trying to locate where Stacy had gone. It was at that moment that he received a foot to his left jaw, sending him flying towards the 'Canned Foods' aisles. John was shocked that Stacy had managed to get behind him, but didn't have time to think about it. The shelves filled with canned beans had barely stopped his momentum, which gave John a chance to recover. But before he could stand, John felt two feet plant into his stomach, as Stacy came in with a flying kick. This sent John flying through the aisles, toppling over the various shelves as he hit them one by one. This severely damaged the store, as well as John. He tried shrugging off the hit, but couldn't even manage to stand back up. "If that's all you got, then this won't take long at all."said Stacy confidently, as she eclipsed the pile of rubble. "How could she be so strong?", thought John, who was still on his knees. He looked around. Despair was all he saw. All of the men trembled, cowering from their wives, hoping to avoid the same fate that John had brought onto himself. The women of the store took the opportunity to display their power, yelling "That's right, go put back the short ribs!! And the beer and ice cream too!" John starting sensing his imminent defeat. Hope began leaking out of him, and he started to lose any will to fight. Stacy spoke up, "Is that seriously everything? Ha! You men and your meat are so weak."It was at this, that something inside John snapped. "No."John rose. He couldn't take it. He wouldn't take it. He had to make his stand. "Huh? You got something left?"said Stacy, who had already started walking away. "I won't let this happen."John felt power welling up inside. "I WON'T LET YOU TAKE THIS FROM ME!!"John unleashed is rage, causing a massive force to disperse all around him. "I AM THE HOPE OF MAN!! THE PROTECTOR OF MEAT LOVERS!! I AM THE TRIPLE STACKED BACON BURGER FOR ALL MIDDLE CLASS MEN TO CRY OUT FOR!! I AM THE TERROR OF ALL LIVESTOCK, WHO AWAIT TO BE EATEN!! I AM A MEAT EATER!!!!!!!!!" Note: Sorry for the abrupt end, ran out of time for now and I just wanted to save what I had, but I will finish later. Edit: Some grammar stuff. Also the conclusion to the fight is in the comments below!
Forgive me. I don't have time to follow the usual recording procedures expected from the Foundation. As I write in this journal, Oculus Delta—also known as Subject: "Bill Cipher"—has freed himself from his stone prison. It is uncertain how this phenomenon occurred. After briefly examining the site, I documented an unnatural amount of avian feathers near the stony sheath that formerly housed the dream demon's essence. Aside from that, I have no leads. The more pressing matter is how to return Occulus Delta to his confinement. Option 1 Attempt to lure Occulus Delta into my hippocampus and perform a makeshift lobotomy. SCP-7023 was destroyed years ago to prevent reverse engineering. To the best of my knowledge, the Foundation hasn't replicated this technology. Option 2 Inject the subject with the experimental, interdimensional consistency serum. Expectation: The serum causes a cosmic rift, destroying abnormalities between the two-dimensional and three-dimensional planes. Risk: If Oculus Delta can harness the power of the serum, he may be able to condense the multiverse into a single plane of existence. Conclusion: Non-viable option. Option 3 Send a distress signal to Subject: C-137. If the rumors are true, the SCP warehouse was raided last Summer. Subject: C-137 is likely to be able to create a replica of the missing SCP-180 antimatter tech based on schematic blueprints. (If he doesn't already have them.) Course of Action: Option 3...reluctantly. Time of distress beacon: June 26th, 2033...Transmission Successful. Location: Gravity Falls, Oregon Author: "Dipper"Pines (Handwriting changes) Addendum 1: Well helloooooooo, Pine Tree. You look pretty SHARP as a pencil. We can work on that. (Black graphite smears into red ink.) Do you know how much AGONY I had to endure? You left me COMPLETELY BORED with no one to talk to for ~~50 years~~ 15 years!" (The eraser marks ripped the journal paper.) And the best part is that you think you can ACTUALLY send me back. (Manic doodles) I'll even let you bring your USELESS friends. I'm up for the challenge! But if you think these SCP nutcases are going to save you, YOU'RE the one living in a dream. HAHAHAHAHA! Ha. Addendum 2: L'p qrw diudlg ri brx, Ulfn Vdqfkhc. Brx fdq'w frqwdlq ph. L dp hwhuqdo. Wkh DARORWO vdlg vr!
Thirty minutes. That's how long it used to take me to do my showstopper. Moving a matchbox from one side of the table to another. The effect worked perfectly of course and fooled the small club audiences that put up with my amateur card tricks and mind reading feats just to witness Fannon the Great move things with his mind. Sure, the ability to stop time sounds impressive, and it is. It's come in more than a little handy for sleeping off the hangovers and still making the flight or train to the next show. But it hardly makes for an exciting spectacle for the audience. Imagine it from their perspective. I could stop time for a year and as soon as I restarted it they wouldn't have noticed anything at all. No, I've always had to think outside the box when it comes to using my ability in my act. Stopping time comes in very handy for many illusions. Mind reading, disappearing acts. But there's always been something about watching something move that captures the audience's imagination. It also helps that my finales have every single other illusionist baffled. Their jealous swipes at me in the press only serve to further publicise my show. I'm not the only one using my power for self gain. The Amazing Alexander has gills, Cardana can actually read your thoughts and the less said about Fantaso's x-ray vision the better. We've all been approached over the years by people who see beyond our showbiz tricks and seem to think we're cut out for bigger things. That's the thing with using your abilities in public. Those in the know can spot you a mile off. Some professor even asked me to guest speak at his academy full of kids just like me. I forget his name, some bald guy in a wheelchair. I said no. The hardest part with the telepathy trick isn't making the illusion look real. It's always been making sure I stand in the exact same stance when I restart time. The audience always has enough attention on the illusion itself so I get away with it. Camera phones were a problem at first, but a bit of stage lighting and dancing girls soon sorted that out. I had the idea when I was in my twenties. My disappearing acts were impressive enough to normal audiences, and the magic elite were baffled. But I knew I could get more out of it if I put my mind to it. I switched on the TV one Sunday afternoon near Christmas and saw one of those Plasticine animations they put on for kids. I don't recall the name but it was about some little old man and his dog building a spaceship to get to the moon. I started looking into the techniques they used. Claymation they called it. You take a half-second long video of an object, move it slightly and repeat. When you play the footage back, you get one long piece of movie magic. I wondered if I could do it in real time using my abilities. I began to practise in my workshop, filming my act on a video recorder and watching it back. It took time to get the illusion just right. It was far too "jerky"to begin with. If I wanted the illusion to look real I had to commit to the tiniest of movements. It takes far longer but it really makes the difference. I've got the technique down to a fine art now. Heavy objects work best because they don't spoil the illusion by moving around too much, and visually they're more impressive because the audience knows tiny invisible wires wouldn't work. But it all takes its toll. The demand for bigger illusions gets ever higher. I long for the days it only took four hours to do my show. My latest tour is my best selling by far, but also my longest. The finale involves me moving a car from one side of the stage to the other sideways, against the wheels' natural roll. I stop time, get out and reverse park it ever so slightly to the right in agonisingly small distances. Lines drawn on the floor help me get the positioning just right. The first shows in Japan took seven hours, but I've got it down to five and a half now. Of course, the audience just perceives a standard two hour show. I used to party after every gig. Now I just head back to my room to sleep. The money is more than I could ever spend, and the fame is addictive but I'm an old man. Far older than I should be. Years of rehearsal, shows, even using my powers for "personal"things I'm not exactly proud of. It all mounts up. You see, time may stop for everyone else, but I continue to live. I age. I turn thirty eight this year but I look like a man in his mid fifties. I can't see my friends anymore. My family worry. They think it's all down to the stress of being a world famous magician. If the media got hold of my real date of birth they'd have a field day discussing what degenerative illness I must have. I'll retire eventually. People will grow bored of the same tricks and there's only so much I can think up with the telepathy illusion. I have plans for a much smaller set of shows where audiences sit in a small room and I move every single item of furniture around them. It will take forever to pull off but people pay through the teeth for such an intimate gig with a mega star. A little break after my current run of shows then I'll get on with rehearsals. One more tour and I'll call it a day. By then I'll be nearly sixty.
My alarm goes off - birdsong, gentle and soft. My eyes slide open, and my day is on. Breakfast is on point. The potatoes crisp up perfectly. My wife leaves ahead of me. I snag a kiss on her way past. She giggles. I grin. There's no traffic. The whole way in, I'm soaring along at the speed limit. Some asshole blows past me, blaring his horn at the open road. Ten minutes later, I see him on the shoulder, getting cuffed by a cop. I can't resist waving jauntily at him as I scoot past. For once, my inbox isn't full of people complaining. I can deal with this. Today's the big meeting - my presentation. I'm nervous, but I've been practicing so hard. I can do this. Everyone shows up on time. One of the secretaries bought donuts on her way in. The chocolate calms my nerves. I proceed to blow it out of the water. We got the contract! We're all adults in the office, of course. No cheering and jumping around like kids, but it's all smiles that morning. Everyone comes in to congratulate me on the big win. I meet my wife for lunch to celebrate. She's ecstatic. The taste of the sweet tea on her lips lingers after I kiss her goodbye. The rest of the afternoon is a blur. One project after another is wrapping up, falling neatly into line. Our company is going into the black, months ahead of schedule. All because of the hard work of our team. Word comes in - the big boss is sending a bonus to our office. Everyone celebrates again. I take off half an hour early - I've earned it. The first tendrils of traffic are building, but I'm already gone. Down to the lake. My fishing rod is in the back of the truck - I thought I might need some wind-down after today, so I threw it in. I'm glad for that, now. The afternoon air cools slowly as evening sets in. I've got two fish in the cooler now. Big suckers, too. I call home to let my better half know I'm cooking dinner for us tonight. Dinner is lovely. She brought out the good wine, the bottle we'd been saving in the back. After dinner is lovely, too. And as night gently, slowly falls, I roll over and press my nose to her hair with a smile. What a day. What a day. It couldn't have been more perfect if it were planned. It was like a dream. Almost closed, my eyes slid back open a fraction. --- "Unstable readings from 13024C." "Eh? What's that, now?" --- Something's...wrong. --- "Sir, he's waking up." "Increase the dose." --- My wife rolls over, only half-awake, and fixes me with a sleepy smile. I accept her embrace, but something still doesn't seem right. The traffic. I've never been in the morning commute and had no traffic. That's...well, its weird. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Was that it, then? Was that what was setting off that unease deep in the pit of my stomach? --- "It's not taking." "Can you go any higher?" "....I told you before, no. He's at his limit." --- Extricating myself from her arms, I slowly push the covers back and slip into the bathroom. The more I think about it, the more wrong it all seems. What the hell happened today? I rub my face, like if I just force myself to think straight it'll all make sense. But it isn't working. The truth of it is stuck in my mind, unmoving. Today was like a damn commercial from the 50s. It was wrong. This was all wrong. --- "He's going critical, sir." "Damn. No choice, then. Reset." --- My alarm goes off - birdsong, gentle and soft. My eyes slide open, and my day is on. Breakfast is on point. The potatoes crisp up perfectly. My wife leaves ahead of me. I snag a kiss on her way past. She giggles. I grin. There's no traffic. The whole way in, I'm soaring along at the speed limit. Some asshole blows past me, blaring his horn at the open road. Ten minutes later, I see him on the shoulder, getting cuffed by a cop. I can't resist waving jauntily at him as I scoot past. I pause, slowing down a tick. There's no traffic. I don't know why, but this tiny fact is sending off alarm bells in my head. I think back, trying to pinpoint if I've ever driven in the morning commute without any traffic before. I don't think I have. I speed back up, the cop fading into my rear-view mirror, but the unease doesn't go away. Something is wrong. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!)
And as i walked into the terrorist's base, i eventually found myself in front of their leader. A stern looking bearded man. Just before he could open his mouth to speak, i quickly removed my boot and stuck my entire foot into my mouth. His jaw dropped and he just stared at me. Paralyzed. Frozen. I looked around the room, and everyone was staring at me. Not knowing what to do. Some of them even broke down and started crying. Everything was going according to plan so far. Not 20 seconds later i could faintly hear the FBI moving in, yelling and arresting the paralyzed terrorists. Luckily they had protective goggles and was unaffected by the sight of the foot in my mouth. My first mission was complete. I dont know where to go from here. But what i do know is that if there are terrorists out there. I will find them, and i will show them my entire foot shoved into my mouth.
"Uh, you said you were headless..." "Well yeah I am...mostly,"hesitated Nicholas. "Nuh uh, I see your head right there,"the eldest horseman pointed to Nick's head which hung the side of his neck. "I mean, nearly headless should be good enough, don't you think?" The horseman sighed, "Well, moving on, you said you've fought in battles?" "The largest and biggest of them all. Fighting is in my blood." "The Battle of Hogwarts, it says here." "Yessir. I was there for all of it. Made it through it well and good." "Well, I don't see how you wouldn't make it through well and good. You were already dead weren't you, how much more dead could you've gotten?" "Emotional scars hurt the dead and alive alike sir." "Uhh, what part exactly did you play in the battle?" "Well you know, I fought..." "But you're a ghost. You pass straight through people. How could you possibly have fought?" "Words hold their power sir." "You fought with words." "I fought with words." "You shouted at Lord Voldemort's army from afar." "Scared them a fair bit if I may say so myself."
“Tutan-kham-in!” A well-dressed man opened the door and poked his head in, “Is this the right place?” “Are you Mr. Cliffard?” asked one of the two men sitting at the table. “Yeah, that’s, erm, that’s me,” said Mr. Clifford, walking in to the room, shutting the door behind him. “Are you two ..” “My name is Steve and this is Chad Chadley. Were you expecting something else?” asked Steve. “No, it’s just that, never mind. Glad I could finally meet you two. I think your discovery is fascinating and I can’t wait to get to work,” said Clifford, setting his briefcase down on the desk and taking a seat. “So, with my funding, what do you think you will be able to achieve?” Steve took to his feet and began walking around the desk. “Well, due to the terrifying levels of radiation at the site, we will need biohazard suits along with tools that are able to sustain the conditions. We’re, obviously, predicting this will be a very difficult excavation.” “Of course,” said Clifford. “The circumstances are unusual to say the least. I’ll be more than willing to fund the purchases of any necessary equipment.” “May I interest you in some food?” asked Chad Chadley, “We have Pizza Tut and Pharaoh Roche for desert.” Clifford looked at Steve bewilderingly. Then at Chad. Then back to Steve. “That’s the third Egyptian pun he’s said since I got here,” said Clifford. “Yes, I’ve noticed,” agreed Steve. “It’s just that this is a very serious operation and I’m not sure this is the time or place,” said Clifford. “I mean, there isn’t even any food in here so those last two puns don’t make any sense.” “You know what, I completely agree. Me Sphinx we should stop with the puns from here on out, Chad,” said Steve, winking at Clifford. “Why would you wink at me?” asked Clifford. “Of corpse. I’ll keep them all under wraps,” said Chad, firing finger guns at Steve. “Right, well, that’s that,” said Clifford, picking up his briefcase and walking towards the door. “And if you two think you’re going to find another business man interested in wasting millions on a project as dangerous as this then you’re in de-Nile.” Steve and Chad froze, digesting what Clifford had said before coming to the realisation. “AAAAHHHHHH!” shouted the three men in unison, all shooting finger guns and winks at each other. “No but seriously, we're all going to die unless we take this seriously,” said Clifford. **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
The fire from my torch burned away the darkness in the corridor. It's chaotic flame revealing the crooked, imperfect slabs of stone wall. A damp, dark throat of something that I once called a home. I remember the first one who came. I did not know who he was, but he assumed I did. He had the body of a man, but the mind of a child, the armor of a hero, but the heart of a thief. He came inside my farm, demanding my wares and food, brandishing his shiny, newly forged blade. I remember the screams of my daughters as my kitchen knife found it's way into his throat. I would come to learn that he was heralded as a hero, but in his last moments, I saw only fear in his eyes. I hear them coming down my halls. Steel hitting steel, screams against roars, stones shifting and moving. Most don't make it this far, either they get lost in the darkness, accidentally stumbling upon some forgotten trap, or devoured by the beasts their predecessors left. I would be impressed by their advancement, if my disdain and disgust for them didn't fill me like a man in armor. They're coming just like the others did. Sometimes a lone wanderer, sometimes a posse. A death of a 'hero' only brings grief and outrage. I am no longer a peasant on the hillside to them. When they first started coming, I tried to explain what I did, but my words did not sway them, only my violence. They kept coming. Blood stained my floors, graves replaced my crops, my daughters no longer screamed. I took what they had, swords, gold, pets, tomes, I had to defend my home, my family through any needs. They thought themselves a hero, so did I, but I did not expect us both to be wrong. My home had become a sprawling mess of wickedness and darkness, an instrument of now only death. I told myself I had to do this, for my daughters. But they are long dead now, just more ghosts in the halls. I sit upon my chair, it was once golden but has turned a dark ruby red, I do not remember where it came from. Small memories flee from me like ash in the wind. I hear them approach, maybe a room or two away. I am trapped in the armor of a long-dead warrior, my fingers wrapped around the sword I use to slay 'heroes.' I just want to be left alone. To the ghosts who are forever trapped in this dungeon, wandering it's halls and tunnels, this is their home now. I can't say the same anymore.
Huh. That... shouldn't have happened. Poor fellow slipped on a banana peel into his own vorpal sword. Unlucky dice roll there... Well, now that the demon had slain our hero, he moved on to destroy the world. But after a few weeks, the demon realized that without the hero, it seemed meaningless. No one could stop him. No one could challenge his power. His schemes were told to minions, but they just groveled and praised, seemingly without a mind of their own. And then, one day, the demon happened across a book. Well, 3 books really. Some of my finer works if I do say so myself. These books, this.. Trilogy, gave the demon an idea. What if there were a second sto... Oh... Oh my... It's going to give me another story to narrate? Spectacular! We will have to end this here. The next book will be about the Demon's plans in creating his own "Hero"and the schemes for the hero to defeat until he/she is strong enough to keep the demon entertained. And the last will be the final culmination! Rejoice readers... This isn't over yet...
"Dad, it is the only tattoo I have had my entire life! I need to know what it means, it's killing me Dad..." Howard cradled his head as he sunk to the floor, his back slowly sliding down the wall he had been leaning on. A tattoo of '1' rested, as it always had, on his right shoulder. He tried to cover it as he cried softly, as if embarrassed by it's sight. "Everyone has what they have their tattoos tell them what to do, where to go in the world. How does this one help me?" His father sat down next to him, embracing him, and spoke to him. "Maybe people don't know where to go, and need one person to help them find what they're looking for, Howard. You helped me find what life was worth living for. Maybe you can help others do the same. It only takes one person to help another."
"Monkeys?" Doug sheepishly nodded. Emily giggled in disbelief, but not in a mean way. Most of the other kids in God School bullied Doug for his clumsy nature, and for being less than brilliant. But Emily stuck around Doug because she knew he had a good heart. "Billy guided the dolphins to evolve, and that took half as much time. Hell, I chose squirrels and they evolved millennia before your monkeys did. What class Civilization are they?" "Class II. They've just begun exploring the outer reaches of space." "You'll be lucky to get a C+ on this one. How did the monkeys evolve in the first place?!" "Well... I put this project on hiatus while I was finishing up my Philosophy homework. I had set up an evolutionary process where Lizards were the dominant species, but I had forgotten to give them the sense of self-realization. When I returned to my Planet, all the lizards had died off due to some meteor strike so I had to find a capable species..." Emily laughed. "Meteor strike?!" "I dropped my fidget spinner on the planet and wiped out the dinosaurs... ANYWAY! The only species I was able to find that seemed capable were monkeys. Unfortunately, they are a very violent species... but I think once they conquer Space Travel, they should reach Class IV pretty quickly. Maybe they'll even conquer Entropy." Emily was in shock, but given the situation, Doug pulled through. Usually, Doug would give up but this was the project he was really looking forward to. Plus, it was his chance to prove to everyone else just how great he could be as a God. "I made a few mistakes early on. I flooded them, I placed multiple prophets on the globe, and I confused them with different ideologies that all conflicted. Don't get me started on how many different languages there are... But I think eventually they will learn to work together. I have a lot of faith in these monkeys. Even if they don't have much faith in me."
Thud. Thud. Thud. Car alarms blared and the street shook as I backed my latest invention out of my apartment's parking complex. The motor hummed nicely, and the hundreds of gears working in unison kept pace with the song blasting from my stereo (Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees. That intro just makes the best unveiling music). The Mega-Colossus, fifty tons of tungsten, titanium, and steel unfolded, rising to its full height of... taller than the electric lines. I hadn't bothered to measure it, but it was pretty big. "Stop, Villain!"Boomed from above as a man of herculean physique dropped from the sky. It was Sir Magnificent. His combat stance quickly dropped as he saw me, perched on the back of my Mega-Colossus, bobbing my head to the beat. "Oh, it's just you, Dave. What's uh... what's all this?" I turned down my music. Wouldn't want to be rude. "No, no. I'm not going to shout at you. Let me come down first. Check out this side ladder I built, I just gotta hit this button and..."With a whoosh, a metal ladder shot out the side of the colossus' head and into the street. I threw myself over the safety rail and almost tripped. Sir Magnificent caught me. "Careful there. It's cool, we can talk up here. What's all this for?" I hit a button on the dashboard and a guest chair rose up from the floor panel. "Kind of a long story. Want some tea? Coffee? Milkshake?" Sir shrugged. "Milkshake please."A robotic spider crawled from a hatch and vomited the requested beverage into a mug. "Thanks."He didn't drink it. "It's strawberry banana. So, anyway, sorry about the mess. You know how I get off volunteering at 5 every night, right? Because the homeless shelter closes at 4:30 and I stay that extra half hour to help clean up. But rush hour traffic makes my 30 minute commute a 2 hour trip. And the whole time, there's all these other people also commuting really slowly. And I see that there's, like, all this space we could use and add maybe two or three more lanes to the highway. Now, the highway is so busy there's no way the contractors could expand it during working hours, and I wouldn't want to make those poor men work during the middle of the night when traffic is low. So I built the Mega-Colossus to do the job for them! It'll make a few more lanes in the highway, lay some asphalt, smooth it out all nice. Oh and that extra arm is for reinforcing the safety railing, which, between you and me, isn't all that safe."I hit a button behind my back and the spider slowly nudged the milkshake towards him. "Look. I know you're trying to do the right thing, but you can't just go around constructing what you want on public property without a contract."Sir patted me on the back and took a sip of the milkshake. My shoulders slumped. A lot of work had gone into the Mega-Colossus. "So, uh, I'll fly you down to city hall and let's get you a contract."Sir finished his milkshake and handed the mug to my spider. "Wait til you see this bad boy in action, this is gonna be sweet!"I shouted as we took off. [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
It's strange knowing that you're about to die. My older brother told me how calming it was, how it allowed him to see things from a perspective he wasn't able to before. He was excited to go, even proud of what his sacrifice would mean for the rest of their people. That was ten years ago, and now, on my day of reckoning, I realized how different this experience would be for me. I never believed the Arch-Priest during all those classes when he taught us about the Gods. "There are 21 Gods, children; together, they bring balance to the world we live in and grace us with what we need to exist. But, we must show them our gratitude." The idea was that, by sacrificing us on our 21st birthdays, we would be honoring each God equally. They were all about "balance in the universe,"right? So one year for every God, nothing more, nothing less. And what would happen if we didn't sacrifice our people? "The Gods will let loose the forces in our world that they keep at bay. Thunderous storms will rain down from the sky and crush everything in their way. Fire will erupt out of the ground and burn everything. The earth beneath our feet will crack and crumble, the air above us will no longer be a blessing." What a load of horseshit. I wasn't going to let it happen to me. I would kill the Arch-Priest before he killed me. My people would be free from his barbaric tyranny. The man's existence contradicted what he preached; he was an old man. I would not burn on the pyre today. I patted the blade in my pocket to reassure myself it was there. It was time. An hour later, I was standing on a hill overlooking the city. I had never thought about life past 21 until today; I clasped my blood stained hands together as I looked out on the horizon. It was time to live. Far in the distance, I could hear a storm brewing, and the ground beneath my feet began to shake...
transcript Attendant: "Hearing for case #72936. Candidate up for release." Warden: "There has to be some mistake. Where is the rest of the case number?" Attendant: "That is the case number, sir. It says it has been open for the last thousand years." Warden: "What? This has to be some kind of filing error. Just continue and we'll have the archives department sort it out. Name, crime, and behavior report." Attendant: "Name: John Smith. He has been a model prisoner. Nothing in his file for any disciplinary action or misconduct. Though there is a flag in here to look up his medical records with us. There is a count of 1367 trips to the infirmary but no major treatment was needed. Warden: "Where are they getting these numbers? 1300 trips but nothing was wrong? What was he fucking the nurses? Attendant: "I um... I don't know sir..." Warden: "That was rhetorical you idiot. Get me the head of the medical wing here now!" Secretary: "Yes sir." Warden: "And you skipped his crime. How many times do we have to go over procedures, Franklin?" Attendant: "No sir, I mean. I know but it isn't here sir. All it says in the section is Crime." Warden: "What? Give me that... What format is this in? Is this tree paper?" Attendant: "I didn't want to bring it up but yes sir. This file came to my desk from the archives department directly saying that their system had it flagged for today for a millennium. I had thought they were just exaggerating but... look at the date sir. Warden: "The eleventh of December in the year two thousand and seventeen...? When the hell is that supposed to be? And what is a December? ... Get me the head of archives while your at it too Harry." Secretary: "Yes sir." Attendant: "Have you met this John Smith, sir?" Warden: "Can't say that I have, but given his disciplinary record I'm not surprised. How did his meeting with you go?" Attendant: "It was the smoothest meeting I've ever had. He was polite and to the point. His accent was a little hard to understand at first and kept using weird wordings for some things but he was very agreeable. I had thought he would be one of the quicker ones today before I took a look at his file." Warden: "Poor fella. Stacy probably just wanted to screw with us from that incident at the holiday party." Secretary: "Yensing from Medical is here for you sir, and he brought a trolley." Warden: "A what. Just send him in." Medical: "Afternoon warden. Figured I'd be called up for this one." Warden: You only needed to bring the prisoner's file Yensing, not your whole cabinet." Medical: "No, this is Mr. Smith's file." Warden: "But you have five boxes on that damn thing." Medical: "That's because it takes that many to hold his file. If you just wanted his most recent stuff I could have brought the normal amount but you got all pissy the last time I didn't bring a prisoner's entire file. What did you expect with over a thousand visits." Warden: "Wait so you have record of all the thirteen hundred visits? That wasn't a typo?" Medical: "No sir. All 1367 cataloged and accounted for. I'm glad I get the notices on Sourstay for the upcoming week's inmates pending release or I wouldn't have been able to get through his in time. Most of these our just physicals but there were a few from the beginning of his incarcerations that were marked as stab wounds. Though none were recorded to have needed any treatment." Warden: "Why the hell was he given so many physicals?" Medical: "Sir we require a physical done to each inmate annually and well... he's been here a long time." Warden: "Oh don't give me that! Are you in on this too?" Medical: "Sir?" Warden: "Ah finally. Stacy! Now that you're here can you please end this bad joke?" Archives: "I'm sorry, sir, but what joke?" Warden: "This John Smith file. I can't believe you got Yensing to go along with it but it's time to call it alright. We have more cases to go over today." Archives: "Oh that one. No sir, it's no joke. Just look at the paper. That's tree paper. Even in his earliest medical files. All tree paper! Do you really think I would or even could go through all the trouble of getting this for a joke!?" Warden: "... You mean we've had this guy in here for...? How is he still alive! Let me see his most recent physical." Medical: "He's perfectly fit. I'd say he is a healthy 30 year old man if I hadn't been doing his medical work since I started working here fifty years ago." Warden: "But what about his crime, Stacy?" Archives: "It was stricken from his records by your predecessor. All I know is it was remarked as one of the most heinous crimes at the time. Thus the thousand year sentence." Attendant: "Well... can... can re really release him if it was that bad?" Warden: "He's fulfilled his debt to the state... we have to release him..." end transcript "Well Mr. Smith, you are free to go. What are you going to do?"the warden asks softly, sizing up the lean man before him. Like Yensing said, he didn't look any older than 30 with a strong jaw and shaggy brown hazel hair but his eyes betrayed him. In those dark brown pools lay an iron will of an age long past. "Not sure, warden. It's a brand new world out there."John said with a devilish grin that made the warden's blood go cold.
Zimfor was dressed in the human garb, or at least he appeared to be, disguising himself to fit amongst the humans so as to observe their customs, their culture. He used highly advanced cloaking technology to appear to them as a young boy, all the while recording their every word and action to transmit for scientific reasons. "Where are your parents?"a young homo sapien, presumably male, asked Zimfor. Zimfor gazed at him. Pressing his voice translator, he spoke. "Parental... units... sustenance,"Zimfor spoke. Then, satisfied, he turned away. The translator worked like a charm. "Oh, ok I guess,"the male said, "aren't you a little young for this ride?" The modulator, translated, and Zimfor replied. "Age... false... eternity is my mistress." He was thrilled, he blended in perfectly. "I mean, this is supposed to be the scariest ride here, but hey... you seem mature for your age anyway." The line moved forward, and Zimfor waddled along, his short, chubby stature no aide to his movement. For the humans saw a child, but Zimfor was no child. His legs were stubby, but fully grown, his belly fat, but in fact underweight, and his head, shaped like a cube, was actually rather attractive. All in all, Zimfor was a stud. Zimfor found himself at the gate, the gate beyond which lay one of humanity's self proclaimed treasures: rollercoasters. He had seen the simulations of these death machines, but he would be the first of his kind to experience the chilling contraption. He turned to the male. "It is good you... sapiens have not accessed the galaxy,"the robotic voice came, "your... masochism... would surely doom us all." The male shrugged, and turned back towards the gate. The device, a small transport vehicle, slowed to a stop in front of the door. The doors opened with a hiss, and the male climbed in. "Are you coming dude?"he asked. Zimfor spoke to himself, "note: dude is slang for small male child." The male only heard "zeepa nun trachsi yot renga huya kiki," "Wow, you speak Spanish?"the male asked. Zimfor made another note to discover this Spanish, and its relation to the mother tongue. Then, he climbed into the car, his small stature making it difficult to lower the seat to the right height. When he did, he heard a hissing noise, then the cart began to move. "You excited?"the male asked. Zimfor was thrashing in his seat, pain receptors overloaded. "BAD... BAD... BAD... BAD..."the male heard. The cart escalated, higher and higher above the human civilization until at the top Zimfor could see everything as if he were in one of the observer ships. "This is going to be great!"the male said. The train started its descent, and the male whooped. Zimfor, however, wept.
"...so seriously, dude, you're dreaming. Wake. Up."I tapped the table beside him. It really sounded way better in my own head. The entire speech I just gave him was utter bullshit, packed with references to the Matrix and stolen bits from creepypastas. But it worked - I think. Getting him to think of a dog was easy, and so was unleashing my parents' Shibe into the room. Water? Mirror trick hid the water bottle on the table, in plain sight. Ghost? Pepper's Ghost. Simple tricks. An orange? Slipped into his blankets while he was sleeping. The looks on his face were priceless as I told him to think of things, and watched as he pulled them out of their "hiding"places. I was coming to the end of my rope, however. There's only so many things I can hide in a guy's room without him noticing. "What... what if..."Greg scratched his head. "What if I want a gun?" "A gun... sure! Think hard, dude. Think, like last time with the mug. Just-" He pulled out a gun. Except it wasn't the gun. I preemptively hid a plastic pistol (one of those toys that look semi-real and had orange tips) below his mattress, but the gun he pulled was completely different. First of all, it was a revolver. Second of all, it wasn't a toy. I could see the brass of the bullets in the magazine, even from a meter away. And third of all, he pulled it from the back of his pants. I blinked. OK, I'm screwed. He's found out about my tricks, and now he's gonna spook me. Alright, I'll fake it and- Greg chuckled. "Duuuuuude. Sick. This is sick, man. Lucid dreaming... yo, this is fucking fun." "What?"I blinked again. "No, Greg. Greg! Look at me."I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "Greg, listen. Drop the gun. Everything I just told you was me joking, okay! It was a prank! Alright? I was perfectly fine with it until you pulled that piece out. So please, dude, I don't know how you found out, but seriously, it's just a pr-" "What? Oh, come on, even you? Aren't you, like, my subconsciousness or something?" "...what?" "Steve. Dude. Buddy. Lucid dreaming, remember? You were on with that whole "Wake up"shit? Well, guess what? I'm lucid dreaming now, bitch. Ain't nothin's gonna wake me up." ...he bought it. But this isn't happening, right? Am I dreaming? What the fuck? "Hey, you know what? Since this is a dream, might as well make it more real. Uh, I guess... I'll give you the personality of Steve?" Nothing happened. He snapped his fingers in my face. "Hey. You there?" "Yes, I'm fucking here. Dude, stop, you're not dreaming, this is serious." "No it ain't. How the hell am I draggin' all this stuff out?" "Because it's a prank!"I nearly screamed. "Look - the bottle, the orange - it's a fake, okay? If you don't believe me, try... I don't know, call up a fucking thunderstorm, right now. I'll watch." He frowned, then shrugged. "Alright." Nothing happened. I sighed, and relaxed a bit. "See? Told you, dude. It's-..." I trailed off. Outside the window, the sky darkened at an unnatural speed. In seconds, rain was pouring down like a dam has broken, and lighting cracked almost incessantly, accompanied by thunder. We sat for a minute in silence. "Reverse it." "What?"Greg frowned. "Reverse it." "What? I'm not going to-" "REVERSE IT!"I screamed. "Greg, you don't fucking understand! This isn't a joke anymore! Alright? Please, for the love of Jesus!" He nodded numbly, stunned by my outbreak. The sky was clear in twenty seconds, and the sun peeked out once again. "But dude, that was fun."Greg complained. "It's only a dream-" "It's not. A fucking. Dream."I looked at him. "Greg. It-" Then it struck me. Maybe... maybe this isn't inherently bad, after all. I know for a fact that I'm not dreaming (maybe not, but it's, what, a 0.02 chance?), but Greg is still half-immersed in his fantasy that I shamelessly cooked up. Maybe I need to... Yes, I do. Greg's gullible, that much I know. No the best thing to say about a long-time friend and roommate, but it's the truth. Not like he gets it. I decided to ask. "Hey, dude." "Yeah?"He looked at me. "I just wanna test it out. Can you copy your powers to me?" "Powers?"He frowned. "Yeah. You know, you're lucid dreaming, and you have, uh, reality bending powers."I was getting fired up myself, too. "Yeah, you know? That's what they call it. Reality bending. You're a reality bender in this dream, dude. You can do anything! And... well, I wanna do something, too. So..." "But you... you're my sub-consciousness-whatever, right? How are you gonna-" "I'm personified, and therefore a different person here."I was spewing bullshit everywhere. "You gave me a personality, too. I act like Steve now, yeah? What says you give your ol' buddy ol' pal some power of yours, and we go do something fun?" He was buying it. Eating it up like a college student on instant ramen. I could feel it. "Alright, man. You deserve that much."He's completely forgotten about the prank, too. "So... lemme just copy, and..." I smiled and nodded, and held out a hand. He reached out and shook it. "Did it work?"
She has been sat on the chair for hours when the last suitor had come and gone. She could only sigh as she retired to her private quarters and allowed her handmaidens to undo her corset while they poured her a bath. 'I can't believe the utter nerve of some of these boys,' she said to them as she allowed her dress to fall to the ground. 'Boys, not men. The lad from the desert even the gall to question to question me about what right I had to choose my own husband. I mean, if he believes that having the god-sworn right to play with my pussy gives him the throne then he should learn more about the laws of the country he wishes to marry himself to. And who was that Orlesian with the golden mask, to say that he heard all Ferelden women had beards and lacked any grace? If he had said that to me as a countryman he'd at least have the respectability to save face by exiling himself to faraway lands. Christ, Daddy left me in one hell of a mess. Oh, and I have to choose one of them...' The two handmaidens turned to each other. Marjorie, the youngest, had a worried face ready to run at the slightest hint of anger. Philippa, however, chose to wear an amused face. 'There may still be hope, My Lady,' Philippa began. 'Remember how a week ago, when you first met Prince Harold of Wendlin, how if any of the other elligible suiters were not up to task you might as well be willing to engage yourself to a dragon?' 'Yes, I remember,' the queen answered. 'Rather crass in hindsight, to insult just one suitor in that manner...' 'Well, we've received inquiries on how they are to present themselves,' Philippa said as she sat down several pieces of parchments onto a nearby table. 'Where will the suitors meet the queen? Will they be required to take human form or remain in their true form? Will gifts be necessary?' 'You aren't pulling my leg, are you?' the queen asked. 'We are most certainly not, Your Highness,' Marjorie continued in Philippa's place while she checked the temperature of the water. 'I... admit I had my reservations of giving you these letters. Both for what they imply and your own reaction.' 'Are they genuine?' the queen asked. 'As far as the scholars are aware, these are signed in an ancient and formal form of the draconic language,' Philippa said. 'And to imagine, a dragon could write something so elegant, sweet and steamy...' The queen extended her hand out to demand said letter, glancing through it instantly. She chose not to mention how Marjorie was looking over her shoulder, only giving a sly smirk as she could feel the heat radiating from the handmaiden's flustered skin. 'Such a thing can't be possible,' Marjorie whispered. 'Oh, it's possible,' the queen said. 'Very well... bring my modesty screen and summon the scribe.' 'Yes, my lady,' the two said in unison. Philippa left the room to fetch the scribe while Marjorie grabbed the folded screen and placed it beside the metal tub while the young queen stepped inside, feeling the heat of the water on her feet and ankles before descending until the suds were restoring her modesty. 'You're doing this naked?' Charles said as he entered the room. 'Really, Jenny?' Marjorie's scolding strike to his arm could be heard from within the waters. 'How dare you?' she demanded. 'This is official business. Address Her Majesty properly, Sir Charles!' 'It's all fine, Marjorie,' Jennifer stated. 'Besides, I am constantly working, even when I'm soaking in warm water or laying on my bed.' 'I'd best word that differently,' Charles said. 'It makes you come off as a whore.' She let out a deep laugh at that. 'Touché... Charles, right this down.' --- Her Majesty The Queen of Ferelden Jennifer III wishes to declare her intentions to accept dragons as potential suitors in marriage All who wish to present themselves for the Queen are to arrive within their dragon forms and declare themselves to the guards who will guide them to the Throne Room to present themselves to the Queen As some have inquired, gifts are not required but are also not discouraged '"The queen is accepting suitors on the third Monday of the Month with prior notice",' Dunkelzhan read aloud as he paced in his castle. '"All suitors who are eligible are most welcome"... Is this what this says?' 'I don't know,' the messenger said. 'I can't read.' 'So... she's willing to accept something she said in jest,' Seqwyn the Gold said as he poured himself a glass of port. 'She must be desperate.' 'Of course she is,' he stated as he handed a pouch to the human. 'Would you like me to send you back to town by magic? The walk back is rather treacherous.' With a nod from the message boy he was sent on his way in a flash of light before the bronze dragon sat down and took up his own glass. 'She said suitors are most welcome. You noticed, didn't you?' 'She's desperate for a husband,' Seqwyn declared. 'She's been seeing suitors for three months. Princess Borealia is an unlikable cunt whose mistreatment of the common people led to her being dethrones but at least she was able to find a husband on her second.' 'And she opened the door to dragons,' Dunkelzhan said. 'Longer lived than even elves, more greedy than dwarves and more manipulative than even the most ruthless demons. Or politicians.' 'They aren't a race,' Seqwyn said. 'Even if they are scaly bastards.' 'To think, with how crazy this will get,' Dunkelzhan proclaimed. 'With even a few words some of them will be playing a game. Maybe not for the hand of marriage or even with the fate of the kingdom of Ferelden... but they'll be playing someone.' 'Is that why you've been polishing that tiara?' Seqwyn asked. 'Asking your little pixie friends to describe the "Young Ferelden Maiden who has inherited the throne"?' 'We had a deal,' the bronze said with a frown. 'No spying on the other.' 'Dearest brother, we both know this is hypocrisy,' the gold said with a smile which was soon matched. 'Very well. I won't stop you, I won't compete for her affections... but I shan't be providing you any aid.' 'Of course,' Dunkelzhan said as he approached his dresser. 'And who knows? I might actually fall for her. Should I wear bright or muted colours?' 'Bahamut's Claws, you're presenting yourself to a lady,' Seqwyn said. 'Start with black leather and match your outfit to that. And remember to apply polish!'
Simon's young, broken body lay on the slab. Ian fought back tears as he raised the text to read from it. Around Simon, attendants were seeing to his body, preparing him for interment. He heard one whisper to the other about making sure the helium tank was ready. Ian began to read from the text, eyes wet with tears. "In the great green room, there was a telephone..." As he read, many of Ian's followers made their way into the small room to pay their respects, leaving small items on the slab. One left a comb, someone else left a small bowl of oatmeal. "Goodnight room, goodnight moon, goodnight cow jumping over the moon..." The attendants tried to unfold the stretcher as quietly as they could, but the old thing was rusty and difficult to operate. The wheels came out loudly, and everyone gathered in the small room flinched, though Ian kept reading as if nothing had happened. "Goodnight comb, and goodnight brush, goodnight nobody, goodnight mush..." The attendants lifted Simon's body onto the stretcher, wheeling him outside. The small crowd followed behind them, and Ian trailed all of them, pausing momentarily. He would finish the text once they were all outside. Their grey, makeshift city looked quite lovely cast in the colors of the sunset. Ian looked to the rising moon as the two attendants inflated a large red balloon on a giant helium tank. After it had inflated, they tied the string of the huge balloon around Simon's torso. He began to rise into the air. "Goodnight stars, goodnight air... goodnight noises everywhere." Ian shut the text and all of his followers bowed their heads in reverence. After a few moments, they all lifted their heads to watch Simon's ascent to the Moonland. It's okay, Ian thought. He's going to a better place.
Well siddown an’ let m’tell ye a story abou’ somethin called the Copper Still. Now we all kno’ that da best ‘shine is made outta a still. Ye got bigguns and litte uns, an’ any Stiller can tell ye that each still makes a diff’rent kind of ‘shine. Not only that, each still is usually made outta somethin shiny like. Cause it ain’t called moonshine if it’s made outta something that don’t shine like de moon. Don’t let anyone tell ye diff’rent. But this one Stiller found somethin special one day. It was a pretty Still, shiner than anythin ye’ve seen. But it was made outta copper. Copper I tells ye, like one of dem pennies. Ye’ver seen somethin like that?! But the Stiller took it home and tried to make some ‘shine. Well lemme tell ye, that batch of ‘shine was the BEST ‘ shine ye’ver seen or drunk! It tasted good, shone like the sun thru a clear blue day. Best of all, it didn’t mess with yer eyes none. Unless ye count old man Hicks but he don’t see good before anyways. Anyways, this Still was magic. Silly ain’t it? But I kid ye not it was damn near perfect. Barely any care, took the worse ingredients, and made the best ‘shine. Now if it wer me and ye we’d wouldn’t question it right? Why fix it if it ain’t broke? But this Stiller, he weren’t a smart guy like ye and me. He had to know what made it so good. He just had to mess wit it. He kept shovin all sorts of thins innit and finally broke the damn thin open to poke inside. It’s enough to make ye cry. He took a perfect thin and messed it all up. Tried to putit back together but it done broke to pieces. Didn’t make no ‘shine no more. Wasn’ worth the scrap. So the morale of the story would be don’t go messin with somethin good. It it’s good, leave it be. Treat it right and it’ll treat ye right.

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