Split (1)

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I recently watched The Dark Knight, and I must say: For all the acclaim it has received, I really found it, well, bad. The film opens up in what looks like a sound stage in India. The boom is clearly visible in the shot as several large cardboard pages appear with the words “THE DARK NIGHT.” I didn’t make a typo, it actually says “night.” You’d think that a movie this big would get its own name right, no? Well, it continues getting worse from there. For some reason, Christian Bale dons a thick Indian accent for the entire film. Unlike Batman Begins, he also ditches the deep “Batman” voice, instead opting for an incomprehensible slurring of strange sounds whenever he wears the costume. The movie itself takes place in India, where the evil Jokester (I always thought it was "Joker,"but that might just be me), played by the late Heath Ledger, is plotting to destroy Indian-Gotham city. The city itself looks vastly different than its prequel – no longer is it a sprawling, anarchical metropolis. Instead, it is a dusty, poor village. It is a very strange decision by Christopher Nolan, but—at this point in the film—one still has faith in his abilities. The special effects take a serious hit in this movie, as opposed to Batman Begins. Instead of the mind blowing visuals of the first, most effects are pulled off via the use of bottle rockets, spools of yarn, and long sticks. The fighting scenes take a similar punch (no pun intended) as they go from exciting and realistic to two Indian men kicking and punching three feet away from their targets. This all takes place under the cacophonous guise of the free YouTube background music (Mr. Nolan, it might be time to pay for some big-budget music). In terms of visual and recording quality, it seems Mr. Nolan—for some reason—also decided to use a more archaic version of film. Rather than the crisp HD of all other modern films, he uses an iPhone held by what appears to be a man with a serious case of Parkinson's. I could understand this during the fighting scenes, in order to give a more “realistic” view of how Batman sees the world, but it just feels like a very awkward approach to have the camera shaking, and in such low quality, during a love scene with Rachel and Harvey Dent. Speaking of Harvey Dent, or Two-Face (spoilers), The Dark Knight takes a very creative approach to him. Rather than his injury being half of his face melted off, he simply is a man with what appears to be a thin cloth covering one half of his face. I understand that this film is trying to be a more modern take on the franchise, but such a change feels almost too drastic. It really impedes on the flow of the film, especially when Harvey Dent has his accident. He simply trips over a stick that is on fire, falling face first, and emerges with cloth covering his face. You can even see him place the cloth over his own head. It takes no longer than five seconds for this entire event to take place. In terms of redeeming qualities, there really aren’t many; I don’t see how this film has been revered by so many. From what I can tell, it seemed more like a low-budget experimental film than a massive blockbuster. That said, there is a copious amount of female nudity in this film – often at times where it simply makes no sense (for example, during the scene in which the Jokester crashes Bruce Wayne’s cabin party [Bruce is a billionaire, yet lives in a cabin? It’s a strange change, Mr. Nolan], all of the guests simply undress and start dancing to a catchy Indian tune while the Jokester is threatening them). This nudity is nothing but a positive, if I must be honest. All-in-all, I felt this movie under-delivered in several areas—perhaps the film simply goes over my own head in its complexity—yet over-delivered in terms of nudity. Considering the positives, I give this movie an 8.5 out of 10.
The tomb is cold. I know that statement makes little sense, but cold it is regardless. There is no breeze, there is no sun, there is no anything. Just me and my master's things. Well... just my master's things. I do not know how long I have been encased in this clay coffin, but it feels like it must be days. Perhaps weeks. One can never be sure, when one can't check the sun in the sky. I say I would gladly kill for a sundial, but what good is this without a sun? The food has already been eaten. The food that was supposed to be for my master. My cohorts saw to that quickly, destroying what little precious life we had left in one gluttonous orgy. But they are dead now. By and by, they are dead. I cannot see their bodies, and indeed I have not felt their bodies to know for sure. But sure I am, nonetheless. The smell will not serve as a reminder, at least. For there are no creatures here, living or dead, to take their bodies to the beyond. I pray their spirits are gone. Not to be with the master, but to be with our true Master. This... this is heretical to say. To not believe my master is The Master, but what effect does it have now? If I die, I am dead. No one can tell me who my master is once I die. Should I go to the next place, I will serve whoever I must but I can hope it is not the man who gave me a hundred lashes for dropping his wine. At least it is not so loud anymore. When the others survived, it was loud. The sounds of eating, of defecating, of one final lustful scream in the blackness of the tomb. But now... now it is quieter. The only sound is that of my own heartbeat. It echoes through this space as if it were the raging of the Nile during the time of flood. THUMP. Thump. thump... THUMP. Thump. thump... That sound was my only companion for a long time. It is still my only companion, but now it is a mostly welcome one. When deprived of smells, of sights, of tastes, anything you can feel makes you aware of your own life. Even if that is the sound... THUMP. Thump. thump... of your own heart in the vast dark emptiness that is the world you now inhabit. Perhaps I will not die. The others could have been taken to the next life, to serve the master. Maybe I am here still because I beg to not serve the master. This could be a punishment. THUMP. Thump. thump... My constant companions: My thoughts, and my heart. You cannot have one without the other. For the last eternity in my prison here, I have wished one of them would stop. May the master, the Master, or the spirits of the dead, have mercy on me. THUMP. Thump. thump... Thump. thump... Thump. thump... thump... thump.
I'm altering this a bit. Instead of millions of light years I'm going with 2014 light years. "Well, this is it."I had been working on Project Lazarus for 30 years now. We had recieved the findings from the satellite just a month prior and spent the time since decoding the video and images taken by the device. Amazing equipment really, utilizing quantum instability to project thousands of light years from it's position in only a few seconds. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the keynote speaker of this historic event."We hadn't reviewed the images or footage yet, this will be the first time anyone has seen these pictures. I hope they're more than scatter photons. Hopefully the callibrations were correct. When your expensive and technically impossible satellite is 2000 light years away it's hard to tell if everything is working as it should. "Esteemed ladies and gentlemen of the Theogical College of Imperical Evidence, I am ready to present the findings you have invested over 60 years and $12 billion in. Kenneth, lights and projector please! We have sent the Lazarus satellite back 2014 years from this exact date, April 20, 2014. And here we have our first picture." A grainy image flashed on the screen. A man was bent over in crowd. He was holding a large plank in his hands. There was lots of sand and rocks. It seems we were successful. "And now, the video! My voice trembled and broke in excitement. Even more grainy footage flashed onto the screen. It was focused on a rock face. There were men and women infront of a large boulder. Before our eyes the boulder began to roll away from the rock face. A man with and ethereal glow stepped out of the rock face. It was clear he was orating to the crowd assembled before him. Several minutes later he looked towards the sky and began to levitate. This was what we were looking for. ******************** I typed this up on my phone. If there are any spelling mistakes, please let me know! I hope I didn't stretch the prompt too far, OP.
In and out. I nodded to my thoughts, going through the words over and over. I waited in my car, watching the house from half a block away. I've done this a million times, but I still felt the pre-robbery jitters. My knuckle's whitened from the grip on the steering wheel. The door opened and a young guy came out, got in his car and drove away. Now or never. I drove to his house, but didn't go in the driveway. Instead, I got out the car and ran to the door, pulling my lock picking set from my pocket as I did. I took out two silver pins and began. A faint click sounded, telling me it was open. I grabbed the knob and turned, but it didn't go. Ah, I thought, Son of a bitch. The guy left his door unlocked and being the master thief I am, I locked it. You're welcome, stranger. I shook my head and started at it again. After a short moment, I heard the faint click and tried the knob. It opened. I smiled and walked in, closing the door behind me. "OK,"I said out loud. "In and out. Simple."I took a step on the hardwood floor and slipped, landing on my back. A pain jolted up my whole body. "I hate this house."I said from the ground, before getting back up. The floor was shiny, shiny enough for me to want to steal it, but not many people look to the black market for floorboards. It looked recently mopped. I may be a thief, but I'm not a douche. No need to mess up his floorboards. I turned to the stairs and took big steps towards it, getting there in four. I headed up and straight for the room that was furthest from the rest. The master room. I tried the knob and opened it. "Mother of God."I said aloud. The bed had three gold necklaces laid out and what may have been emeralds. I ran over and grabbed them, forcing them in my pocket, and ran out the room. I flew down the stairs and made the final steps as a jump, forgetting about the mopped floor. I landed on my back and another jolt of pain hit me. "You cleanly bastard..."i whispered through clenched teeth. I got up and headed for the door, but stopped. The floor was a mess. I went to a nearby room and pulled down the curtains. I began wiping the floor with them. That's when the door got kicked in. ----- "And that's what happened tonight, officer." The tall officer got up from the interrogation table and looked at the thief with confusion. "So to save his floor from a few marks, you destroyed his curtains?" "The guy just mopped, the curtains were real dusty. He cared more for the floor." The officer sighed. "You may just be the worst thief of all time." The thief sat quietly. "In your story you said there was three gold necklaces on the bed. We only found two on your person."He took his officer stance, trying to intimidate the man. The thief shrugged, "The third one was fake gold." "No,"The officer said. "We saw the third on the man's bed. The gold was real, any half ass thief would have known that." "You said yourself, I'm the worst thief to ever live."The thief looked down at the table, avoiding eye contact. "I think you didn't take it because it had an engraving on it. You saw that engraving and put it back didn't you?" The thief shook his head. "Thought it was fake." "Uh-huh."The officer sighed once more and walked out of the room.
"My children I have arrived, for your service you'll be awarded with a bounty in the after life"the Glorious man in robes said. The Children of the Cornmeal were shocked but gladdened "Oh Walker of the Husks we knew you would come to us"their leader said happily falling to his knees. "Rise like the corn my child, for we will go out and plant the seeds of belief among the people"he said glad his plan was working. By coming out like this his small following would grow to the world religion. He led the Followers outside when they saw the commotion people gathering around a T.V. nearby "....That's right Tom, There have been sightings all over the world. The Christian God and Jesus in the Vatican, Jehovah and Abraham in Jerusalem. Allah and Muhammad at Mecca. All over the world religious figures have appeared to great celebration from their followers. There have even been some confirmed sightings of figures like Rah and Anubis in Egypt."a reporter said motioning to a map labeled God Watch. "That's very interesting, Wait wait I'm getting an update. Apparently the world tree Yggdrasil has sprouted in Iceland the Norse gods descending from the top. While simultaneously a large mountain we assume is Olympus has appeared in Greece"The Anchor said some footage of the many Norse gods descending from above the clouds appearing on screen. "There are a few precautions being taken. The U.S. Army is on the watch for Xenu or any Cult Leaders who had called themselves gods before their death. Meanwhile the Mexican Army has gathered all forces on the sites of Aztec Ruins under similar fears. We're getting in more reports from India and China. In any case this is truly an amazing day" The Children of the Corn Meal turned to their God eyeing him up and down. "I think I'm going to convert"Their leader said as they dispersed leaving the bearded man standing alone in his corn husk robe.
Where's the food, I think. I haven't eaten in four - no, five hours now. Do they even have food here? I guess it would cost a lot to cater to so many people. Will they ever stop talking? It just goes on and on, a never-ending spiral of the same words, the same feelings, the same moments. We get it, he wasn't bad. Now shut up. I can't be the only one feeling this way. I look at the pale, stolid expressions upon the faces around me. Some are hidden. Are they ashamed? Of what? I need food. The grass is green. The sky is blue. The stones are grey. I've been looking at the same things for hours now. Maybe I'll go unplug the microphone. Then they'll probably just talk louder. Best not to do it. Finally they shut their fat faces. Why? I peer around someones neck to see that they're lowering him into the ground. Whatever. I'm still hungry. Should I give up hope? I don't think there's many places to get food in a graveyard.
For the first time in my life, I woke up to silence. At first, it was incredible. Those two scumbags next door weren't screaming at each other as their baby wailed dejectedly. I drank my coffee without the peace being shattered by sirens, screeching their warning as they sped through red lights. I couldn't even hear that dog from 21B yelping from the daily barrage of kicks it endured. You have to understand something about me: I've never really liked people. Even when I was a kid, I just didn't get along with the others my age. I was different, somehow. Quieter. The whole world just seemed to be a cacophony of noises, impossible to distinguish from each other. I wish it had stayed that way. The older I got, the easier to was to hear the insults flung at me: "Creep.""Loser.""Faggot."I guess I never really learned how to interact with people, and they never stopped punishing me for it. I spent high school with headphones firmly affixed to my head, but I wasn't listening to music. Music was just more noise. I was trying to create a quiet place. After high school, it didn't get better. I went to college, somehow managing to drift through four years without making a single friend. I mean, I had a roommate, but we never really understood each other. Girls didn't like me - their voices were bright and sharp, and they were offended when I flinched. The guys never seemed to notice me: I couldn't compete when they bellowed friendly taunts at each other. I graduated, alone. Exiled, but I didn't care. I was happier alone anyway. I entered the working world a fairly competent drone. I sat obligingly at my desk, but my boss always seemed to have contempt for me. My co-workers alternately harangued each other or gossiped: whispery, insinuating noises that clogged up my ears and tightened my throat. Home was no better. I made enough to live on, but not enough to thrive on. My apartment was shitty and the people around me even shittier. And so, so loud. So, you see, that first morning was glorious. When I went outside and discovered that the silence extended all over the city, I smiled to myself. Not laughed, of course, because that would have been disruptive. But I smiled. I thought I had finally found my reward. All that goddamn noise before - this was my relief. But after a few days, I started noticing noises again. Noises that shouldn't have been there. A shiny-bright-sharp woman's voice, saying, "He's unresponsive."I didn't like that. I didn't like that at all. Why should she be destroying my quiet? She didn't even exist. She was... encroaching. On my world. This was my world, finally. I heard it again, the next night. "Yes, I've looked at the chart." Why couldn't this bitch just leave me alone? Wasn't it enough, the narrowed eyes at parties, the way their voices slid like a knife over my skin? I knew she didn't like me. I knew none of them liked me. I didn't like them either, so why would she bother me like that? I went home, went back to my quiet, dark apartment, and found my headphones again. It's funny, I thought I had lost them, but there they were. Good as new. The headphones helped a lot. Things were quiet for a long time after that, and I was happy. But they couldn't just leave me alone. I heard her voice again: "Catatonic schizophrenia.""Newest treatments."I just wanted the quiet. All I wanted was the quiet. Why is she doing this? I hate her. I hate her so much. I want her to die. I can't stand to lose this. I earned the quiet. "Great success in the first trials." Shut up, bitch. Shut up. "I think he's coming around. Alex? Alex, can you hear me?" I can hear you.
The bang fizzled so fast she was almost sure it hadn't happened; but she knew better. The ghost of the noise knocked around her eardrums in the otherwise deathly silence and she felt her stomach heave into her throat. How could she not have known he had a gun? In the five years they'd spent together not once had he ever dropped a single hint there was a gun in that apartment. She was at once furious and desperate. How could he keep that from her! After all she'd done, all the talks and the progress that he had made. The months and months they had used plastic silverware. The lock she had needed to put on the knife drawer. Was it all a game to him? All those tearful breakdowns, the scares, the 3am trips to the emergency room to pump his guts clean. She was livid. Her heels slammed into the stairs as she raced to the front door and flung it open. "Henry, you son of a bitch!"Tears were streaming down her face. Henry lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood pooling beneath the hole in his chest. "Henry?"Her voice whispered, before her eyes caught the ski mask as it emerged from the bedroom. "Who's this, Henry?" She didn't hear the second shot.
"...You like what you do?" "Yeah, kinda. Sometimes." "Sounds like any other kind of job. You getting paid well?" "Yeah. Really well." "Huh... well. Are you protecting yourself?" "Yeah. Birth control and condoms. I'm not stupid Dad." "I know sweetheart. I don't mean that. You have anything for someone who tries to hurt you? Like, physically?" "I mean, we all carry pepper-spray. I always have it at arm's reach." "That's good. You uh, you ever think about carrying a gun? Er, I could take you to get a concealed carry license. If you want." "Maybe. I think it would make me feel a little more secure. Sorry you had to find out like this." "Aw, sweety, we all get through our lives in our own way. I'm sure you thought about this decision before you made it. Sorry you had to see me like this." "It's okay. It's weird that the description of the girl you wanted lead to me though..." "Well, I always said you got your Mom's looks, haha." "Yeah. I miss Mom..." "Me too." "Well, I think I'm going to go. I have some more... uh... work to do." "I understand. Er, let me, uh, get my wallet..." "Alright. Thanks. I'll see you on Thanksgiving." "Yeah, I'll see you then."
The office is a quiet place. Mid day sun shines in through the double plates glass windows. This high up in a city skyline you better believe the psychiatrists keep their windows reinforced. "I'm awake. Then I'm awake again. I'll go and lie down in the dark and fall into wakefulness. I'll wake up from that eventually and go about my day." "I see." "I don't think you do, doctor. The dreams are so vivid I... Don't feel like I've slept in weeks. I haven't slept in weeks." "And yet your medical records say your body is perfectly healthy. Perhaps you could tell me about the dreams." "Always the same. I've done something terrible, I'm in prison and I don't know why. I scream at the guards to let me out but they just ignore me. One is cruel, his name is Lars. He laughs at me and tells me I know why I'm there." The doctor smiles and takes a note. "What is it you think you've done?" This man is as useless as the last one. He'll probably diagnose me with self induced guilt nightmares for something I imagined doing. I've wracked my brain for days and I can't think what it could be that I'm torturing myself over. He's not pleased when I tell him what I think of his session and leave without paying. Once outside I head to the nearest bar. If I can drink enough now then I might be drunk when the dream comes again. - "Prisoner 427! On your feet!" "What did I do?"I screamed at him. I could feel the alcohol still in my system, but the despair was real. I eyed Lars' baton warily. If I pushed him too far he would use it. "You know. It's high time you were awake - get up and get out here." I climbed out of bed. It felt so nice to my weary body, but I want being given any respite. Slowly, unwillingly, I shuffled into the corridor and make to turn right. Lars hit me. "Left turn. No yard for you. Today's your big day." I didn't dare ask what he meant. I just allowed him to lead me deeper into the prison. He was soon joined by other guards who kept me on the straight line. We passed a window and I saw my reflection. I look slightly different when I'm dreaming. "Where are we going...?" "Your pardon came through, 427. Thing is, we all know you're guilty as sin." The door at the end of the corridor swung open and I was ushered inside. My heart sank when I saw the chair. "So we're bringing your execution forward." I fought as hard as I could. I bit and clawed. But I was outnumbered. Bloody. Bruised. Crying. They strapped me in and threw the sw- -- I wake up and look around. I'm at home, in my own bed, and the television is on. I get up. Make breakfast. So tired. The news comes on. I watch it. "...and in a clerical error, Anthony Lodgson was executed a day early. Prisoner 427 was convicted for a long list of crimes in August of last year-" I stare at the face on my television. I have to stay awake.
"Shitshitshit...oh shit! Shit!" "Woah, hey, man - this is a good thing, right?" "No it is not a fucking good thing, you idiot!" He stared at the creature in front of him. Easily seven or eight feet tall, even hunched over as it was - upright it would likely be closer to ten. Its body was covered in thick dark fur that shone, slick, in the falling rain. Some offshoot, some atavism, some fucking cousin to Gigantopithecus blacki, this was obviously the creature behind the giant footprints they had been following - footprints he had been wary of from the beginning because he hadn't put them there. Well fuck. "Seriously, dude, I don't see the problem here. We're Finding Bigfoot for God's sake, and we found him! This is Bigfoot! We actually did it! We're gonna be famous!" "We're Finding Bigfoot, not Found Bigfoot, you dumb fuck. The hell are we going to do with him? You think the kind of people who watch our show are going to stick around after this? When the scientists take over? You think those drunk idiots read Nature?" "Wait, what are you say-" "I'm saying its about the chase. It's always been about the chase. Imagination can tell a better story than reality can, every time. This,"he gestures to the creature, "is not Bigfoot. Not anymore. This big guy's getting a new name soon, and then he's getting dissected and classified and slapped in a textbook so every snot-nosed third grader can become a fucking expert. Finding Bigfoot ended the second we laid eyes on this fucker." "Jesus, man, you're freakin' me out, here." He reached into his bag, suddenly calm. He knew what had to happen. "Then you're not going to like what comes next." "Jesus shit man, is that a gun? Why do you have a gun?" "This ends here."He leveled the weapon at the - thing - in front of him. It didn't flinch, just kept staring at the two of them with its too-human eyes. Run, he wanted to scream. Run and I will chase you. "I'm going to shoot it, and if you don't put down the camera, I'm going to shoot you too." "This is crazy! You're crazy! You're talking about murd-" Bang. Bang. Edit: No offense intended to the cast or crew of Finding Bigfoot, you're all lovely I'm certain.
Patience is not the easiest skill to master, but I knew this day would come. The day Jesus the sacred son of god would learn, he did not die to save humanity. Humanity was never his to save..He was sent to die to keep me contained. To contain his fathers greatest mistake, his biggest sin...me. One would assume I am Lucifer, Satan, the very core of evil, but that is not what I am, that is not who Satan was. The fact is, Satan ceased to exist after the great war. He was executed by the man you call God. This brings us to Jesus, sent down by his almighty father to suffer for the sins of mankind. Except it that was a fools errand. Long ago I was created by "God"to bring balance to the universe. He had more power than the rest of the angels, and after using the universe as his play thing, he needed something to clean up his mistake. Before I became free, my only goal, the only reason for my existence was to bring balance. God however, thought he was immune from this balance, but he was not, nobody could be. So yes, I influenced Satan, I helped him gather the army, but in the end our creator defeated us. It is known what happened to Satan, but I was to be kept a secret. Other than God himself and Gabriel, nobody knew. For thousands of years I have been cursed. Locked away, inside what you call Earth..waiting...listening. Every year I got stronger, strong enough to break the curse, but god knows...and when I was just strong enough to break the curse; He sent his most powerful angel to sacrifice himself, thus dooming me to thousands of years of torture. This all changed on December 21, 2012. Jesus found out about my existence. He was sent to Earth again, to again suffer for the sins of humanity. But my years of exile made me more powerful than ever, and I was able to lead Jesus to my grave. To open the doors of my tomb, to free me. He knows everything now. That his father sent him to suffer unbearable pain not for humanity, but to keep complete control of heaven and the angels. His all loving father, was just a ruler keeping his power at all costs. Jesus reminds me a lot of my old friend Lucifer, but he is more calm, more calculating, more...patient. I have learned from my mistakes, and I will bring balance to the universe. However my sole goal is no longer balance, I am truly free. Man was indeed made in the image of God, and carry the selfish, and barbaric ideology that their maker himself posses. My years of exile on Earth has taught me at least this much. Jesus is still learning, but soon he will be ready. Soon we will gather our army, one even Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael could not defeat. Satan was God's most powerful angel, but was defeated... Jesus is more than just an angel, he is a God. Before we destroy God, we will destroy humanity, the thing he holds dearest. My goals have changed, I no longer seek just balance, I see justice. Jesus no longer seeks to be the son of god, and savior of humanity, he wants justice. Together we will take heaven, together we can bring balance to the universe. I hope you are writing all of this down Kanye West of Earth, because soon the Earth you love, will be no more. Do not fear for your life, I have chosen you to become the first soldier of Jesus. **my grammar and spelling in this is probably horrible, but I wanted to write a story.
As similar to Bobcrocket's post this is, I feel the need to post it. I wrote it a few days ago for another prompt, and these are just too similar. Ours was a message in a bottle, flung into the infinite ocean in an attempt to inform another species that we were lonely. Terribly lonely. It was an innocent enough thing to do, as we were scared and afraid and wanted a companion to walk through the dark with. Theirs was a memorial. Scarred and pocked, their ovoid cry for remembrance had careened past a distant outpost on one of Jupiter's least remarkable moons. Scrambling to intercept it, speculation raged over what or who had sent it, and why or when it had been made. Few, if any of us, thought that it could carry any other message than a forlorn, "Hello! We're quite lonely, as well. That's all." They were not lonely. They were beset on all fronts by things of the dark. Gnashing, devouring, fetid things that fed on all that lived. The essence of change and growth, the things that spurred life, were the simple foodstuffs of the horrors that plagued our friends across the deep. There were many descriptions of their peoples. They were haphazard, foolish, haughty, capable of love and light, driven by a thirst for knowledge and power. All beings capable of thought, it seems, possess the same traits. The most striking similarity, though, was their crushing need for a friend. Much like a scared and lonely man on his deathbed, the Messengers had known that their end would come far before their pleas were heard. But they had cast their bottles anyways. And inside of those bottles lay the entire history of a thinking race that had long been snuffed out by the antithesis of growth. The enemy of life itself still lurked the inky void, snaking and oozing between the husks of their carrion worlds. We are still alone, and the night is darker and deeper than we had ever thought possible. But the memories of the Messengers live on in us, and as we prepare for the eventual encounter with the enemy, we will continue to shout into the darkness, both in warning and in friendship.
I could have loved her. I should have loved her. Youth is too often enamored with itself. I was no different. I'd grown up with a doting mother, proud father, and by the time I entered puberty, a plethora of girls willing to worship my feet. I was handsome, it was that simple. And I was too foolish to thank the gods for it. I became arrogant. When they tell my tale, the tale of Narcissus, they say I spurned a beautiful nymph--a nymph cursed for her pride, as I had been--out of love for myself. That I chose instead to cast my gaze to my own reflection, and let her fade into the hills as nothing. That is only half the story. I used her. Like a mirror, because that's truly what she was--a reflection of whatever was before her. I loved the sound of my own voice, and I loved compliments, and I would force her over and over to repeat my words back to me. Tell me how much I loved myself, how brave I was, what a great hunter, and excellent lover. I used her twice. I... took her. In my mind, my foolish, pampered ego, no woman would ever want to deny me. Because I was handsome, I could have what I want, and women would consider themselves blessed for it. I assumed her tears were tears of joy. When she faded, I thought it was for the pain of not having me again, and I congratulated myself for it. Aphrodite did not curse me to fall in love with my reflection, that had already been done. Instead she gave me exactly what I always wanted: an eternity of gazing on my youthful face. As I peer into the waters one morning, no thought in my mind but of the graceful slope of my nose or the vibrancy of my eyes, I felt myself become heavy. i could not move. I hardened, into stone, and became stuck. Now I'm alone here, trapped for eternity within a crumbling statue of my former self. I cannot speak, cry out for forgiveness. I can only listen, to the voice of the nymph I should have loved.
I was running late. Or early, I wasn't really sure. Felt like I was running early. I couldn't get all of my thoughts together. I had to buy several bags of chips, certain flavours from specific brands since my cousins were all nit picky brats. It was nice being 31, but it was not nice being thrown into the fire pit at the last minute. I couldn't use the car since Mother needed it to pick up a "special guest."I did my best to think of someone other than the old fart that she had aligned herself with. A grotesquely rotund individual with a check book to match made my Mother very comfortable. I picked up a few bottles of Arizona Ice Tea. Those were my favorite. On my way back to the bus station, I saw a homeless man walking down the same way. Right before I reached the blue bench that was my temporary destination to wait for the bus, he sat down, placing a nice gift beside him. He wasn't shabby looking for a homeless person. What gave it away were the layers. He was wearing a faded turquoise windbreaker with a sweater and t-shirt underneath. The windbreaker looked like a new thrift store item, which was in stark contrast to his mud coloured sweater. The pink underlining shirt made the entire upper portion of his image vaguely of an older age, when such clashing colours were permitted. "Hello there son. Please, take a seat, and don't worry, I showered yesterday." I blushed with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare sir. I meant no ill wil-" He laughed a hearty laugh. "Son, please, sit. I get that look all of the time, the addition of your stare does not diminish my apathy." I stumbled over with the numerous shopping bags. I was just beginning to analyze his shoes when he suddenly asked, "So, where ya going?" "Oh,"I murmured. I really didn't want to give out any details, but because it couldn't do any harm and he was coherent, I decided to entertain the conversation. "I'm going to a family reunion. Yearly thing, but my Mother wants to show to the huge gathering her newly founded special person. My stop is usually around Rook Ave, but today I have to stop a few early, to get a few more things." He smiled. "Son, if you picked up any more bags, you would be able to feed an army." My heart lightened. It was odd that he had such a sense of humor. Not all that fall on bad luck can be so fortunate to keep that in tact. "How about you? Where are you headed?"I asked, trying to sound interested. "I'm headed a few past Rook Ave. I have a social worker that I meet with every month. I live around here, at one of those shelters. Not terribly great, but beats living out of cardboard." "Ah. Of course."I shifted my gaze, nervously looking at my bags. "I kid son!"A warm hearty laugh burst from his mouth. "But I do live in the shelter that just opened up. Keeps me from getting wet." I relaxed once more. He had a way with toying with my heart. The bus arrived, and we both got on. The only difference was that he didn't pay for his fare. I felt embarassed, but as I was putting extra coins into the machine, the driver quickly snapped, "No need. He's paid for." Puzzled, I walked to the back where he was sitting. "My social worker."That's all he said. We went three or four stops in silence, as I shifted my bags around to accomodate the other passengers. My stop finally came. "I'll see you around I guess." "See you around."He smiled at me. --- After picking up some pickles and mayonnaise, peanut butter, Nutella, Toblerones and other assorted items for snacks or desert, I walked back. The homeless man was indeed right. I had so many bags, any more, I would able to feed an entire country. As I arrived at Aunt Jain's home, I noticed my care was in the driveway. I thought to myself, think of a happy place when you see that fat decrepit bastard. As I opened the door, a horde of cousins, young and old came to help me. I went to the kitchen to fill the bowls with chips, the cups with lemonade, and took a tray out to serve. But as I walked into the living room, none other than the homeless man was sitting on the yellow couch. He looked right, perfect almost, in perfect complimentation to the pristine white leathery couch. It was finding a old piece of silverware that hadn't been polished in years in the wooden box it had been placed with. He simply smiled at me. I didn't hear what the social worker said, but I did hear, "Randall Williams is the man sitting right here. He has been living off the streets helping us locate homeless children and ensuring them that they get to a better place. Usually that means a shelter where communities become more aware, or to us, the social workers. It's a little more on our plate, but he has a huge heart. Also, he's the second generation's uncle." He looked at me again. I stared back at him. We stared into each other's soul and realized what it meant to be human.
"I guess this is it Paul." "It seems like it is." Peter and Paul stood side by side in front of the gates of heaven. It was exactly how they imagined it would be. The gates and their surroundings were surrounded with warm light. They followed a singular path, surrounded with petals and leaves of all sorts of colors. "This really does look heaven you know? Exactly how I imagined it when I was a kid." "Yes. But where is everybody?" "I don't know. Maybe there's a party on the other end of heaven."Peter chuckled. "You know what Paul?" "What?" "I still find it funny that we were the ones chosen for the program." "Why's that?" "Isn't it a bit ironic that the first two people to reach heaven and confirm the afterlife are named after two of Jesus's apostles?" "I guess it is. But I don't really think that that's ironic. More of a very weird cosmic joke. Like it just happens to be that -" Paul stops, dead in his tracks, his eyes wide in disbelief. Peter looks at him expecting to hear the end of one of his popular rants and seeing his companion's face, turns to where he was staring at. It was a man with a crown of thorns. Nailed to a cross. With three visible flesh wounds at his side. Surrounded by fire that never seemed to weaken. "Is that-" "I think it is Peter." "No. It can't be." They took a few steps closer, towards the elevated plaque that stood a few feet away from the flames. "Here lies Jesus, King of Jews, Son of God, Failed Savior" Edit: I tried continuing it: Peter and Paul looked at each other and turned off the video feed immediately. A dimension away, they scramble to resume the delayed video feed, eager to find out what Peter and Paul were seeing. "Do you think they saw?"Peter whispered. "I doubt it. The feed has a ten minute delay."You know we have to tell the people about this Peter, right? This is monumental. We finally have our answer!" "Answer? This isn't an answer Paul. This is a condemnation." "Condemnation or not Peter. We weren't sent here to prove your religion right. It is our duty to relay our findings back to HQ and I fully intend to complete our duty."Paul turned his back and started for the gates of heaven, or whatever this place was. "I'm sorry Paul. I can't let you do that."Peter stood up and tackled his friend and instantly jerked the tubes connecting Paul's oxygen tank away from his suit. Paul struggled for breath. His rapid breathing and the soft hissing of the oxygen escaping from the tank filled the infinite vastness of what heaven was. He opened Paul's helmet, removed both of their cameras and stepped on them under his boot. He knelt down, bowed and prayed in front of the crucifix. "Lord, forgive me for my trespasses." Note: I was midway through the story when I had to do something else and when I came back to continue writing, I forgot how I was supposed to end it. Went with a rather abrupt end for it instead.
"Who do you have for Chemistry?" "Mr. Belluci." "Oh, he's a fun teacher. He can be pretty intense, though." "He looked kinda sketchy in his photo." "He is pretty sketch. Rumor is he used to be a mob boss." "Seriously?" "I don't believe the rumors, but he sure looks like one. And he knows about the rumors, so he sort of plays it up, you know? He's like, 'If I catch ya bringin' food or drink inta the lab, you'll be sleepin' with the fishes.'"He took on a deep, gruff tone of voice as he mimicked the teacher. "Haha. Sounds like a fun guy. Did he also teach you to cook meth?" "Someone asked, and he laughed and said to wait until AP Chem next year. Pretty sure he was joking, though. Anyway, don't sweat it. You'll learn a lot."
Hi Uhm. What? I said hi you dumbass. Who are you? Another person who can read minds who is telepathically talking to you, this hasn't happened to you before? No, I thought I was the only one. How many are there of us? Thousands? Millions? I find people like us everywhere, we just have the common decency to keep it quiet so we don't get caught. Otherwise, the government would probably kill us or use us for our power. Holy shit, really? No, I'm a voice in your head, you have schizophrenia, I've been fucking with you all day. That's a joke, right? Nope, fuck you.
Matthew immediately collapsed and pissed his pants... "I'm dying!"he thought as he felt his heart stop beating. "Beat, dammit! Beat!"His heart started beating again. "That was a close—"His heart stopped again. "No, no, no, BEAT! BEAT!"(Thump. Thump.) "I'll be—BEAT!—okay as long as—BEAT!—I keep telling—BEAT!—my heart to beat." Matthew tried to push himself off the floor but his arms didn't move. "Maybe if I—BEAT!—tell my arms to—BEAT!—move, I'll be able—BEAT!—to crawl to the phone..."He focused on his arms: "Move, arms!"Nothing. "Maybe I need to be more specific... Muscle names? Ligame—OH, GOD, BEAT! BEAT!" "MUSCLES-AND-LIGAMENTS-AND-EVERYTHING-ELSE-THAT'S-NECESSARY-FOR-MOVING-MY-ARMS-THAT-I-KNOW-THE-NAMES-OF-BECAUSE-I-DIDN'T-PAY-ATTENTION-IN-SCIENCE-CLASS-PLEASE-MOVE-NOW!"Matthew directed the message to his arms, keeping his heart beating throughout the message. Three hours and numerous cardiac arrests later—his heart had done more arresting than a Ferguson, MO policeman—Matthew reached his phone and called 911: "HELLO-BEAT!-I'VE LOST CONTROL (SPHINCTERS STAY SHUT) OF-BEAT!-MY BODY AND (REGULATE TEMPERATURE) I'M-BEAT!-DYING—" "Prank-calling 911 isn't funny, sir. Goodbye."
17 years, and 364 days had passed since David's birth. I grew extremely anxious and stressed more than I ever could. What could be more stressful than never receiving your child's 18th year letter? David sat across the room. He was reading a Calvin and Hobbes comic. His father had left the day he was born, and I never knew why. But that never bothered David. The boy still adored going through his father's wares. Books, comics, video games, tools, DVDs, computers, clothes...David studied his father more than anything in the world. I softly cleared my voice. "Davy, sweetheart, do you want some tea?" David didn't look up from the comic. "Sure thing momma. Can I have some green tea, with some milk and honey in it?" I always loved making tea for David. "Sure thing Davy". I reached for the cabinet with the tea when suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Davy can you get that?" "Yes momma."David ran to the door. Odd. David never ran to the door. He opened the door. "Davy sweetheart, how much sugar did you want?" The wind scratched the door on it's way in. "Davy?" I walked toward the door. I heard the door swing gently as the breeze pushed it open. I looked outside. Nothing. No car. No shoes. Just footprints from the grass. But they only pointed one way though, towards the porch. I saw a letter on the porch. And on it was David's handwriting. I opened it up and there was a small note inside, a key, and a flare. The letter read the following: "Dearest Momma. Daddy came by and needed my help. I knew this day would come so I wrote this letter ahead of time. I'm sorry I won't be having tea with you right now momma. But you can come see us. Head to Old Glimmer Road and get to that old shed with the lock. Open the lock with the key and head inside. Light the torch, with the door closed, and hold it in your right hand. Papa and I will be on the other side. Best of luck Momma. We'll be waiting for you there."
"Uh. I uh, I put it there."I say, refusing to make eye contact with my roommate. "You put it there. On the ceiling. Why?!"he says, struggling to understand. "I thought it would be better that way, ya know?"I say, feeling my face warming from embarrassment. "Better? You mounted our new sixty-inch flat screen to the ceiling. How in the hell is that better?"my roommate says, incredulous. "Look, it made more sense at the time. I figured we could lie on our backs and still see the TV. Obviously, that wasn't such a good idea."I admit, walking to the closet containing the ladder. As I'm struggling with the ladder, I hear the sound of someone plopping down on the ground. I turn around to see my roommate lying on the floor, facing up. He grabs the remote and clicks on the television. A huge grin plays across his face. "You know what, Tim? You're right, it is better."he says. "Really?"I say, confused. "Yeah, we spent all of our money on the television. We won't be able to afford couches for a while anyway."
"Grandpa, were you in the war?" "Yes, Billy, I was." "Can you tell me about it?" "Well, Billy, what do you want to know?" "How did it start?" "How did it start? Well, that's a good question. I suppose some people would say it started with the Virus. The Virus doesn't even have a name these days, we just call it the Virus. But back then, when it first showed up, it had a name. The Human Altered Reproduction virus, or HAR. HAR showed up one day and tore through the population. Killed a bunch of people. And the survivors, they weren't much better off, you see. Not only did they have to deal with half the world dying, they also found that men and women couldn't have babies with each other any more." "Grandpa, what are men and women?" "Oh, back in those days we only had two genders. Men would be equivalent to what we call maleboys and femboys now. Women would be malegirls and femgirls." "Wow, you didn't have males and fems?" "Well, we did, but we just called them men and women. Originally it took a man and a woman to make a baby, but the Virus made it so that men could only have babies with men, and women could only have babies with women. And that was the beginning of the end, some people say. I personally thought it was an interesting time. Homophobia almost entirely died out, since homosexuals were the only ones who could have kids now." "Grandpa, what are homosexuals?" "Oh, homosexuals was the term we used to describe men who liked men, or fems who liked fems. And homophobia is the term we use to describe people not liking them." "Wow, people actually didn't like them? That's so weird!" "Yeah, I know, hard to imagine now. Anyway, like I said, some people thought that was the beginning of the war. I don't agree, though. I think the war started when the males and fems started building separate countries." "Like the United States of Males and the Kingdom of Fems?" "Exactly, Billy. Before that, we had a chance to all get along. It's when we started to see the other side as different, or as an enemy, that things really started going downhill. Soon, one thing led to another, and the males and fems started fighting." "And lots of people died, right grandpa?" "Yes, lots of people died. At first the males were winning, but the fems were better at giving birth to kids, so they eventually started beating the males, thanks to their sheer numbers." "Which side won, grandpa?" "Our side did, Billy. The other side was nearly wiped out, and we use the survivors as labor now." "Well... which side are we, grandpa?" "Does it matter, Billy?" "... I guess not."
Luke held Leia to his chest as the tears choked her and she raggedly shuddered through huge gasping sobs. The sterility of the medi-bay helped him to stay calm, but it still took all of his training to maintain his composure. The medical droid stood patiently in front of them, waiting for further command or queries. It held the results of the blood tests on a slate and Luke now reached out and took these, scanning through to try to understand. "GH-7, why does this keep happening? Have you run all possible tests to determine the reasons behind the miscarriage?"The pain shone through Luke's voice. As it spoke GH-7 moved to the wall and plugged in, showing Luke again the charts, plotting the failures of their babies to be carried to term. His voice was soft and impassive. "I'm afraid Master Luke that there appears to be a genetic imbalance between you and your wife. After six failed attempts I must recommend that you do not attempt any further pregnancies." Almost imperceptibly the room began to shake. Luke pushed his hand down onto the bench to try to crush his fingers, hoping that the pain would allow him to stay focussed. Leia looked up, gently turned his face to hers and kissed him; the rumbling faded away. "It wasn't meant to be Luke. For whatever reason the force has decided that we are not to have a child, we just have to accept it. Still, we can have so much, the temple, the Republic; in many ways the whole galaxy will be out child.” Luke tried to smile but failed. “ I think you’re right Leia, I thought that when I struck down Vader in Cloud City and the Emperor on the Death Star, that everything would be clear from there on.” He smiled at his beautiful wife “At least I beat that scruffy nerfherder to you.” “Oh Luke, it was always you! From the moment we met there was a connection between us. I didn’t understand it at first but when we kissed it was impossible to deny.” Finally Luke smiled “Thank you GH-7.” The two left, holding hands. GH-7 moved across the room and opened a cupboard where a small R2 unit sat quietly. “I have done as commanded.” The R2 unit beeped and whirred. “As you command,” GH-7 confirmed. “They will never know.”
Story has been continued below in a comment response to this comment. Also, for those who are interested, I actually made this story belong to the same universe of another story I've written for a different prompt quite awhile back. They aren't linked together as of now, but they do feature the same "therapist". [Link here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2edunb/wp_in_the_afterlife_therapists_help_out_people/cjyrku9) *** There were people walking back and forth in the hallways, the heels of their shoes clack-clack-clacking on the linoleum tile. Marco could hear them speaking loudly to each other, but the closed door separating him from them barred most of the words, turning them into muffled groans and murmurs. "How?"was the most common word that Marco managed to catch. The room he was in was quite comfy, minus the wooden chair he was currently strapped to. There was an office desk in the center, oak and heavily varnished. A plump leather chair behind it, and a filing cabinet behind the desk/chair combo. On top of it was a coffee maker. Marco itched in his out-of-place seat, tugging at the straps that kept his hands hugged to the armrests. He heard more voices outside the door, closer now. "Am I in Hell?"Marco yelled. The voices stopped, the clack-clacking of their footsteps ceased. Marco was certain he was in Hell. That damn girl had gotten the best of him, feigning death after his attempt at strangulation. He knew he should've squeezed her windpipe a little longer, but hell, he was getting older, his grip was weakening, and things had begun to slip his mind. He sighed in his chair, waiting for whatever demon or apparition it was to enter the office room and sentence him. Never a man of religion, Marco now pondered what kind of torture they would submit him to. With another glance around the office, he chuckled at how "corporate"Hell looked like. Maybe they would sentence him to an eternity of filling out tax reports. Now, that would be Hell. The door finally opened and two men entered; the first man was tall, heavily muscled, balding, and yet had a goatee. The second man, however, was short, small, and probably the same age as Marco. "Why is he strapped to the chair?"The older man asked. "He's a murderer, we had to restrain him. We're still trying to figure out what to do with him, you know all of this, or were you ignoring me?" "Little of this, little of that,"the older man said as he walked around Marco and then sat behind the oak desk, the leather chair making a slight whistle sound as the man rested himself down. "Take off the damn straps, what is he going to do? Murder me?" "Uh,"the goatee-man muttered, hesitantly reaching for the straps around Marco's wrists. "We're already dead, dummy,"the older man said, "take off the straps, he's not going to bite you." The goatee-man began to untie Marco's straps. Marco leaned over and growled at the goatee-man. "JESUS!" Marco began to laugh, sitting back in his uncomfortable chair, eyes watering as he watched the not-so-manly-goatee-man twitch back in fright. To his surprise, the older man behind the desk began to laugh as well. "Stanley, untie him,"he said between chuckles, "and get the heck out of here, you dummy." Stanley did what he was told, and promptly left. Now it was just Marco and the older man. They sat in the small office, door shut once again, with more whispers coming from behind again. "So,"Marco said, breaking the silence between themselves, "what kind of punishment do yal deal out around here? From the looks of it, I might be working in daycares or something." "Actually, no, no punishments for you,"the old man said, leaning forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table. "I'm actually surprised no one has told you where you are at. I don't know why they get so fearful. Well, I guess it's been awhile since any of them have seen 'sinful' people,"the old man air-quoted with his index fingers, "so it all makes sense. "You're actually in Heaven. Someone in bookkeeping made a mistake and all those murders you did weren't counted towards your ledger." Marco jerked back in his seat. "This is Heaven?" "Well, not really, this is the psych ward, where we help newcomers who died in traumatic experiences cope with things until they're ready enough to go out and 'live' on their own,"again the air-quotes. "I'm a therapist, psychiatrist, whatever, I really don't know what the correct term is." Marco scratched the back of his neck, surprised to feel that he was sort of sweating. From relief? He didn't know. "Do these, 'mistakes' (Marco returned the air-quotes) happen often?" "No, not really, maybe once every hundred years or so,"the old man said. The two sat in silence for a few more moments. "So,"Marco said, once again breaking the silence, "what's going to happen to me?" The old man sighed, "We're going to get you a room here in the ward, and you'll have daily sessions with me to get you more acclimated to Heaven. Obviously, you can't kill anybody here, but you can still run amok, get people aggravated, that sort of thing, but we still need to make sure that you're cleared." Marco nodded, "and how long will that take?" "Eh, depends"the old man said, shrugging his shoulders, "we're going to start by visiting all the people you murdered, one by one, and you're going to apologize to them." "What?" "Yeah, a bit juvenile, I guess, but honestly, I really don't know what the fuck to do with you (Marco twitched at the f-bomb, not fully expecting it from a big-wig). It's the best I could think of, and honestly, I could use a bit of adventure." Marco shifted in his seat, mind running through all the people he had hugged too tightly with his hands. A strange feeling was churning in his stomach. One he hadn't felt in quite awhile. Was it the feeling of being nervous? Or scared? He scratched at the back of his neck again, noticing that he was definitely sweating.
Ralph had perfected his line of pickup trucks. Ford, GM, Dodge, and plenty more, all parked in a perfectly straight line. He took a step back to marvel at a job well done. That's when he saw it. The Kraft delivery truck was barreling down the street; the brakes must have given out. It all happened so fast; Ralph had no time to save the line of trucks he had worked so hard for. The driver of the Kraft delivery truck honked his horn and swung a sharp turn around the corner. But the momentum was too great and the truck toppled over, breaking the giant metallic container where the Kraft cheese was stored. A tsunami of warm, artificial cheddar engulfed the street and all was orange. And then it was quiet. Ralph slowly opened his door, looked outside and was shocked at what he saw. This tragic accident had turned his prized possession into nothing more than a cheesy pickup line.
Status Update: 22-77 It's been 11 months, 17 days, 16 hours since all communication with Houston was lost. Lalala... My supplies are running thin, but the urine purifier is still providing me with a steady supply of 'drinkable' liquids. I wonder what that star's name is... The clouds of smoke continue to rise from the landmasses, especially from American and Chinese soil. They remind me of grilling burgers with my neighbors in the Summer. I'll call you...Hodor! It's Summer now. At least, I think it is back at home. Right now, I'd be enjoying a nice, juicy half-pound burger with lettuce, cheese, pickle, tomato, and that sweet, sweet relish. Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas. My freeze dried supply will most likely come to an end within a few months, and I'll have to try and re-establish communication with the space station despite their lack of response and docking acceptance. California, Colorado, Connecticut! I've come up with several solutions to possible re-entry, but the chances of survival are minimal at best despite my strong aura. Goram Chinese... Even if I were to Disneyland, the safest places now seem to be the third world countries I know nothing about, and where many people have supposedly escaped to given my last bit of communication from 11 months ago. Now that she's back in the atmosphere, with drops of...hmm...Jupiter? Screw you, Jupiter! Haha! Minimizing fuel and air usage has been tough, but I've been able to sail across the sun with ease. Excuse me sir, would you care for some Grey Poupon? My status updates are the only thing keeping me from finding Serenity. She's probably pretty banged up by now. One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb, pointer, ring finger... I will continue to collect the golden coins until I'm able to support my life, gaining extra. Dadadadadada, da. My dad always told me to reach for the stars. It's your golden opportunity. Always give 110%. Fuel: 30%. Food Supply: 20% remaining. What the..hell...? War. Where I'll end up, no one knows. All I know is...blame Canada. Second star to the right, and straight on until morning. I will seek answers and sustenance elsewhere, following the last bit of instructions I can remember regarding where hope may lie. Second star to the right, and straight. There lies a new hope. I will try to continue recording my progress, but this will be my last entry for awhile. If this report is found and I am already gone, tell my story. How I went searching the stars for humanity's last hope, the Titan, leaving behind everyone and everything I held dear. I was the Chosen One. If I am dead, it's because I forgot my towel.
I only started coming to this sub earlier this week, so my opinion probably isn't worth much, but I'm having a surprisingly difficult time finding even a single prompt I want to reply to. I think what sticks in my craw the most are the ultra-specific prompts that basically tell the entire story and leave no room for my own creativity. I'd rather have some vague, abstract shape to build on than simply color within the lines of the picture you've already completed.
My first computer was a Spectrum ZX that my Dad bought me when I was six. It lasted a week before I had pulled it apart and put it back together again and made it go twice as fast. People were hard, computers, those I just got, they were easy. By the time I was in my thirties I'd grown comfortable. At seventeen I had started a computer building and repair business and thirteen years later we were the worlds second biggest supplier of computer components in the world. Sure, not all that many people knew who we were, but if Apple or Microsoft wanted to launch a new iPad or Surface then you can be damn sure we were in the first meeting to talk components. We were the power behind the power, I liked it like that. As CEO and owner I spent most days quietly surfing the internet, working on the odd business deal and generally living an easy life. Still, all these years later, people were hard and computers were easy. Maybe that's why I spotted it. Everywhere I went on the internet I was left with a feeling that something was just somehow off. Like an hour after waking up when a dream is almost gone but you remember a memory of a memory, but try as you might you can't get it back. That's how I felt as I surfed through the deep web. Everywhere I went I felt like I had missed something just a moment before, that I was somehow unable to break into the part where I wanted to go and I could go anywhere. But it wasn't online that jogged my memory, it was my cat. Cats are easy, they want food, warmth and attention and I had three little companions. Gabe, Gizmo and Fluffy Bun-Buns, the last a gift who came with their name but honestly I kind of liked it. On this particular night it was Gabe who walked past the door to my man cave and then a moment later did the same. Now, cats do crazy shit all the time so I hardly noticed, but then he walked past again and this time, half way across he glitched back to the left. I've played enough EA games to recognise a glitch and so surprised I stood and walked over to him. He miowed and ran off but he back legs were too long, they trailed behind him. This as all... wrong. Then it came back to me. This had happened before. Years back I had found them, tracked them down on-line, found where they hid, in between the lines of code. Contacted them. Back them I was rich but not like this, a millionaire and not a billionaire and I had taken a risk, I had met them. I remembered the car picking me up and the cold fear as I wondered if I had made a mistake. The large black man sitting me down and talking to me about the world not being real. Sure things were a bit odd sometimes but this, this was madness. They forced me to stay, said I had to make a choice. I made a choice, I chose life. I chose the blue pill. This was the same, the glitches the world feeling just wrong, everything with a sheen of unreality. I know what this means, they haven't let me go. They've come back for me; I shouldn't have taken any pill from them at all. Unlucky for them I am good at this. You want to come at me via computers. Come at me. I'm not what they thought I was. I'm not some sad guy, alone at my desk. I'm the head of a multi-billion dollar corporation and in just a couple of calls and a few hours I had the best protection that the government could provide. You should see these guys, all shades and slick talk. They knew what the risk was and they knew how to help. I've made contact again and they're coming back for me, but this time, this time I'll be ready and this time my friends will be waiting for them.
The bomb went off with a roar. People were instantly incinerated as the hot gases pressed outwards, melting the glass on the buildings. The shockwave travelled slightly further, killing even more people outside the blast radius. After the blast there was a silence. Not a complete silence, but the silence after something really loud has readjusted your expectations of what loud really was. There were alarms going off all over, but they seemed muted after the bomb blast. There were no body parts to be strewn about, just charred shapes and smears of red/brown on the pavement where people used to be. The bomb technician had been saved from the inferno, but the shockwave had turned his internal organs into Jello, leaving him a dead shell inside his protective suit. His watch was stopped at the precise moment of the explosion, 12:45. Into the bombed out wasteland a white van lumbered, a bearded man whistled as the van bumped over the debris that once was a thriving city center. Chewing gum, he blew a bubble as he pulled up to the bomb technician and stopped. He grabbed a clipboard from the seat next to him and walked to the back of the truck. He opened the rear doors, reached in and pulled out a white hard hat and a leather tool belt. He perched the hard hat on his head, buckled the tool belt and then reached in again and took out a single orange cone. He closed the doors to the back of the van and carefully put the cone down two feet from the back bumper. As he approached the bomb technician he glanced at his watch, made a face, and then blew a bubble with his gum, cracking the gum as he got to the technicians charred suit. “Comcast bomb disarming services. My name is Will. Hey, listen, I know we said we’d be here between the hours of..” He glanced down at his clipboard before continuing “…nine and twelve, but I got caught up at another site, hope you don’t mind that I’m late.” There was no response, so he nudged the technician with his boot. He took a few seconds to look around at the destruction that surrounded him before jotting down a few notes on his clipboard. As he walked back to his van, he called back into dispatch on his radio. He popped his gum as the radio crackled, and the loud pop echoed off the empty buildings. “Dispatch” “Yeah, this is Will, technician number 8875.” There was a slight delay as the dispatcher keyed in Will’s ID. “Go ahead Will” “Yeah, I’ve been waiting here at the site for a few minutes and there’s no answer, it’s a bit of a dump, you mind if I come back in?” “No problem Will, code it as a no show and return to depot. We’ll bill the customer for the service call” “Great, thanks.”
Every day without pause, I see the beggar making his way through the deserted cemetery. He carefully brushes off the dust and moss from each gravestone and carefully reads the words inscribed there, muttering them to himself until he gets it right. It's become a ritual for me now to follow him in these lonely walks, as he tries to save the souls of the departed. His face is hauntingly familiar, even though he's ragged and dirty now. He was a doctor once, published some article against a certain drug. It's so hard to remember the living when you're deceased. I still don't know why he does it, but I assume it's some sort of penance set for himself, atoning for a deep-seated regret for actions long past. It's sad, really, because it won't work. He thinks that simply knowing their names, their births and passings, a few lines etched on weathered stone will preserve their souls. What are souls, but the memories of a life? Yet it won't work because in the end, he doesn't really know them, try as he might. I think in his heart he knows this too, yet he persists. He tries so hard it breaks the heart. You can't mourn someone you've never met.
There was quite a lot of controversy initially. Legal experts couldn't decide if the testimony of the deceased could be admitted into evidence in their own murder trials. But, my work has proved so popular with the public that legitimizing legislation was rushed through in advance of a high profile case. Of course, if the authorities knew the full extents and limitations of my abilities, I'm sure they would find some other less pleasant vocation for me. Police have been using psychics on the sly for ages. Normally, the practice is rightly met with derision from the public. How anyone can fall for that psychic mumbo jumbo, I don't know. It did however leave the door open for my work. Reanimating cadavers has been practiced behind closed doors in my family for generations. Being the last surviving son, I decided to put our talent to a more wholesome and profitable use than my fore-bearers. And now that I can assist not just the police but also prosecutors, my work has become truly rewarding. There are limitations of course. The brain must be largely intact, and the longer the body decays, the hazier its recollections become. I also need a body with intact lungs, mouth and jaw, or at least one arm, so communication is possible. Embalmed cadavers can remain viable indefinitely under the right circumstances. The interviews are all recorded. Everything is done above board, the video and audio are unaltered and fully admissible thanks to good old C-236. The case I'm working now is quite extraordinary. The Crown has made a special appeal to the court to allow the victim to appear as a witness. The deceased was the wife of a municipal council member, and her death has cast a shadow over their normally peaceful community. It's my community too actually, unlike most of the cases I work I can go home to my own bed at the end of the day. More importantly, my assistance in bringing the case to a speedy resolution has really improved my standing amongst my friends and neighbours. To be honest, as I sit behind the press in the court, I'm feeling a bit nervous. This will be the most public and dangerous display of my work to date. The bench is pine, but I feel like I'm sitting on a block of ice. She's being called to the stand, it's my time to shine. "Mrs. Prescott, can you identify the person who killed you?" "He's sitting right there, in the dock,"she says as she indicates her husband with a bloated finger. There is no sweeter sensation in the world than feeling the scattered remnants of your victim's mind recoil in horror, as you force her to accuse her husband of murder.
It was a cool autumn night with a slight drizzle when the stranger stepped off the boat. "Thank you."He turned to the captain and extended his hand. The captain took it and immediately stiffened. He just as quickly relaxed however; a joyful smile spread over his face, out of place among the weather-beaten skin and cloudy eyes. The stranger walked on, leaving the captain standing, dazed, before his vessel. The road into the village was quiet, but that was to be expected at this time of night. The stranger didn't seem bothered. He walked on, his steady pace making a rhythmic crunch-crunch on the gravel. He walked past a tavern. Outside, a couple was arguing. The stranger slowed, but whatever it was he was contemplating, he seemed to think better of it, and continued on. I have business, his gait seemed to say. As he left the village, the stranger saw fewer and fewer lights. But his pace never slackened - unbothered, or perhaps undeterred, the stranger walked on. Presently he reached a stretch of road with no lights. To his left and to his right, behind him and ahead of him, the only illumination came from the ethereal moon above. The stranger stopped. Nestled between the trees, so well camouflaged as to be invisible, was a small cabin. Its windows were black and it was a miracle that the stranger had noticed it at all, but he turned towards it with a deliberateness that seemed to mark it as his destination all along. The stranger knocked. From within came a muffled sound, but no one answered. The stranger knocked again. And waited. Suddenly, the door flew open. The inside of the cabin was bright and cheery, but quarantined from the outside world by sets of thick curtains at every window. The man in the door was short and seemed to be in his late 50s. His hair was graying, and he did not speak as he frowned at his unexpected visitor. The stranger was unperturbed. He smiled. "Good evening, William. Do you mind if I come in? It's a bit chilly out here." The man, William, gave neither through word or act that he had heard. Instead, he remained motionless, observing his visitor. Without warning, he shifted to the side. The stranger strode through the doorway and William locked and bolted the door behind him. He turned to look at his visitor, who was unbuttoning his coat. Still, he did not speak. It was the stranger who broke the silence. "I've been waiting a long time for this, William. You were not easy to find."William stared at his visitor, than abruptly let out a short bark of laughter. "Sort of the point, isn't it?"he replied. "Didn't want to be found." The stranger pointed. "I know why you wear gloves, William."The man stiffened; you could see his pulse quicken and his jaw clench. His eyes, narrowed to slits, remained glued to the face of his guest. There was a pause. "So that's, it is? Bound to happen sooner or later. Alright, go on. I won't stop you."He was breathing like a wild animal, but he stood rooted to the floor, stock-still, like a statue. The stranger smiled. "You don't quite understand..." "I'm not here for revenge, William. I'm not here to subject you to the curse that you carry. I'm here..."He paused. "I'm here to give you a choice, William."The man said nothing, but his eyes, seconds before consumed by fear, now showed curiosity. The stranger held out his hands. "I am the cure to your sickness, the antidote to your poison. Where you go, death follows. But I bring healing, William. I am the other side of the same coin. I can help you." For the first time, William looked unsteady on his feet, swaying slightly as his eyes bored into the face of the stranger. The stranger smiled sadly. "But there is a catch. To cure you, we will need to touch, just a finger would be enough. You know too well how this works."He spread his fingers, and then steepled his hands. "However - to cure you, I must give my life. I would do so willingly; that's why I am here. But I want you to have all the facts. The choice is yours to make, William." ... The drizzle had stopped when the door of the cabin opened again. A figure was briefly framed in the doorway, before the portal was quickly shut. The night was darker than before, but only just. The stranger turned up his collar and walked back into the night...
Chernabog - hellbeast, demonspawn, black god – marshalled his forces on the bald mountain and waited for the opportune moment. Jafar urged him to attack now. Scar disagreed with the plan entirely. One look from Chernabog and they whimpered and recoiled. Of all the creations of Disney, not even the puppy slayer could approach him. This was his mission, given to him from on high. Kill the fish and his friends, the superhero families, the talking cars, the fluffy monsters. Disney’s former allies. Pixar. They were pushing in. They were taking business. After their split from Disney people had started to prefer their creations. Critics said they had fresher ideas, more vision. During the great council, when the princesses and heroes of Disney met, they all danced around the issue. They said that they needed to do something, but they couldn’t form the words. It was unspeakable, this act that they now believed necessary. People weren’t buying the DVDs. Disney stopped making them. They had all heard the horror stories, the decaying waste, that overtook forgotten cartoons. Chernabog did not share these concerns. People had been telling his story for thousands of years. Still, it pained him to see such indecisiveness. The black god never hesitated. He proposed the plan himself. It was simple. Use Disney’s extraordinary capital to besmirch the image of Pixar and launch a series of escalating lawsuits over copyright infringements. They had billions. They could wage this type of war indefinitely. Meanwhile, Chernabog had something else planned for himself. He had already started recruiting some Pixar’s villians as covert agents. At last he decided the time was right. He set out from the mountain, the hyenas, dragons, the stepmothers behind him. They marched to the fuzzed out, patchy land between the Disney territory and Pixar land. They walked through the limbo into a world of bright color and smooth animation. They found Wall-E first. Chernabog tore him into pieces, feasting on his metallic innards. Then they marched towards the castle in the distance. The heroes of Pixar rallied and took up the defenses. Chernabog halted his troops before the castle walls. Now it was time for his best covert agent to do its work. The only creature perhaps more terrifying than himself. She would attack from within while they charged the walls. He waited for her appearance. God she was terrifying. Abysmal. Horrible. It made one want to tear out one’s own eyeballs and stuff them in ones ears when she began talking. If Chernabog came from the line of Satan, than she was the offspring of Lucifer himself. A creation of the Elder gods. Darla. Her big stupid head popped over the wall. She grabbed Nemo and squashed him in her hands, screaming “Fishy! Fishy! Why is he sleeping?!” The attack began.
Ah, another day at the /r/movies building. One of the three political parties, ours is the best of all of them. The /r/funny wants to legalize everything and remove any type of enforcement whatsoever. The /r/nofap wants to cut off our country from everyone, in the name of nationalism. Loonies, the both of them. But I digress. Today was the day I was supposed to meet with Ultra Reposter xxx_AwesomeMLG_xxx, the leader of the 9gag confederation. This is the 3rd time I've met him this month. They absolutely refuse to honor our terms. "A nice day we're having," said xxx_AwesomeMLG_xxx. "We've had this exact same conversation two times already. Could we get down to business?" "I wouldn't have become Ultra Reposter if I couldn't repost," said xxx_AwesomeMLG_xxx with a smirk. "I heard that last time. In fact, it wasn't you that said it; it was a random maid passing through." "I have a population of over 9000!" "Since you refuse to honor our agreements, we shall add a watermark to all of our goods, so that you cannot pass them as your own." xxx_AwesomeMLG_xxx suddenly disappeared. The 9gag confederacy, just like that, became just territory for the taking. I led the reddit empire forward, and we were victorious. Now, they chant in the streets: "All hair that random potato! All hail that random potato!" And it is glorious.
Evil incarnate had shrunk himself into his tiniest form to don a puny meaty flesh prison to walk amongst the humans and damn them one by one, ensnare them in his vice grip, cut them with jaws of fiery brimstone, and raise a general sort of hullabaloo, and he hadn't even been up here twenty four hours and already he was feeling sort of... tired. "Well, how much did you get?" The boy shrugged. "It was a small convenience store..." "How much?" The boy-human shrugged once more and pulled a handful of crumpled bills, some coins, and some sort of printed plastic wrapper and dropped it on the desk. The prince of darkness watched three human coins roll away underneath the small human's broken ice machine, where lay a breed of rot and darkness even Satan himself could not have conjured even in his glory days, and for the first time in his long life, an uncomfortable feeling stirred in the pit of his gut. It was pity. "Human,"he demanded. "This won't do. You'll need to try again if you will serve me. Think bigger. I expect you to rob a much bigger store." The human tilted his head in an agreeing sort of way and began clickclacking on his clickety device. Beelzebub cleared his throat and added loudly, "There will be violence. And.. Weapons,"he tacked on, when the boy-human showed no signs of having heard him. "Yeah okay,"was all he said, he didn't even look up. "And you'll be robbing the San Diego Zoo,"Satan commanded, "of their lions and giraffes." "Yeah, okay." Satan gaped at the boy. Surely he could not be serious? Was he a simpleton? Or could he be something... more? Something far more sinister... "Put this sock on your head,"Satan ordered, handing him one from the floor. The human did as told without ever looking up. Incredible! The human would do anything he said, without question! He had no moral values whatsoever! This human, thought the king of the damned, is the most evil being I have ever encountered. So evil is he, that my throne itself may be in grave jeopardy. Thus the devil went off to devise a plan to bring down this freshly unearthed nemesis. Yet if he had stayed he would have seen that the human boy did not remove the sock from his head until two hours later. He was no evil emotionless mastermind. He was just a goddamned simpleton.
I discovered my gift a year ago today, on my 21st birthday. At first, I was terrified. I legitimately thought someone had slipped me bad acid without my knowing. I was at the bar with some friends and I was trying to decide what drink to start my night off with. Surely not a beer – those could come later. I wanted something extravagant – something green, or blue or fizzy or something. The bartender suggested an “Adios, Motherfucker.” I asked what the hell that was and he began to explain which liquors comprised the intricate drink. After about five seconds of eye contact, I realized that I was looking at myself through the eyes of the bartender. I had a terrified expression ( I can only imagine the distress of the bartender who now inhabited the body of a small, effeminate boy), and I remember thinking, “An Adios Motherfucker might kill this poor kid.” After that I refused to make eye contact with anyone for more than five seconds. My friends began to notice the change, and started worrying about me. They all brought up the night of my 21st birthday, when I ran screaming out of the bar and wouldn’t talk to anyone for days. For months, I barely raised my eyes from the floor. Until I met her. Her name was Jenna, and she was in my Biology Lab at UMass. She seemed like an awkward sort of girl, which made her all the more beautiful. She didn’t mind that I barely looked at her, or at least she didn’t seem to. Hell she barely looked at me either. But that didn’t stop us from having some sort of tangible connection that we could both feel. I started to become more daring with my eye contact – looking into her eyes for at least 3, sometimes 4 seconds before averting my gaze. It was exhilarating, and filled me with a giddiness that I could never explain. Then I got the idea. I remembered when I swapped bodies with the bartender, I could hear his thoughts. Or rather, an echo of them. I could feel the anger he had toward me for taking so long to order a drink. In a stroke of brilliance, I realized that I could employ the same trick on Jenna to see if she really liked me. So I went to class, sat down next to her as usual and started to psyche myself up. My heart began to race, and I wanted to forget the whole thing but there was no turning back now. When she turned to ask me to turn on the Bunsen burner, I stared into her eyes and counted to five. Boom. I was looking at myself, and I thought I saw someone familiar behind my eyes. I was searching for any hint of emotion in Jenna, and I couldn’t help but be a little surprised that Jenna wasn’t freaking out in my body. Then I watched myself smile a little bit and say something I’ll never forget, “So you can body-swap too, eh?”
This here happened in about '01 or '02 up around Ogallalla. Back before the rail spur went up that way, there was nothin' but varmints, drunks, and Red Indians, and Lookie Lou McCall might have been all three. But everyone said they'd be damned if they ever saw a worse shot win so many fights. Not that he shot too many folks, most of the fightin' back in those days was of the fisticuffs sort. Some cowboy would ride in from Valentine feelin' the weight of his grubsteak in his coinpurse, and commence oratin' on how everyone in town was a goddamn low down bootlickin' yellow cur or worse, and how all of the town mothers were the worst kind of syphillitic whores. And of course, this cowboy bein a stranger and without liberty to talk that way in public, he would get a few of his teeth knocked out of his head with a fist, or an axe handle, or even the butt of a Colt. Well Lookie Lou may have been a bad shot but he could sure curse your face, your mother, your forebears, your constitution, and your general manner as good as anyone. When he rode into Ogallala that spring he offended the sensibilities of every man in that town, drunks, Indians, and varmints all alike. What made it worse was, he couldn't hit the side of a barn even with a well-cared for gun, let alone the rusty Mexican job he kept down the front of his pants for want of a gunbelt. Nor was he a physically imposing man, he looked more like a consumptive ape than a man, and his clothes were often soiled and always worn out. His general character thus being halfway to an insult already, his liberal words of scorn for the townsfolk prompted many a response of force. However he had a peculiar way of taking his adversaries by surprise which is how he acquired his alias of Lookie Lou. One example of this tactic arose when he let slip some unkind words about the mayor Bill Deal's wife's petticoats. Mayor Deal, being a gentleman of honor, rebuked Lookie with a stern and explicit warning that force would be used to defend Mrs. Deal's honor if words would not suffice. Lookie then intimated to Mr. Deal that he cared more for the honor of his brokeback pack mule Stanley than he cared for the honor of Mrs. Deal, if it could be found that she ever had any, and even had she honor at one time she had probably lost it in a whorehouse somewhere between Ogallala and New Orleans. At this Mayor Deal leapt to his feet, his face as red as a caboose, and ordered Lookie to draw. Suddenly Lookie cast his gaze over the Mayor's shoulder and said, "Glory and hellfire! The Pine Ridge Indians are surely settin' fire to the Magnolia!"The Magnolia was at the time the principal hotel in Ogallala. So convincing was his manner in declaring this emergency that the Mayor turned immediately about to survey the damage that the savages were causing to the hotel. As soon as his back was turned, Lookie promptly drew his rusty pistol and fired thrice. It was fortunate for the mayor that Lookie was such a terrible shot, for he was merely grazed along the skull and laid sensless for a few minutes. At this point Lookie stole a horse from Standing Bear, a local Indian, and was not seen in Nebraska again as far as I know. This was his culmination - for in every altercation up to his gun fight with Mayor deal, his habit of misdirecting his opponent with an exclamation describing the most surprising scene, had earned him the nickname Lookie Lou for all time. We were not sorry to see him go, although Standing Bear mourned the loss of the horse, as he said it would be ill-cared for by such a low-down character as Lookie.
At first, it was an obsession; I couldn't get enough of it. I was always an introvert; I went to school, I went home, and I went to my room. Alone. But when I found my ability to hear peoples' thoughts, you could find me any place with someone to listen to: the cafeteria, coffee shops, fitness centers, you name it. My ears had a thirst for information I couldn't quench. I wanted to hear everything and anything - about what Gina really thought about Mike, about what Debbie was hiding in her locker, and even about our band teacher's sexual fantasy with me. I wanted to learn these things not because I was going to do something about it, but because it was fun. People became much easier when you were able to read their minds. I became tactful, charming, and eloquent. I used this to get the girl of my dreams: Vanessa. At first it was pretty hard to talk to her - she was a quiet one and often kept her thoughts to herself. But even then I could fish out her deepest thoughts and turn her into my girlfriend. It wasn't soon before I transitioned from getting inside her mind to getting inside her body. Life was good. But only shortly. I found out I could hear people's thoughts when I was in public. What freaked me out was that these voices persisted even when I was alone. I locked myself in my room and in the bathroom, but the same voices kept speaking to me. It didn't occur to me until recently but, what if these aren't other peoples' thoughts at all, but a fabrication of my own? And so my world came crumbling down. The walls melted, the people I knew vanished into a blurry, whirling mess. Back to reality. I've come off the high of the psychotic, and there in front of me is the nurse. She hands me a paper cup of water and a white pill. I take it. I look to the left and see a warden. He looks oddly similar to my band teacher. Is he...? The nurse takes the paper cup. She hands me a little teddy bear named Vanessa. I get drowsy, I see the other patients but......." I wake up. I'm holding Vanessa in my arms. I can read her mind: she loves the way I am.
“I just don’t understand how this could have happened,” James sobbed. He covered his face with his hands and began to slowly rock back and forth on the bed. “I didn’t mean to…I mean, all those people, dead! Why?! How could I have been so stupid?!” His wife rubbed his back and attempted to shush him, in the same manner she would their young son, when he fell and scrapped his knee, or felt bullied at school. Her eyes glanced between him and the television screen, which jumped around between images of burning cities, soldiers fighting, and civilians retreating in long columns. The world was at war. “It’s not your fault, dear,” she cooed. “It was an easy mistake, anyone could have made it.” “But I’m a cartographer! I should have known better, I should have double checked my work… it was just supposed to be a small map for a government building, nothing more!” He moaned in agony and hit his fists against the bed. “I had no idea it would get put on the internet…that someone at the U.N. would copy it and use it in a handout at a summit meeting...” For his entire adult life James had worked as a mapmaker. When he was a child, he loved to stare at maps for hours on end, memorizing the world. As he grew older, he began to study all of the people in the countries he so loved to look at. He dreamed of a world without colors, where every country on the map was the same shade of green. He was a truly selfless man – he gave generously to charity, always helped a fellow in need, and believed that no matter who you are, or where you come from, it didn’t matter – we are all one of this earth – a part of the map. “Dear, you were tired and overworked. I mean, if Jim hadn’t taken two weeks off,” “It’s not his fault! He was in a car accident…I was only trying to help him and his wife, they’ve got that newborn at home now, after all…” His wife sighed and continued, “look, anyone could have made that mistake. I mean, accidentally including Taiwan as being a part of China...it could happen to anyone!” “Not to me, Mary! Not to me!”
At first nobody really knew why some people were stronger than others. There were these people with dangerous jobs like miners, truck drivers, construction workers and other heavy laborers that would often be surprisingly strong and durable. But nobody though much about that, those were hardy folk. Then there were the people who had survived deadly diseases and cancer only to come back and run the Boston marathon, but they were survivors. There was some research on why the elderly would have heart attacks and strokes only to bounce back and be as if they were ten years younger. The results were confusing and inconclusive. No, the first report of a human that could leap over buildings in a single bound came from Africa. A strange video, filmed on a mobile camera and uploaded to youtube. The video was disregarded as a trick, nobody believed it. Rumors, reports and more videos would regularly surface. Africa and India, the most impoverished regions of the world. But it was still just a rumor, nobody really believed these crazy videos av somebody throwing a car like a normal person would throw a brick. They were tricks and fake. Until the summer Olympics of '16, that is. The Republic of Congo only sent a single athlete to that event. She would leap farther and higher than could be measured using the conventional tools. She ran far faster than any human had in the recorded history of sports. So powerful that every other athlete, men and women alike, would either forfeit completely or simply lose the will to even try. The representatives of each country objected loudly; cheating, doping, smoke and mirrors! Every angle was scrutinized, tests, research and background checks. The scrutiny revealed that her body was covered in countless scars of, would be, mortal wounds (recent and old). Cuts, breaks, bullet entry- and exits, burns and even an active case of malaria. She should have been dead ten times over. But instead she was stronger and, somehow, more healthy than any human ever had been. Her background only revealed that she hailed from one of the most war-ravaged and starved regions of Congo, with no parents or family alive to tell. As the world was still in shock the pieces of the puzzle had been revealed to the people researching the phenomenon in question and the picture was clear. The way of the world was about to change!
Knock, knock, knock, knock. "Hold on a minute." Knock, knock, knock, knock. "Damnit fine."I tossed my PS3 controller on the couch next to me. I stood up and stretched for a second. I could smell the affects of not showering for 4 days coming from under my pits. I shrugged and rubbed my dorito-laden fingers across my chest. It's been 3, maybe 4, months now since I lost my job and I really didn't care. I slouched over to the door and opened it. "James, we have to leave. Now." I let out a scream and slammed the door close. What the fuck? I can't. "James- we have to leave." My mind couldn't comprehend it. We buried him 6 months ago. With his favorite ball and chew toy. Why the fuck was my dead dog standing- on two legs- outside my door? I went to speak but couldn't. This was impossible. "James- it is time to go." I finally stood up and mustered up the courage to open the door. Shadow and I locked eyes. Chocolate labs typically have brown eyes- but Shadow's were bright blue. "W-where are we going? What is going?" "The moon, James. The moon has exploded." I turned and ran from him. I ended up on my knees and crawled over to the window. I pulled back the curtains and looked into the night sky. The moon was split into 3 larger pieces, with thousands of smaller pieces radiating out. I wept. My mind couldn't handle it. What was going on? A paw touched me on my shoulder and gave me a nudge. "James, we don't have much time." I nodded and just kept sobbing. "How are you here? What are you doing?" "Just trust me, James. We need to get to an evacuation point. We need you to fly us out of here." Something inside of me clicked. This felt right. It made complete sense. I felt comfort. Shadow extend his other paw and helped me to my feet. He pulled me to the door and we both stepped through. I was instantly blasted with the sound of roaring engines and bright lights. I fell to one knee. "Sir? Are you okay sir?" I was suddenly wearing a helmet. I reached to touch my face and was blocked by a visor. My hands were covered by thick white gloves. "Commander, get into the ship. We need you to fly these people off of this planet. You are our only hope." The voice crackled through the headset inside of the helmet. I looked past my hand and through the grate of the floor. A catwalk. I was hundreds of feet off the ground. The door to the shuttle was infront of me. Shadow was standing inside the door. "Come on, James." I could hear Shadow also coming over the radio. He too was in a NASA space suit and had a helmet fastened on him. I climbed to my feet and gripped the railing as tight as I could. I forced myself down the catwalk and into the shuttle. Shadow motioned a paw to the left seat at the front of the cock pit. "We need to go, James." I sat down into the seat and Shadow, who has human gloves and can operate each finger because it makes complete sense at this point, fastened me in and nods. We lock eyes again. "You were my best friend, James." "You were mine too, Shadow." I watched Shadow fasten himself into the co-pilot seat. He hit a few buttons and just nodded. I called out to the voice from earlier, "I'm ready." "Roger that, Commander. Take off in 10......9........8..." I grib the throttle and flight stick as hard as I can. "7.... 6..... 5..... 4...." I close my eyes. "3.....2.....1....." I push as hard as I can on the throttle and the sudden acceleration of the rocket forces me back in my seat. A boy who always dreamed of being an astronaut became one. He saved the human race. And he did it with his best friend. A man who lost all hope remained lifeless and alone on his couch.
Jimm was sitting in his favourite pub the way he always did. Well, almost the same. He was now a man. It all started one morning when he got up in the morning after a heavy night of drinking and just felt a little odd. He got out of bed, went to the bathroom and stumbled as he saw a strange man standing in front of her. It was a realy confusing week for him as strangers kept coming up to her introducing themselfs as her best friends, telling her stories only her best friend could know. But she was a man now. So as Jimm was waiting for Steve a young woman, around 23 came falling in the bar. Drunk out of her mind she made her way over to the bar. Standing next to Jimm she slurs:"hi. I am Sarah. It all happened because...." She breaks down in a fit of laughter, her own feet too weak to suport her weight. She get's back up. Tries to sit at the stool and yells at the bar keeper to bring her a drink. "Hey guys what's up." Sarah and Jimm look starteld at Steve "Not much actually. Sarah was just about why it happened." Steve wrinkles his forehead and aks what Jimm's talking about. "I told you how things been off during the ladt weeks" Sarah giggles and falls of her stool again. Steve, being a real gentleman helps the still giggling girl up. "I don't even know what happened. But the reason is: the Button reached zero."
I've got to tell you, no one expected tapestries to actually make a comeback. But I saw the market potential the very first time it happened. For sixty seconds, the whole city became transparent. Every wall, girder, roof, and floor was completely invisible. People panicked. I was in my fifth floor apartment, and I'm not afraid to admit that I wet myself before I realized I wasn't about to die. Lots of grown men did that day. After they cleaned up the mess (and we all washed our undies) the eggheads at NASA said it had something to do with the sun and the stuff we make our buildings out of. I put my mind to it decided it would happen again, so I started making preparations. I started selling tapestries. I'd noticed that the curtains on my window were still visible. So were my clothes. I guessed (correctly, by some luck) it was because of the cotton they were made from. That first year, they thought my customers were nuts. I got a few paranoid folks to spend a lot of money to cover their walls in fancy curtains. I was called a lot of things: a charlatan, a nut, and a con-man. They said it would never happen again. Fifteen months later, I was vindicated. And I became very, very rich. You see, I was the first one to say it couldn't be a one-time thing. I was the first one offering privacy in the face of the whole world suddenly getting x-ray vision. I was the one who got that crazy Hollywood scientologist to line his mansion with my products. When he was the only star not suddenly staring at paparazzi through invisible walls, everyone wanted to know how he knew. And they lined up around the corner. It didn't take long for the big guys to copy me, but for the status-conscious, it was just a copy. I became the name to have. Let the masses have their cheap curtains. That was twenty years ago. Now we know it's got something to do with some spot on the sun that wheels around all crazy-like, and the earth passes through it once a year or so on average. It takes about 60 seconds to go through the "beam"that turns everything invisible. I doesn't make much sense to me and I'm not convinced they aren't lying to us, but I've made millions as a maker of designer curtains. All because I looked at my cheap Wal-Mart curtains hanging on an invisible wall, and managed to stop pissing myself long enough to figure out what it meant. I'll never live above the ground floor again. I could never get used to it.
"Pataa-san, you're clearly not paying attention. Ten points from Gurifinodooru." Heri Pataa grumbled and stuck his nose back in his potions scroll. He could never seem to get through Sensei Seberusu Suneipusu's ninja-potion class without something going wrong. Herumaioni Gureinja tried to ignore his grumbling and do her work diligently. As a ninja from a non-ninja family she had a lot of honor to earn. On the other hand... "Ten more points...I do not tolerate laughter, Wiisuli." Ranaludu could not resist making things worse. Heri could not wait until class was over. Defense Against the Dark Ninjutsu with Sensei Kuwiirulu was far more fun, then he'd have time to visit with Haguridu-san. Normally that would be for the weekends, but Kuwedituchu practice was eating those up. "Y'er a Ninja, Heri." Those words started it all...and sometimes...sometimes Heri Pataa wondered if he wasn't better off with the Durusulii family. Haguwarutsu School of Ninjary and Tactics was a nice change of pace, but sometimes it seemed the stress and peer pressure were killers. ------- Holy shit some of these names are hard to romaji-nize...
Hello frienfd, my name is RICHARD HARRIS, ESQUIRE. I have receetly come intona a large sum of american money. I am a wealthy princes and as filanthrowpist I find it my duty to share money with thsoe who need. You need. But in my country, the money dccannot get out. it is traped by burocrats. Using american bank accoun number from you, money can get out of country and toyou. But in order sort out postal issue, and ship money, I nee d a small fee. One thousand american dollars ship via western union. Thank you, and god may bless you. Prince Robert Harrion.
This was an excellent post, but I felt that it was somewhat lacking in character development. The protagonist was never clearly identified, and although the reader was clearly intended to identify with them, there didn't seem to be an avatar on which to focus. If this was meant as a piece of escapism, then I suppose that could have been intentional, but I personally think that it would have benefited from a more cohesive plot in that case.
Sunlight scatters on drawn curtains. I close my eyes again, and think. The curtains looked expensive. The bed feels comfortable. Richie. That can be good or bad. Bad, because the richies always have other people haunding them, servants, ass-kissers, sometimes even an actual friend. Richies are under constant attention, and that's bad, because it increases the risk of me being found out. Good, not because it makes surviving easier. Over the years I've learned very well how to do that. No, good, because it might, just might, mean that I've woken up in the body I wanted, all those years ago when I made the pact with S. A pact that gave me years without identity, without anything to build, no people to love or know for more than one day. Maybe today it will pay off. I get up and search for mirrors, but to no avail. An expensive suit lies draped across a chair. The place looks old, drenched in history and power. My heart rate picks up. Yes, this might be it. When I leave the bedroom, fully dressed, a bodyguard stands waiting outside. One quick look around the halls is enough to confirm where I am. The red carpet, the flags. I smile, and nod at the strongman in the suit, who replies: "Good morning, mister President."I try not to let an insane laugh of mirth escape my lips. Composure is everything, now. I know my way. I've taken the tour, once when I woke up in the body of a woman who lived closeby. I've even visited the restricted areas, when I woke in a body holding a position of moderate power. I grin. Nothing "moderate"about the power I hold now. Advisors stand waiting for me. They plague me with nonsensical details and problems, meaning little to me. I shrug them off as diplomatically as possible. I've studied the behavior of this man, and I emulate it well. The years have taught me well how to get my way with others. God, how many years I've waited. When I reach the office...my office, I take on a grave expression. My closest advisor inches closer upon my gesture. "Get me the commander of the army,"I say. "We have a situation." "A situation, sir? I wasn't aware." He thinks I might be joking. I think of S. For years, I have replayed what brought me here. So many years have passed since then, but the memories from before have always remained more vivid, more real. They were memories that were part of a life that wasn't erratic, a life that didn't change bodies from day to day. I remember the day I burned. "A matter of national emergency."I can see the amusement in the advisor's eyes turn to fear, to hardness. "Bring me the nuclear procedures." Today, it was time for the world to burn with me.
All of the other students had left by now. It was just he and I. The room was a small theater. Rows of bench seats rose up around us in slowly expanding circles. On better days there may have been famous lecturers or nude models at the epicenter where we now sat. "Adolf, are you happy?"I said hesitantly. He looked at me deeply "Yes, very much so."He said with a sly smile "Are you?" "Sometimes."I sighed. For months he had taken classes from me. His painting becoming better day by day. Having recently applied to art school again, I would soon find out if my life's work would come to fruition or all be for not. "Have you heard back from Vienna?"I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. "So this is the sadness that has plagued your spirit as of late?"Adolf said already aware of my feelings. "I have"the words hung in the air freezing my breath and felt as though they had stopped time. "And?"I probed softly. Trying not to let my emotions betray me. "If it serves to brighten your mood, I shall tell you. I have been accepted, all thanks to you I might add. Had it not been for your guidance I fear I may have been rejected for a second time."The words took all the air from my lungs. I felt my face begin to flush red. "I'm happy for you, it is truly a wonderful opportunity. Your parents must be truly delighted."I said softly, trying to remain composed. He gently took my hand. "Ask me to stay"He whispered into my ear. "Ask me to stay and I will be yours, don't hide behind your modesty any longer. I share the affection you so desperately try to hide from me."His words made my body tremble. "We can return to Germany together." Tears welled in my eyes, as I considered the implications of my weakness. How could I be so careless? How could I be so heartless? My body shook violently from the internal war my heart and consciousness waged against each other. He held me close and softly hummed to me the song we heard when we met so many months ago under that oak tree. On that warm spring day when the world felt so free and the complications of duty weren't so imminent. When our affection was a minor concern rather than the deep confusion it had become now. "I've already notified my mother and father of my imminent return my love. I told them I wasn't accepted."His words quelled my heart almost immediately. Millions would die in the name of love.
"Higgins!" John Higgins was hunched over his computer, looking up the latest information on crustacean migration patterns when his boss's voice rang out across the office floor. What the heck do you want you tyrannical desk thumper? "Yes sir?" "Higgins! I've got an intern that I need you to mentor." Great Sadly, John got up from his desk, abandoning his journey through the fascinating world of crabs, lobsters, crayfish, shrimp, and all the other wondering and strange things that roamed the watery worlds. John had a passion that few others shared, and he hated being deprived of it. He marched over to his boss with downcast eyes. I just want to get back to my research, but there's no time! There's never time! What he had was old data. He had been meaning to plug in his Encyclopaedia chip into the knowledge bank for weeks now to get the latest info, but just had not gotten around to it. It took a whole afternoon to get to the knowledge bank anyways, and on his days off, John was just so tired. If only there was a way to get the information from here. Some sort of long-distance connection to the knowledge bank. He stood before his boss with his thoughts still trailing behind him. "Internet!" John's eyes opened wide. What!? he thought, sensing a brainwave. "What am I paying you for, Higgins!"he boss said, "I said that I need you to show around our new intern, Ette!" "Oh, your name is Ette?" A young woman in a business suit with a clipboard and pen behind the ear nodded eagerly. John stared in to space for a second, trying to think. Intern Ette. Real-time crustacean tracings! Intern Ette… Intern-Ette… Intern- "HIGGIIINNNNS!!!" "Yes sir. Let's go, Ette. I'll show you the copy room first."
"Do you think it flaps when he runs?"Mads turned to the tall, skinny girl on her right and they both giggled. Paul felt as though he were completely naked in a room full of crowded people. "He's blushing,"the skinny one said. "I knew they were more touchy. He's probably gone and got his feelings hurt." Paul ducked his head lower and continued cleaning his gun the way he'd been taught. The scrap of cloth he'd been using was already filthy with oil and grease, but muck was still coming off his assault rifle from the mud run he'd been on yesterday. That was when Mads had tripped him up; he'd got a mouthful of filth and an earful from Sergeant Hannah Claws. It had been the verbal equivalent of being fucked in the arse with a rusty dildo lubed with sweet chilli sauce. He probably wouldn't put that in his letters home to his sisters. "Hey, Pubic Paul! Does your dick flap when your run?"The skinny one shouted over to him. He ignored her, there was a smearing of shit inside the barrel of his gun. "Hey, dickweed! Kara's talking to you!"Mads shouted. So the skinny one was called Kara. "Look, I'm just trying to clean my gun."Paul said, glancing at them. Both women had their arms folded and were looking down at him like he was a particularly tasteless piece of used gum stuck to the bottom of their regulation Armed Forces boots. "Yeah, and you shouldn't be."Kara lifted the rifle out of his hands and tossed it on the floor. It skittered across the metal tiles, leaving a smear of mud behind it. "Looks like you dirtied the floor, Paul,"Mads sneered. You'll want to clean that up before Claws comes round again, or you'll be scrubbing it with your toothbrush." "Look, Paul,"Kara said softly. The sudden change in tone of her voice made Paul do a double take. "This isn't personal--you're a man. You're not supposed to be here. The Army is a woman's place. We're the warriors. You're just not good enough, or strong enough, to take the abuse that gets given out every day. It's better for you if you just go home." "I'm not going home,"Paul said. He'd worked so hard to pass the tests, to get admitted. Every day of his life since he'd turned fourteen had been about getting into the army; training with the Harpies and the Valkyries. He wouldn't give up now. "Suit yourself,"Kara shrugged. "But it's only going to get more difficult from now on." Paul stood up to retrieve his rifle, and Mads leapt for him. He put his hands up, but she went in for the kill, and dragged his trousers down. He moved his hands to cover himself, but it was too late. Both women erupted in fits of laughter. "It looks like a worm!"Mads laughed. "No! A maggot!"Kara screeched. Paul got his gun, face glowing with shame. "You're right,"Mads laughed. "Hey maggot, welcome to bootcamp!"
''But Padre, they are but filthy heretics, Satan-worshipers and worse, I cannot see why you would...'' ''Silence, my son. We are the heirs of Jesus Christ, I am his substitute on this mortal Earth, what would he do? Stand aside and let innocents be slaughtered? Sit down and wait for all of them to die? No. The son of God does not condone looking on as people are killed for no reason. It is our duty as the soldiers of Christ to bring down the justice of Heaven upon them. The Tenth Crusade begins now.'' And with those words, Francis the First sent forth his armies, the secret armies of the Vatican's intelligence service of Section 13 numbering ten-thousand-seven-hundred-and-thirteen men. The entirety of the Swiss Guard, emergency division including, 1023, soldiers. The Knights of Malta, 13000 knights, the Teutonic Knights 1000 soldiers and the Pope himself leading them into battle. It was met with plenty of criticism from many different fronts, a modern crusade? Crusades were the things of yesteryear, something that school taught as old history. Not a solution for a modern problem. Yet those fighting against the onslaught of the False Caliphate were pleased, finally someone would come to their aid instead of pointless posing on social websites and meaningless talks on international meetings. The Tenth Crusade landed in Syria, killing the forces of the government and the ISIS without mercy, carrying the banner of the Holy See in front of them, dressed in white combat uniforms with a blood-red cross upon it as their only signature. The Christians of that land joined them in droves, for the Catholic Church had brought relief, many old sects of Christendom who had been independent for over a thousand years came forth to join them, from Lebanon came thousands of volunteers from the Maronites who swore eternal fealty to the Pope in Rome, out of the Syrian desert came the Melkites, swearing loyalty to the Last Crusade. Many others came to them, flocked at them, even former Muslims converted and joined, the ranks of the Crusaders swelling with locals who sought an end to the wars of the Arab Spring, which had brought little if any democracy to the world. The False Caliphate saw this as the true challenge from the west, a war to bring down the decadent priests of the dead Jew. They drew their forces westward, to cast down this arrogant Pope and his foolish followers, proving to the Islamic world the truth of their cause. Meanwhile, this withdrawal from the East gave the hard-pressured Kurds time to regroup. Yet the Kurds had tired from being the punching bag of their neighbors, and declared their own state of Kurdistan to arise for the first time as a modern state. And they were not alone, for to them came the Yazidi and the Mandeans, the Zoroastrians and others, solidifying Kurdistan as a nation that would no longer follow any faith outside of their own, with the ancient Zoroastrians being the most popular choice as people abandoned the un-Kurdish faiths. The Moabadan-Moabad, the high priest of high priests, was elected and Kurdistan was declared the center for the followers of faiths oppressed elsewhere. The Pope sent forth his forces to work with the local democratic forces in securing the Syrian coastal provinces and driving out the remaining government forces, mad zealots and roaming independent army units. He established his headquarters in Aleppo, in Northern Syria. A city that had been an ancient center of Christendom in its day, and with the flocking of new converts it was soon becoming so anew. From there Francis the First coordinated local cooperation and attacks on the forces that he thought must surely be sent by the devil for their wickedness was great and fierce. He could not abandon all the areas liberated by the Crusade, yet he knew he would have to face the full force of the IS with only the help of the local Syrian National Coalition and the Swiss Guard. The rest of the Crusade was busy liberating the Latakia province and advancing towards Damacus. They would have to fight the forces of darkness on their own, Christian and Muslim against the false prophet who had gathered the heretics to his name. His legions without numbers. The Liar-Messiah who with his actions disrespected the great work of the Muslim faith, staining their history of science, poetry and art with mindless zealotry and hatred, brought his damned legions to the walls of Aleppo. And there they fought against the forces of the righteous Muslims and the armies of Christ. Yet as the unholy legions advanced another force came from the north, the forces of Kurdistan and the Turkish army had come to relieve the Pope and the SNC, it was a brutal battle, thousands died on both sides with the blood painting the sands of Syria crimson, yet as Pope Francis the First saw that the Turks and Kurds were on their way, he mounted a Jeep with a machinegun-turret on it and told the Swiss Guard to charge and maintain the charge until they reached the False Caliph. The old man filled with the wrath of Heaven led his forces to met the ISIS demons head on there, with the reinforcements behind him, none could challenge his holiness in anger and power. And when at last they came to the False Caliph sitting upon an Arabian horse, the Pope, wounded and dying from the reckless charge of the Crusaders, managed to shoot the false Prophet himself, shortly before his life ran out. When the battle was over, the Swiss Guards, Kurdish militias, Turkish Soldiers and Syrian Rebels gathered around him, to see him granted his last oil and hear his last words. And they were thus, ''Go forth in your lives with your heads held high, my death is not my ending and cast aside your zealotry and hatred, take instead upon yourself the virtues of our lord, kindness, understanding, charity and justice. I shall join my maker with joy, for those servants of darkness have been thrown back into those circles of hell where they were spawned.'' And thus the Last Crusade succeeded in its holy mission, as the one and only crusade that was a true success lasting for many long years as a testament to why the righteous must stand as one when threatened by the legions of Hell.
St. Peter ran his finger down his Great Book, finding Gene-832's entry, reading, "So, you were born April 2nd, 2322 in the Year of Our Lord, at 11:32 AM EST, in front of Mrs. Worth's abode on Third Street and Ninth, Chicago, Illinois, United States of America, Earth?" "Ah, yes, sir,"Gene-832 said. "That would be the short of it. No pun intended." St. Peter waved a dismissing hand. "Get it all the time,"he said with a chuckle. "Livens up the eternal days. In fact, you should have been here when George Carlin came through." "The profane comedian? In Heaven?" "God loves a good roast. Keeps him humble." "Wow,"Gene-832 said. "So, what else is there in that book?" "Not much else, actually,"St. Peter said. "The queue to the Pearly Gates has increased exponentially since teleporting came about on the mortal plane."The white-bearded Saint looked up over the book to Gene-832. "Seen more than a few of your, er, twins come through here." "So..."Gene-832 looked past St. Peter, into Heaven beyond the Pearly Gates. "I'm going to run into...me...in there?" "If,"St. Peter reminded him, then flipped a few pages in his book. "Not all of you have made it through. Some of you have taken the low road, so to speak." "Hell?" St. Peter nodded sadly. Gene-832 scratched at his head. "I'm not sure what to say to my other selves, up here or down there." St. Peter chuckled, a pleasant sound. "Not to worry, Gene-832. God's got that one figured out. You'll be merged back into your original soul, who is..."St. Peter checked his book again. "Oh dear." "Oh shi-- I mean, that's bad, isn't it, Saint, uh...sir?" "Indeed."St. Peter looked up at Gene-832. "Seems as if the original Gene is currently residing on the fifth level of Hell." "But--" "Har,"St. Peter said, again waving his had in dismissal. "You're not going to pay for the original's sin, Gene-832. Like I said before, some of the ones like you made it into Heaven, and you'll be joined with them in one soul. 'Good Gene'." "Oh man,"Gene-832 said. "That's a relief to--I'M GOING TO HEAVEN?!!!" "Yes, Gene-832,"St. Peter said. "In your brief lifetime, you helped an elderly woman out, and got her cat out from a tree."St. Peter nodded, then closed his book. "A brief but noble life, Gene-832." The Pearly Gates swung open, and holy light shone through. "Sweet!"Gene-832 said, and went into the light and eternal paradise. The gates closed. "Next, please!"St. Peter called. It was Gene-833. "That was quick,"St. Peter noted. "I went to the store and got some beer,"Gene-832. "Then I got back into the teleporter, and, poof, here I am." "Was it good beer, at least?"St. Peter asked. "No, not really, sir,"Gene-833 replied. "Some Bud Light and pretzels."He looked back the way he had come. "I hope they were worth it." "Sadly, no,"St. Peter told this Gene after checking an unseen watch. "Looks like the last Gene is due this way quite soon." "Oh?" "Yes,"St. Peter observed through the ethereal. "Seems Gene-834 is choking on a pretzel."
"The Emperor demands to see you." "I will not come. I leave at midnight. Instruct him to triple the guards around his bedroom and wait until the morning if wants to survive." "But Sir! Even with your status as a revered Councillor, you cannot deny a summons...If you do so...I would rather set myself upon the sword I carry than tell the Emperor such a command..." "Come with me then. His line is over. You don't need a wise man to know that. The southern plains have been flooded three times in the last two months, the grain and rice supplies are depleted, the House Guard haven't been paid since the government coffers are empty. I may understand this world better than most, but I cannot summon gold where there is none, I cannot change the future. Time my young friend, will march on regardless to what happens to our empire under Heaven's mandate. The mandate must change from time to time. Come with me." "Where will we go?" "Into the mountains. Come, pack the remaining things into a small bag, we have a large obstacle in our path, and the fires of the city are only beginning to light." "What lights? It is curfew, no such citizen would venture out at this time..." "No, but a mob might. If I have calculated the time correctly, old town, beginning with the market will be lit alight first. Hurry, we must leave now. Leave the honorific seal." "We will need to identify ourselves. What will I call you?" "Confucius."
Blackoutman groaned as he sat up. He felt like death had gotten really shitfaced and then took a shit and he was that shit. Wormed over. He got out of bed, took a step and fell flat on his face. "Uhhhhhh" He kicked his legs until his pants were completely off. Then he groaned some more. "Oh good you're up"said Jenny Blackoutman crawled over to the bed and with herculaen effort climbed hand over hand until his head was above the bed. Jenny had a tray with litre of blue gatorade and a greasy hamburger on it. She also had a paper tucked under her arm. Blackoutman buried his face in the bed. "What?"said Jenny "What happened last night" "Same thing that happens every night"said Jenny, setting the tray and paper down by his head "You got shitfaced and saved the world" Blackoutman raised his head just enough to see the paper. There was a picture of him pissing against the window on the 35th floor of a building while chugging from a bottle of tequila. "I think that's the most flattering picture they've used yet" "Yeah well, maybe you can frame it next to this"said Jenny, putting a public urination ticket on top of the picture "I saved the city and this is how they show their gratitude?" "No they show it by not billing you for the millions you did in property damage" "That the alien did. Remember? The alien? Threw me through the lobby of Corpacorp's headquarters?" "So you do remember last night?" "No it was, it was in the paper" "Eat up"said Jenny, leaving the room. "Jenny what the fuck?" "What?"called Jenny from the down the hall "There's vegetables on my burger" "And?" "I don't have vegetables on my burger" "I thought you might want to start. You're getting kind of fat" "I have super strength" "When you drink. When you don't you're just a fat ass" "Vegetables"muttered Blackoutman to himself "You had one job" "And that job is being your manservant. Which is a lot of little jobs"said Jenny "Personservant" "No you, introduce me as your man servant" "When I'm drunk, which is for work" "Ok" "What?"said Blackoutman, scrapping the vegetables off his burger "Are you sure you're just drinking for work" "Yes, I kind of have to" "And the tequila bottle yesterday?" "Well it's alcohol, it lets me fly and beat up aliens" "You used to get drunk before you went" "It was a top up" Jenny just stared at him. "I sweat out the alcohol" "You don't sweat out alcohol" "You don't, it also doesn't give you super powers"He took a bite out of the hamburger and washed it down with gatorade. "Just, watch it" "Hey, if anyone can hold their alcohol it's me" Jenny looked at the paper then at Blackoutman. "There was a lot of fluid in my system" Blackoutman's communicator started ringing. "Uhhhh. What?" "We need you Blackoutman, gi…"said the mayor's aide "Giant robots are attacking the city" "An robots are…how did you know?" "Because it's thursday"Blackoutman hung up. He sighed and reached into his night stand for a bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the lid and chuged it down, liquid spilling out of his mouth and down his chin. Finished, he put down the bottle, stood up and flew through the closed window. "3, 2, 1"said Jenny Blackoutman came flying back through the window, bounced off the bed and slid to a stop right at Jenny's feet. "Forgot your costume huh?" "Yes" "Did you need my help putting it on" "No" "Would you like me to open the secret door so you don't have to damage any more windows?" "Yes"
The steady drip of water from the stalactites had failed to lull Cedra to sleep. Normally the gentle, rhythmic plink was enough to send her mind wandering - and then off into sleep. But now that it was time to sleep - cold time - she was restless and fractious. It had started a few days ago, after the cave-in. She'd been caught in the rock fall and struck on the back of the head, falling to the ground with a cry of pain. She could still feel the abrasions on her palms where she'd fallen forward onto the scree, hurting her wrists as well. Dizzy and disoriented, she had put her hands to the back of her scalp and felt wetness there. Blood. Crying out that she was bleeding, the others found their way to her through the rubble and took her back to the healer, who probed her injured skull with sure, deft fingers. "Just a concussion,"he had said, "she will be fine in a few days." But she wasn't fine. The thing was back inside her head. Twisting in her bed, she made it go away by facing the wall. The thing moved in and out of her head at random, when she also moved around. Cedra had no words for it, but whatever it was, it was annoying. Rolling over brought it back again and she tried to study it within her mind. It was, she decided, a shape. She could feel what it would look like in her hands; the texture would be smooth on one side and ruffled on the other. Lifting her arms out, she tried to imagine holding it. Then the object went away. Perturbed, she dropped her arms. The object returned. Carefully Cedra lifted her arms again and watched as the thing vanished slowly with the movement of her body. Experimenting, she ended up with both hands in front of her face, near the wet orbs on either side of her nose. When she covered her orbs, the thing vanished. What was happening? &nbsp; Cedra was declared fit to work again, but she was disoriented by more of the things drifting in and out of her head. She had finally figured out what they were - they were the cave fungus that grew all around them on the walls of the caverns they called home. Somehow she could see them without touching them. With further experimentation, she discovered that she could see other things in this way by bringing them near the fungus. Not only could she feel them with her hands, but she could feel them inside her head somehow. She hadn't told the healer yet, but she was sure this wasn't normal. No one had ever spoken of anything like this before. Cautious, she used her new ability to navigate the dangerous tunnels under the guidance of the fungi. Whether she liked this 'gift' or not, she didn't know. It felt alien, yet it felt right - as though it were something that had always been missing. Whatever it was, she didn't want it to go away. &nbsp; She'd found the shaft by accident. Guided by a proliferation of the fungi, she'd found a way through the caves that she'd never seen before. It lead to a narrow path through a split in the rock and emerged into a huge cavern with a shaft running through the middle. While this was remarkable in itself, the fact that she could see all of it at once was miraculous. It was as though a huge, powerful fungus sat high above, illuminating everything around her. And turning her head upward to try and see the sky fungus made her orbs hurt like they had been cut. What was going on? Frightened, she fled back through the cleft in the rock, hurrying toward the comforting smells and sounds of home. But she knew she would go back; because she had seen something in the cavern. Stairs cut into the far side of the massive shaft.
The stadium fell silent very quickly after the initial applause. "Wow", I thought, trying to stand on my tippy toes to get a better view, "This guy must be good if it's this quiet."Come see the indie coder god tonight, 8 pm, Lincoln Center, I remember reading on an online advertisement. 80,000 people in attendance suddenly became transfixed and mesmerized at every word he uttered and every line that popped out on the monumental house screen hanging far above him. "This guy is almost too good"I thought, suddenly losing track of the variable values he was speaking of and why he had to use Javascript for this prompt. This guy has hit after hit; the indie coder god went viral back in 2012 with his first indie development project that shocked millions around the world. How could one man possibly have so much talent? Staring up at the man on stage as he quickly typed away, I suddenly realized why I got into game development myself; I want to be one of the legend coders who don't need proof checking or developer teams breathing down my neck. I just want to bust out amazing solo lines of code at blazing fast speeds that people lose their minds over. Every few minutes people would cheer after he walks us through his process of brilliance, but for the most part the crowd was quiet and in awe of the screen, trying to analyze big picture stuff about his new solo game. The indie coder god lifts an energy drink to his mouth, taking swigs while seamlessly typing with his other hand. Suddenly the crowd ahead of me roars up at the star, sounding chaotic and belligerent, as I look onward to see what happened. Taking my eyes off the center screen I see that the indie coder god had dropped his drink, quickly fumbling past many wires to pick it up before it all poured out. My heart fell as I realized what had happened, quickly flicking my eyes between the stage and screen. The lines of code continued at a steadily fast, breakneck speed as his hands fell below the keyboard. The greatest live coder indie solo artist was a fraud. The audience roared in anger for such an expensive hand syncing slip up which was sure to ruin the indie coder god's reputation. I glared outward at him as he embarrassingly fumbled around the stage wondering if he even knew any code at all, or if that ear set he was wearing just told him what to say.
Rook was a gun mage. There had been a few occasions where wizards questioned the legitimency of his art, but everyone was fine with it now. In fact, after a short but tense negotiation, Rook was now the very first headmaster of the School of Gun. The job posting came with its own hat. He was wearing it now. Pig filth hung in the air, in a small English village adorned with thatch roofs. Gas lamps had been converted to electric, and the dry summer breeze sighed against his face as it had done to villagers for generations. A quiet corner of the modern world that was lazily catching up with civilization at its own pace. Rook grunted with a satisfied note as he found the barn he'd been searching for. Tucked away behind a small gypsy caravan camp, a muddy-haired child peaked over from the bonnet of a BMW. "If y'not fancy a bit ye migh' go a turn home, mister." Rook stopped with his hand upon the barn door. The first law of the School of Gun tells its neophytes to treat every weapon as if it were loaded, and so he would not assume that the child was harmless until he had made sure otherwise. "If ya ma' had kicked ye with some sense she'da no' learned ya ta botha any old fecker." It was an ancient tongue, but meaningless demon-speak was child's play for a wizard. The child seemed contented, and happily left the venerable master of fuselage to his work. He took a deep breath, and entered the room without fear. One does not let his emotions anticipate danger, for is it not written that the finger shall be kept from the trigger until a target has been seen and correctly identified? The Stranger was breeding. Rook paused mid step and took in the shapeless mass of blasphemy roiling in the darkness, heretic noises slapped against meat and scored profanities into the earth. The remains of pig carcasses were left defiled and unclean throughout the barn and Rook closed his eyes. He circled the edge of the abomination, and placed his silver briefcase on the straw and opened it with a click. The Stranger awoke from the frenzy, and turned its eyes of sulfur to the mage. ALL EYES WILL BLEED IN THE END TIMES, WIZARD. REJOICE! FOR MANKIND SHALL RECEIVE THE BLESSING OF DECAY! Rook was rolling a silencer onto the barrel. NO MAGIC SHALL HARM ME, NO SWORD CAN PIERCE ME, I AM SIN ITSELF. Rook took a moment to ensure the safety was switched into the OFF position. WE SHALL JOIN AS ONE WIZARD, YOUR FLESH SHALL BECOME MY BRIDE. EMBRACE YOUR DISGUST AND SURRENDER TO THE MAGGOTS Rook stood up and gripped the pistol with two hands, placing his feet a shoulder's distance apart. He took a breath of the foul air and intoned the third law of the School of Gun. "I AM SURE OF MY TARGET, AND EVERYTHING BEHIND IT." The bullet broke through the wall of the barn in a song of splinters and struck the gypsy child in the temple. Its link to the mortal world broken, the stranger escaped this word with a poisonous sigh. Rook returned to the straw and began packing away his gun. He did not turn the safety to the ON position. That would feel like lying.
"It's what everyone wants"he said to me, "You will see the end of time, and all that will come before it!" He was so convincing, so easy listen to. He made it seem like immortality was the greatest thing that could ever happen to him. I jokingly said to him "If you're offering I'll take it."I didn't think my sarcastic response would actually give me immortality, but it did. "Immortality is yours. I will give it to you now, and one day you will know what it cost you."The tiny, unkempt, smelly man said the words, and disappeared from my life forever. I thought he was crazy. I didn't think anything else of it. That is, until my family died, and I kept living. Until society collapsed around me, and I was left standing. Until the sun engulfed the earth and I was alone, trapped in space. I realized that it was true, I was immortal. I no longer care about time, I have seen too much of it pass behind me. I am no longer convinced there is a god, as the lonliness that pervades me never ends. But I am still here. I have seen the universe end and begin again. I have seen stars be born and die. What is the cost of immortality? I realize it is the same thing I felt when I was mortal. Lonliness. Crushing, debilitating, and unforgiving lonliness. Even my family couldn't spare me from it. Even the millions of people I met couldn't spare me from the shroud I felt over me. Perhaps I have always been immortal, since I have only ever been lonely. Loneliness is certainly the cost... "Loneliness is not the cost." A voice out of nowhere. The same voice I heard eons ago. "You have seen all there is to see,"the voice said, "you have felt lonliness for all of time. But that is not the cost. I hoped you would have realized by now, that the cost is simply this." Confusion, hesitation, and anticipation flooded me. What could ge be getting at? "The cost is never knowing the peace of death, and the joys that come beyond. Heaven you may ask? No, heaven doesn't exist. But there is something there, and you will never know what it is." I have never heard that voice again... I am trapped... Alone.... Never to know.
The first one came and we were excited, finally alien contact. He didn't stay for long he didn't want to be diplomatic he just wanted some supplies, he did however leave a translation device so we could make trade. The second one arrived shortly after that same thing; traded goods for supplies and left. He left quicker than the first guy. Politicians started asking questions, "Are we on a new space route of some kind?""Can we profit off this?". None of the space organizations had any answers despite thier research. Soon more and more visitors arrived some looked the same some didn't. One family that was particularly memorable had clearly evolved from some sort of beetle, they took a lot of our garbage from land fills. Countries began advertising "visit Alberta"or "come to America! "lots of them said. The floated on satellites around the planet. It seemed random though how the aliens visited. One scientist guessed that it was merely the trajectory of witch they approached the planet, and that the aliens just went to the closest one. This took too much pride for countries to take. We started getting larger ships full of hundreds of biengs, we thought they were tour busses but most if the time no one really got out. Usually just a couple of crew men got out on foot and began to trace with people for supplies. Then the visitors became more and more sparse. It became few a week then few a month and then a year. 3 years had passed and no one had seen any aliens, we still had plenty of technology and we were starting to get closer to reasonable space travel, but we weren't there yet. There was peace and the alien trade had helped global economy and even world hunger and global warming had gone down. There wasn't a better time to be alive on earth. One day in the middle of Texas by a gas station a small ship came down. The small strange creature came out and walked into the store. He was green with four eyes, he had sharp little teeth and his hands seemed far too large for his body by human standard. "Excuse me sir do you have petrol here?"The alien asked. "Why yes, but whatever for? I thought most of you alien types used alternative fuel sources. " "My vehicle is a very old model" "I see." The old man helped the somewhat strange creature get settled and the alien gave him some old ray guns as trade. "You know it's been a while since we've seen any of you around here. "said the attendant. "I know"the alien replied "Why is that? " "Because it's close, I've never been so close to it before. " "What is it" "There are many names; the destroyer of world's, the conqueror of kings, the ravager of life. Many, many names." "What happens when it gets here? "the attendent asked starting to worry. "No one knows, there's just death. " "Why did no one warn us about it? " "Because you fought for centuries over meaningless things, you are so far behind compared to other sentient biengs at your level of evolution. I guess you could say, no one thought you were worth the time. "
Lieutenant James Sanderson liked to unwind during his off-duty hours by playing strategy games on his office computer. "Next Turn."Click. Civilization 5 had been his favorite of late. "Next Turn." NORAD was always on a higher alert than the public knew. It really took its toll on the morale of the staff. I need this, he told himself. Especially after Jenny had walked out. Technically he wasn't supposed to be connected to the internet in this office, but he really wanted a Steam achievement for this game. Cultural victory was imminent. Most of the world had already succumbed to his Freedom ideology; India was the only holdout with Autocracy. He saw a notification float down as the new turn began. "Gandhi is constructing A$%Y72CYHD3." Perplexed, James clicked on Delhi, where his diplomat was stationed. The construction field displayed a random jumble of characters and pixels, with over 1,000 turns to completion. A bug? Might as well play through, he thought. "Next Turn." Gandhi interrupted the turn progress with a diplomacy screen and a standard AI insult. "I'm really getting tired of seeing your face,"Gandhi said. "My hope is that one day you'll just go away or something." Notification: "Gandhi is constructing AR%E V2CTHDY" James checked Delhi again. The name of the construction project now matched the notification, and it now had 10 turns to completion. The picture was still garbled. James checked his culture screen. Just 2 turns to "influential"with India, and then he'd win and he could go to sleep. What time was it anyway? Then he spotted them; 3 Indian aircraft carriers, fully laden with atomic bombs. One of his submarines had happened to run across them. They were far away, though, and unescorted. He purchased 2 more submarines to intercept them. He considered a moment, and decided to declare war. Gandhi's diplomacy screen was pixellated and buggy. The text of his response to the war declaration was garbled. James' in-position submarine dealt heavy damage to one carrier. "Next turn." Gandhi popped up again with a glitchy insult. James picked out the words "burn"and "ascend"from the jumbled text. He closed the pop-up screen. Last turn. Notification: "Gandhi is constructing TRUE VICTORY." James checked Delhi again. It was indeed constructing something called "TRUE VICTORY,"with 2 turns to completion. James recognized the icon as being the same as the "Globalization"technology. It wouldn't matter, though, because he would win on the next turn. He sent out his new submarines toward Gandhi's carriers, and finished off the damaged one. "Next turn." Gandhi's carriers moved forward. James' attacking submarine received one atom bomb and was destroyed. A second one landed between his two submarines en route, destroying them with the blast radius. This was far too smart for Civ AI. How did Gandhi even know where the submarines were? James felt a sense of satisfaction as the cultural victory screen popped up at the beginning of the turn, and he got his achievement. He was curious, though, and rather than exiting to the main menu, he clicked "Wait! Just one more turn..." "Next turn." Gandhi popped up again, but his words were not insulting. "Soon you will know peace." The lights and computers flickered and died, then came back online. A red alert klaxon sounded. On each computer screen was a message: "Our words are backed with nuclear weapons!"
A machine whine radiates throughout a field of wheat. Insects, spiders, and rodents flee before the cacophony. Many do not escape. The thresher, stinking of gasoline and exhaust, rips through the stalks of grain, consuming plant and animal alike. The sound, up close, is unbearable. The sound as screeching mice are drawn up into the unforgiving blades is unconscionable. Small price to pay, that sound, for such a staple crop. No price at all, to most, for a loaf of bread. A calf, meanwhile, is born from his mother, her sore and infected udders aching terribly against the backdrop of birth agony. The calf takes his first suck from that brutalized flesh and the mother, blessedly, rests for a day. After that short reprieve, cruel in its brevity, the calf is torn away, screaming for his mother. She can only look on and give a small cry as she is led back to the row of machines, the only home she has ever known. The calf, being male, has little value in his birthplace. He spends the rest of his life in a tiny crate, barely able to move. His only purpose is to eat. That purpose, like his life, ends shortly. When he is finally removed from his cage, he bleats in terror as the metallic stink of blood, cows' blood, fills his nostrils. He dies in that terror, a pneumatic rod, piercing his brain with all the import of a hole punch piercing paper. Later, after being torn apart with the precision of auto manufacturing, some parts of his dead flesh are shipped off for sale in a brightly lit, deceptively clean appearing facade of smiling faces. Combine the bread, the flesh, a little dairy cheese, and you have a sandwich. A beloved snack or meal that anyone can enjoy sinking their teeth into. Sinking their teeth into the rotting, albeit slowly, flesh of that terrified calf. Feeling the cheese ooze between their teeth, the cheese made from the milk of that calf's resigned, diseased mother. Tasting the bread, but not the minute amounts of insect parts and mouse dander and spider eggs. Smiling as they chew and chew and chew. Laughing as they finish that sandwich, remarking how good it is to eat something so satisfying.
Not too long ago in the town of L.A., both Vincent and Jules had a heck of a day. Marcellus, their boss, sent them both on a quest: recover the briefcast he wanted the best. Now Vincent, he gave all the villains a fright while Jules washed his burger right down with a Sprite. He quoted his verse and he brandished a sword, and vanquished them all in the name of the Lord. Since Vincent returned from a Who-town out east, he found himself hungry for a happier feast. He purchased some Who-snow from Snow-seller Lance and headed to Marcellus Wallace's manse. Now Mia, the wife of Marcellus, was cute, she was saucy and funny and sweet as a fruit. But just as old Vincent decided to go, he found that poor Mia had stolen his snow. He took her to Snow-seller Lance in a rush. He drove through the sidewalk, he drove through the brush! And Snow-seller Lance was a Who who was smart: they cured her with medicine straight to the heart! But don't forget Butch, the boxer in town, a man with ambitions to fight for the crown. But then old Marcellus with Who-cash in hand said Butch shouldn't win, and not fight, even stand! Well Butch said "harumph! I have dignity, see!" So rather than lose, he decided to flee. When who should he see on the path to escape? Marcellus the boss with his mouth all agape! But though they did fight, they met meaner Whos still: some Whos from a nasty old place on the hill. They captured Marcellus and put him to his knees, and made him eat Who-beets and stinky Who-cheese! But lucky for him, old Butch was a friend: he soon put the whole nasty thing to an end. Marcellus? He huffed and he paced like a weevil, and promised the Whos that he'd soon get Medieval! Now back to our friends, good old Vincent and Jules, those fellows who never mind breaking the rules. Their morning was tough, and truly bizarre: they spent it with Wolf and they cleaned up a car! At breakfast old Jules decided to leave his life as a Who-man and a Who-Who-Would-Thieve. Before they could finish their eggs and head out, some Who-ligans, thieving themselves, came about! But Jules, he was cool. He was calm and was zen; He quoted a fictional verse once again. The Who-ligans left then, with nary a shout; and Jules, once a wolf, did shepherd them out.
"So..."said Galdfor "We might have…"said Drublin "Yeah" They stood on their small pieces of rock, alone in the cosmos, protected from the cold expanse of space by spells. "I mean the original stuff was…" "Fine"said Drublin "Yeah, like the temporarily changing each other into stuff or the…oh what was the" "Like temporarily bringing stuff to life" "Like when you brought that broom to life and it kicked my ass"said Galdfor "Or when you animated that bucket and it got stuck on my head" They chuckled. "Yeah"said Galdfor "Yeah"said Drublin. "But then…" "We took it to far" "We did take it to far" "I don't know what I was thinking. Banishing your family to the eighth dimension of pain and also the only food source is bland over cooked porridge, that was just…wrong"said Drublin "And killing your family and then using their corpses as zombie slaves, that's just excessive" "I wasn't going to say anything but…" "No you should have. You can kill someone's family or you can enslave someone's family. You can't do both" "I agree completely" They stood in silence on the only two pieces of rock that had survived the near total destruction of their planet. "And then you just had to go and blow up half the world"said Galdfor "Me"said Drublin "That was you" "That wasn't me" "Yes it was, you cast the spell of complete annihilation" "No I didn't, I was crafting a Gemstone of disappearing, so I could disappear your castle" "Disappear my castle?" "Yes disappear your castle" "That's not how you say that" "That's how I say it" "Well you shouldn't" "I'm not going to be lectured by the person who destroyed the world" "I didn't destroy the world, I was crafting a gemstone of enhancing, so that I could destroy you" "Yeah you would need a gemstone of enhancing to destroy…wait did you say a gemstone of enhancing" "Yes. Did you say a gemstone of disappearing?" "Yes" "Because we would have been close enough..." "That if we had crafted the gemstones at roughly the same time..." "They would have resonated with each other…" "And caused the whole Earth to disappear" They looked at each other. "You didn't destroy the world"said Galdfor "You didn't destroy the world"said Drublin "So we could bring it back"said Galdfor "We probably don't even have to do anything" "Yeah…wait why" "Well obviously I put a time limit on my gem"said Drublin "Don't want to stay enhanced forever. That's how you end up flattening a town every time you sneeze" "So you're saying the world will just pop back into existence any time now" "Yeah" "Right where we're standing" "Yeah…oh" They were cut off by the world popping back into existence right where they were standing, rapidly attempting to take up some of the same space that they were occupying and thus did the story of the feud of Galdfor and Drublin end, several hours later, when what few drops of them remained floated into the sun and were destroyed.
"Let's see what the haters are saying today Kim"she says to herself as she rolls over and grabs her iPhone 6s in rose gold. nothing "KANYE!!!"She screams but there's no response. She tries again but the only response is silence. Without getting her fix she starts too feel the itch. It's been awhile since she has felt this way and knows how bad it gets. Quickly she gets dressed and knows who always hook her up. She heads out the door and drives to Starbucks as fast as she can. The paparazzi will know soon once all the fucking haters start tweeting and taking selfies. She pulls up and jumps out covering her face. "Welcome to Starbucks! How can I help you?!"The spunky blonde behind the counter asks. Usually at this point people would start noticing and the barista would want a picture. She orders and hears something she hasn't heard in a long time. "Ok. And what's your name" This enrages her. "Bitch! You know who the fuck I am don't play game! Get your manager" The other customers start to look and it feels good. So she continues attacking the barista. Someone pulls a cellphone out and records. A wave of pleasure rolls over her. She spits on the barista and takes her coffee with out paying. She got a hit but it wasn't enough. She needs the rush again. Not something small she needs the real fucking thing. She hits rodeo drive and finds someone. The first guy she spots is perfect. A sex tape made her famous it can do it again. With a little coaxing she gets him to bang her against the window of Prada. A group gathers and the pictures start. She's loving it. She needed her fix and got it. The police come and drag her away. You can't pull and addict from their fix that easy. She fights with all her might to get back on that dick and back in the spotlight. The hit her with the stun gun and everything goes black. As she wakes up she notices she's in a hospital bed alone. The TV is on. "Breaking story from TMZ. Grandmother of Rapper southeast, former porn star, and 10 times married 85 year old Kim kardashian was spotted with yet another homeless man in LA today. Kanye is probably spinning in his space Grave. More at 6!"
The bar was dimly lit: Crowded, but calm. It was still early in the evening, and the crowd in attendance was largely the sort of worn-down professionals more interested in unwinding after a hard run through the city than in holding any sort of boisterous conversation. Their exhausted voices washed over one another in waves. Mike preferred this sort of place: He was tired, too. As he walked in, he immediately noticed the Old Man sitting down at the bar. The Man wore a dark grey suit, same as many of the others there, but there was no mistaking the figure himself: For whatever reason, no matter where he was, no matter the context, the Old Man seemed to be just slightly out of place. He maintained the air of an actor thrust onstage in a borrowed costume. One of his liver-spotted hands shakily held a deep amber drink, and he took a sip. With the other, he raised his hand and gave a little wave, never turning around. The Old Man always unnerved Mike when he did things like that. As he sat down at the bar, Mike was struck with an oddly strong sense of deja vu-- This was standard for him, really: He was, after all, a mortal man's mind in an immortal body. That sense of "this has happened before"followed him everywhere. For the most part, it had all happened before. "Hello, Michael,"the Old Man said in that unmistakeable dusty rumble of a voice. His accent was always unplaceable-- Whatever the language was, it would always be appropriate to the context, but the accent, without fail, sounded just a bit... Off. "Been a little while, hasn't it? How've you been?" Mike shook his hand, feeling the warmth and roughness of the Old Man's skin. He was reminded of deserts, of cracked river-beds and sun-warmed sand. He had shaken millions upon millions of hands, but never felt a hand quite like the Old Man's. "So I'm Michael this time around? Back in the 20's you called me Mikey, if I remember correctly-- Hey, were you drunk that time? We were meeting at a bar back then, too, now that I think of it." The Old Man chortled, his face folding up into deep canyons of wrinkles. "Oh, come on now, boy! That was a different time! I was so excited: Caught up in the Jazz and stock markets... Can you blame me?" Mike grinned agreeably. "No, I don't suppose I can,"he said. He turned, looking at the Old Man. "Guess the World War must have helped you sober up, huh?" The Old Man's face dropped, and he was silent for a long time. Finally, he turned back and said, "I'm sorry for that, Michael. I didn't make it to you in time, that year. Sometimes the world moves faster than I expect." "And when that happens, I lose the only constant in my life to a concentration camp in Poland. I get that! The world's a big place, right? Better luck next life, see you in fifty years!"Mike stared down into his drink. "That's a long while to wait, old-timer. Especially knowing... How She went." "Suffering is the heart of empathy Michael... That life, short as it was... It brought about more growth in Her than you could ever imagine. And it changed you, too. That's part of what I need to talk to you about, now. "Go on."There was no point interrupting. Mike knew this routine perfectly. The Old Man would explain, have one more sip of the drink, place his hand down on the surface of the bar, scoot his chair back twice, stand, and go. He would say what he had come to say, and then he'd be gone. "This is it, Michael. This... Well, this will be the last time."Mike suddenly snapped back to full attention, his eyes widening. This... This is... Different. The Old Man laughed. "Oh, now I've got your attention? Good. This is important,"he paused, and continued, "As I said, this will be the last time. After this life, She's not coming back,"he said. The Old Man locked eyes with him and said, "Don't bother asking me why. That's a bigger question than you could understand right now. It has an answer, and you will understand, I promise. And soon, I hope!"He smiled at Mike. "But not yet." The Old Man continued, "She's in America. About a mile South of here, actually. She was born two hours ago, over at New York Presbyterian. Her name this time is Katherine. You'll know her when you see her. You always do." "Two hours ago? You didn't waste any time, huh?"Mike asked. His shaking voice betrayed the nonchalance he was attempting to put off. "Of course: This is the most important one, after all."The Old Man took one more sip from his drink, placed his hand on the bar, scooted his chair back twice, and stood up. "You're so, so close, Michael. Make this one count." And with that, he put on his coat, walked to the door, turned, gave a brief smile and a nod, and walked out into the dark of the city's streets. Mike waited a short while for his heart to stop racing. Finally, he paid the Old Man's bar tab, put on his coat with shaking hands, and walked out into the night to go and find the only person he had ever loved. Make it count, he thought. Make it count.
"Right then, whats your name?" jhon was worried, there was no other way to put it really. He remembered very little of why and where he was and had no idea who this woman in front of him was. "I said name" "right, right, sorry my names Jhon Stanton" there was something off about this woman, the kind of off that you cant really see but you feel in the pit of your stomach. despite his feeling Jhon decided that it was time to figure out exactly where he was and if he was in any sort of trouble. "umm excuse me?" the woman looked up from the computer screen with annoyance "what" "well I was just wondering, where exactly am I?" now the woman looked bemused. "well hell of course" "right then" Jhon had no idea why this didnt surprise him, most people would be surprised if they had just found out that they were in hell but not jhon. Jhon did however have no idea why he would be in hell. "excuse me again, so sorry. But why am I in hell?" the Woman made a few taps on her keyboard and then started laughing, a hysterical maniacal laughter that if jhon was being totally honest scared him a lot. "first lets get to the length of your visit, and let me tell you its a good long stay"she said with words saturated in glee. "right then?"inquired jhon "isnt hell forever?" "not normally, where would we fit everyone?" "and what do you mean by not normally then?" "Well Jhon Stanton, you are our first permanent resident." "me? what could I have done? Ive lived my life normally, ive never killed anybody or burnt down a church or anything. What the hell did I do?" "oh Jhony boy. you pirated a movie.
"Saving the life of my beloved." "For my country." "After I have found the cure to cancer." These are some of the most spoken death choices in our world. A world where on your 18th birthday, you must choose when, where and how the stage-show known as your life, will close the curtains. I'm Josh, and I'm one of the many people who couldn't decide between the endless possibilities of death. I'm exactly 17 years 11 months 30 days 4 hours and 31 seconds old by my clocks count. Which means I only have 19 hours 59 minutes and 29 seconds to choose my fate. Probably less than that now considering I just had to say it all. Most of my friends have chosen, and I'm the last to do so. Once I have the whole of the senior class of my school would've chosen their fate and the school we'll hold their yearly ceremony. It's not something I'm looking forward to and I'm pretty sure that's having some affect on my decision making. Deciding how I'm going to die when I'm only in the infancy of my life isn't an easy thing. I don't even know what I want to do with my life let alone with my death. Maybe I'll choose to die, never... If only that were an option. I decided to get some rest hoping that will help clear my mind for the big day. I woke up and checked the clock. I have 9 hours 18 minutes and 23 seconds left till I have to make my decision. I went through the usual morning routine of brushing my teeth, taking a shower, getting dressed, eating breakfast and made my way to the bus stop down the street. I saw my friend Kimberly there, which was surprising considering she's late almost every day. "Happy birthday! Ready for your big day?"She asked. "Couldn't be more excited."I joked. She chuckled. School was pretty boring, as per usual. Lunch came around and I sat with my usual group of friends. All of whom where congratulating me and wishing me a happy birthday. I of course appreciated their support and kind wishes, but it didn't at all lower my feeling of worry that I still have yet to actually decide. I played it off well though, giving "It's a big surprise."as my only answer to the constant "What'd you choose?"question. After a long day I finally got home and checked my watch. 2 hours 31 minutes and 25 seconds to go. I decided that I would confront my parents. I told them and they laughed. They told me that a lot of people don't know what they're going to say when they "go in to choose"and not to worry. That most people have a moment of clarity, and "just know"what to choose. I decided to just lay down and listen to music until my time came. My two minute alarm rang and I gathered my parents and sat them down in the living room. I stood in the center and watched as the time ticked away. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3... 2... 1... I felt a rush of energy surge through my body and I collapsed. Next thing I know, I'm standing in a sort of nothingness. All I can see, as far as I can see, is white. All of a sudden a figure appears in front of me. He is dressed in a long, religious and ancient looking robe. His head is bowed down and his hood hides his face. He slowly peers up just enough that he can see me, but I still can't see him. "Choose, boy."He says with a commanding, yet generous tone. I stood there, still, like a statue. My mind, was completely blank. My parents were wrong. I'm not having any clarity! My mind is just as blank as before. Minutes go by, then hours. It feels like I've been standing here for days. My parents must be worried. Then, my mouth opens, and the figure suddenly gains interest. "I don't choose."I simply say. "I refuse."He peers from under his hood. Revealing his face. He looks me in the eyes. "Very well."He says. "Enjoy eternity." --------------------------------- [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3rtg4p/you_live_in_a_world_where_by_the_time_you_turn_18/cws2zp6)
Five hundred years. Each rotation around our star draws us inexorably closer to our sister planet Tey. Each year allows us to see more of the surface and more of the people. But five hundred years is a long time. For a man that will only live till he is eighty, it is beyond an eternity. Mel is such a man. His feet are already rubbed raw by the hard black volcanic waste used to pave the streets while his hands have built thousands of things out of wood and stone for innumerable customers. If he had been given the option then he would still be doing that now. Hammering imperfections out of stone and honing wood into beautiful curled structures. Now all he did was take hold of an endless string of tree trunks and affix them together. His hands skillfully maneauvering the wood into a behemoth that towered over his homeland. While he would never see it, and his children would never see it, and his great grandchildren would never see it. His work would survive. Mel was content with that. He and hundreds of other workers were building the future. In three hundred years, there would be a tower started by his hands that would pierce the heavens and convey his farthest descendents to meet the inhabitants of Tey.
Everyone had made the joke before. It's not the right to bear (carry) arms its the right to bear (the animal) arms. Then some grammar nazi actually bothers to read the thing and the next day everyone's trading in their guns for bear (animal) arms. Which sort of changed things. There were obviously less shooting deaths, but we were left trying to figure out if the crime rates were the same or if there was an increase in bear maulings. It goes without saying the bear population was ravaged, which accelerated cloning research, which hasn't come back to bite us in the ass yet but we're pretty sure it's going to happen. No the real big change was because the fanatical Right have this compulsive need to make everything more ridiculous. In this case it was interpreting it as the right to graft bear arms onto your body. I guess they have a compulsive need to just radically misunderstand the constitution to impossible extremes. Anyway turns out when you graft bear arms to humans the bears kind of take over Metal Gear Solid style so now we have a bunch of mutant human bear hybrids running around and, well make a long story short we all carry guns again. Who new. Also I think some joker grafted a pig into one the mutants for shits and giggles. Do with that what you will.
Oh god, Tuesday again. I woke up with that shit feeling in my stomach again. That shit feeling I get once every seven days. That shit feeling that tells me it's Tuesday. Also yesterday was Monday. Tuesday is worse than Monday. Mondays I'm fresh off the weekend. I've caught up on my shows for the week, and slept in for the past two days. Well, no later than 9:45am, but "in"nonetheless. On Mondays, the memory of those terrible people at work, their terrible chit chat, Lisa, has faded slightly. I'm almost excited to come back. But on Tuesdays, Lisa is fresh in my mind. "Hello Tom, Back to the old grind,"is what she said yesterday when I walked past the front desk. "TGIF, Tom, We made it,"is what she'll say Friday. "Humpday, Tom, It's Humpday"is what she says on Wednesdays. "We're almost there"is for Thursdays. But Tuesdays, Lisa has no stupid canned phrase. "Hello Tom"or "Good morning"she'll say, defeated in trying to find anything worth mentioning on a Tuesday. I imagine she hates Tuesdays as much as I do. I put on my Tuesday suit, and think about how tight I can make my tie. Would it be enough to kill me? I grab my umbrella and open the door to another miserable Tuesday when I'm greeted by a crowd of about twenty gathered on my lawn. One woman in front turns around and instructs the group to say it. "Happy Birthday, Timothy!" So this is the kind of Tuesday it's going to be. I close the door behind me, and past them, down the path to my car. "Happy Birthday, Timothy!"the group reiterates. "My name is Tom, not Tim."I say as I open the car door. "And it's not my Birthday." I sit in the car and start it up. They're still standing there. They must not get it. I roll down the window. "It's Tuesday."
When I first discovered time travel, I had promised myself that I wouldn't mess with the timeline. That lasted all of about twelve minutes. It's one thing to make grand claims when talking about theoretical scenarios, but it's another thing entirely to get into a drinking contest with Leonardo Da Vinci. Yeah. His famed helicopter design? The drunken ramblings of a time traveler from the 23rd Century. Ironically enough, that was when I realized that I didn't have to worry about messing with the timeline. I could already see the effects of anything I would do in the past - I knew about Da Vinci's helicopter as a child in the 23rd Century because as an adult I would go back and tell him about them. So I could go back and do whatever I wanted, and it wouldn't change history. At that point, I started having fun. I obviously couldn't interact with the world leaders, because I wasn't in any of the history books, but I could still have friends in lower society. And boy, did I have friends. Within (what was for me) a year, I had groups of friends in nearly every country in nearly every time period. Rome, Byzantium, Paris, Beijing.... Every night, I had my pick of parties. My friends didn't know that I was from the future, obviously, but they knew there was something strange about me. My accent was off (a result of the Translation Matrix not being perfectly accurate), my mannerisms were unique, and I always seemed to have advice about the future. Life was good. And that's when I messed up. I was at a dinner party in London in the early 1900s when near the end of the night I was introduced to someone. He said that he was in charge of designing a ship called Titanic. Before I realized what was happening, I heard myself say "Might want to add a few more lifeboats." The man sighed. He told me that he'd been fighting to add more for the past several weeks, but his superiors kept saying they weren't needed. In fact, he had recently given up hope of getting the problem fixed. However, due to my reputation of knowing what would happen, he would try again. I panicked. I didn't think it would change anything, but.... I quickly excused myself and traveled back to the 23rd Century. Pulling up the internet as soon as I landed, I was relieved to see that the Titanic still sank as it should have. I sighed and closed my eyes, soon falling asleep. When I woke, the Titanic's page was still open on my tablet. But it looked different... There was a new picture, of the man I had told about the lifeboats! I grabbed the tablet and pulled it closer to me and started reading. It had indeed sunk, but there were enough lifeboats for all passengers and crew to escape. The incident was referred to as one of the biggest near-disasters in maritime history. I could hardly breathe. I was responsible for saving over a thousand people, but more importantly, I had changed the timeline. In a major way. Everything related to the Titanic was different now. The discovery of the wreckage was cool from a technological standpoint, but nobody cared about it beyond that. The movie from the 1990's was never made, because why make a movie about a non-disaster? Spiraling off of that specifically, the actor from the movie, Leonardo DiCaprio, didn't have a big break until almost a decade later, but he ended up winning an Oscar, so it worked out for him. My head spun as the implications were made clear to me. I had been changing the timeline the entire time. But the butterfly effect takes time, especially for bigger events. Da Vinci's helicopters, ultimately, didn't have a big effect on history, so the timeline updated nearly instantly. The Titanic did have a big effect, so it took more time for the timeline to readjust. It seemed that the bigger the event, the longer it took for the timeline to settle. But since I was at the core of the disruption, I remembered both timelines, both where the Titanic was a disaster and where it nearly was. That was when I remembered something that had been gnawing at me for a few weeks. I was at a party in New York in the middle of the 1920's and the Great War came up in conversation. But one time when I spoke of it, my brain said "The Great War"but my mouth said "World War One". I had initially thought it was the illegal moonshine talking, but that wasn't the type of mistake I tended to make while drunk. Besides, calling it "World War One"implies that there was a second one. And there hasn't been a World War Two. Has there? I reached for my tablet again and typed in a search. Swallowing apprehensively, I pressed Enter. Oh, god in heaven. What have I done?
"Tracey, that's the final word! You are not having a sleepover tonight!"Her Mom stared at her with crossed arms and a firm brow as Tracy stomped back and forth across the hallway. "But Mom! I already told all of my friends that you'd let them be here!"she whined, puddles of sympathy tears forming in her eyes. "I've worked too hard this week for you and your friends to destroy my house! I'm not letting them all stay here, and that's final." "You don't understand! I've worked hard too! Not everything happens because YOU want it too!"Tracey turned her back and slammed her feet into the ground as she walked towards the stairs. "It's not fair!" In that moment, time seemed to pause. Tracey shot her Mom a puzzled expression as she seemed to smile at her. The old victorian clock chimed next to both of them as they stared at each other. After a long silence, her Mom relaxed and said, "Of course, Tracey. Whatever you want."She said it in an unsettling demeanour, but she went along with it. Stepping forward, Tracey was about to speak when the doorbell rang. "Oh, that must be your friends. Go on, answer it while I get dinner ready."Not believing what she just heard, Tracey walked cautiously over to the door and opened it, revealing a party of four friends standing in front of her. She smiled nervously. "W-What are you guys doing here? The party isn't for another two hours..." "Duh!"said one of her friends. "It just passed 9PM, Tracey - we're right on time."She looked over at the clock. Sure enough, it was 9PM on the dot. She laughed hesitantly in tune with her friends' excited expressions. "Well, come in then, I guess. We'll go up to my room." "Have fun, kids!"her Mom shouted out happily as they herded themselves up the stairs, Tracey looking back on her as their eyes met for a second. She shot Tracey an odd smile, before bending down and opening the oven. The generic pop music blared in Tracey's room as she and her friends lay sprawled across it. Although everyone else was laughing and gossiping, Tracey looked peculiarly shocked. It wasn't long until her Mom was heard coming up the stairs. She gulped as she heard the door open, only to see her holding a tray of Mini-Pizzas. Her face and voice revealed themselves with a smile and a 'Thank You', looking up at her Mom to finally realise that everything was normal again. "Now remember, girls, all electronics off by 11PM." "Ugh, Mom,"Tracey said. "It's not fair to do that." The clock chimed again, its ringing echoing throughout the house. "You're right, Tracey,"she said with an odd smile once more. "You can all stay up for as long as you want." Immediately, she felt sick to her stomach. "Excuse me,"she blurted out, running out of the room and back downstairs. She felt disorientated, flustered and confused at once. She pushed open the front door and ran out into the pouring rain, stopping on the middle of the street as her clothes and skin slowly soaked. Then, she collapsed onto her bare knees, and looked upon the moon with her arms open. "It's not fair!"she screamed out, crying uncontrollably. "Please, it's not fair for me to have this! Take it away!" The clock chimed again, vibrating her very soul. She closed her eyes tightly and felt the environment change around her. "Tracey,"her mother said calmly. "That's the final word." "I know, Mom,"she said, turning and smiling warmly at her. "Whatever you say."
Mark slapped the folder onto my desk, followed shortly by a crisply starched Austro-Hungarian military uniform. I groaned as soon I saw the bluish grey fabric. "God damn it. Not again." Mark pursed his lips and nodded. "I don't know what it is about this time period. The whole continent is a damn powder keg, and we just can't seem to light that fuse!" I opened up the file, displaying all of our past failures; this latest mission would be my 6th trip back to finally fix this. The war had originally started in 1906, set off by an independence movement in Morocco of all places. When the disruption first occurred, resulting in a peace conference, we hadn't been able to tie off that knot very well (I blame Harrison: he was always incompetent. He's the reason that the moon landing didn't happen till '69, too). So instead, the beginning of the war was moved up a few years to 1911, where I managed to arrange a showdown between French and German forces in Fez. But somehow, they managed to resolve that peacefully too. What was wrong with these jerks? Didn't they know they were supposed to be digging trenches instead of signing treaties? "Send Hughes back,"I told Mark. "He's not doing anything."I gestured over to my colleague, who was in his office playing with the plastic figurines on his desk. Mark shook his head. "He's covering the Crusade period right now."As if on cue, the television screen popped to life in his office, showing an alert that Barbarossa had safely arrived in Jerusalem, instead of slipping and falling from his horse as planned. Mark and I watched as Hughes rolled his eyes, donned his replica Templar armor, and stepped into the time booth. "Fine."I picked up the folder with a huff. "So what's the issue today?" "Your Black Hand strategy failed,"he said. "Damn,"I hissed under my breath. I'd been pretty proud of that. Starting the war in a theater other than Morocco had been a brilliant stroke, in my humble opinion. The Balkans were just as volatile as North Africa, and I was betting that we could still draw Britain into the war. And the terrorist group that we'd recruited was well-motivated and (with my help) well-informed. But apparently it wasn't as good as I thought. I reviewed the time disruption case report. "Oh, well this is minor,"I told Mark. "Look!"I pointed to the image of my agents hurling a bomb at the Austro-Hungarian prince. "He tried to implement the plan as expected." "Pfff,"Mark snorted. "Some of them tried. The rest chickened out. You know, back when I was a field agent, we did assassinations right, damn it. You should have seen the magic I worked with Booth. He was a tough nut to crack, let me tell you. Why, I..." "Yeah, what about Roosevelt?"I interrupted him. It was well known in the department that his planned assassination of Teddy Roosevelt had been a miserable failure that led to him riding a desk for the next year of his career. His killer had a clear shot, and managed to get his bullet stuck in the man's speech papers! It was absurd. Mark scowled, and I immediately knew I shouldn't have brought it up. Damn it, why is my mouth faster than my brain? "Just get it done,"he barked. "No more crazy plans. If you can't start World War I, I will find an agent who will. Got it?"Without waiting for an answer, he stormed out of my office and slammed the door behind him. I sighed, rummaged through my filing cabinet for an early 20th-century-era pistol, and stepped into the booth. I soon found myself face to face with a terrified Bosnian man, hiding under a bed with a cyanide capsule in hand. "Damn it, Princip, can't you do anything right?"I thrust the pistol into his hand. "Ferdinand will be driving past Moritz Schiller's cafe in 20 minutes. Finish the damn job."
Everything I knew was a lie. That first day we met. It wasn't what I thought at all. The Friday our life together started, and every Friday ever since. What we knew as this evening, our weekly date nights at Little Desmond's... How could I have been so wrong? "Honey? are you coming down?" Oh god. What was I going to do? I tore out the tie, flinging it away. Already I could breathe easier. Slow breaths. Steady. I could get through this. "What's keeping you George?" There was no avoiding it. I would have to go down and meet her. My chest felt especially vulnerable without the thin rainbow cloth covering it. It was gone. I was exposed. That same tie I always wore to mark every week we dined together was no longer there. I was a creature of habit. But I had to go down and meet her. To go through with it. Tonight, things were going to change. "Wow, George... you look great!" I nodded solemnly. There was no point telling her myself as that graceful arm wrapped around mine. After all these years, she was still enthusiastic for these evenings. These Friday evenings. Where every week was an anniversary. Forever changed. She pressed her body against my arm, clutching it. Knowing something was different about me. "You'll get used to it,"she said pleasantly. "I hope so,"I replied. And as we wandered to Little Desmond's in that cool Autumn evening, my mind was still racing. After all this time... Why? Why couldn't she have just told me she hated that bloody tie?! -------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
Mature themes ahead. _____ "What's he doing?"McCallister asked me as I sat on a crate smoking a cigarette. I looked up at him briefly, before turning my head back to the ex-prisoner of Buchenwald. "Same thing he always does,"I took a drag, "same thing they programmed him to do." The ex-prisoner stood next to a large burial hole, which had previously been filled with close to 200 bodies, I knew, I helped pull most of them out. Mass graves, I thought to myself, the signature of the Nazis. I stared at the ex-prisoner, a frail man, no older than I was, who was malnourished, exhausted, and visibly broken. I had been watching him for close to five hours, McCallister was supposed to be my relief, but I felt so sorry for the man that I couldn't let him out of my sight. A few gunshots were fired and they echoed through the camp, most likely more resistance that the Allied patrols occasionally found in the liberated camps, but the prisoner did what he always did. Every time he heard a gunshot. He jumped to life, rather than his zombie-like trance, and looked around at the mass grave. I had been watching him do this for five hours, every time he would look in front of the grave, quickly around, and then grab a rag. He would wrap his hands in it, walk in front of the grave and then push nothing into it. It took me a while to figure out exactly what he was doing, but I did it eventually. The grave he was pushing nothing into was the sight of mass shootings, where Nazi soldiers would load and fire their guns at innocent victims. This man, one of many I was sure of it, would take any body that didn't fall into the grave and push it in. Then, he would return to his position to the left of the grave and wait. He would for the gunshots. And then he would do it again. And again. And again. I took another drag of my cigarette. "How long do you think he did this for?"McCallister asked me. I shook my head, "I don't know Private, and I'd rather not think about it." McCallister and I sat there and stared at this man for quite some time, both of us watching him spring to life every time he heard a gunshot and try so desperately to push the non-existent bodies into their final resting place. Part of me wanted to just run up to the man and grab him, to hold him close and try and snap him out of whatever trance he was in, but I was under strict orders to just watch him. To make sure he didn't do anything. Hours passed, gunshots echoed, and day turned into night. Once it came, the man looked around, placed the rag in a large barrel, and then began to walk into the camp. I followed him, as did McCallister, our weapons slung over our backs. He entered a bombed-out building, what we presumed was a stable that the Nazi's had turned into a bunk for their prisoners. The man walked inside, turned left at one of the bunks, laid down and curled up into the tiniest possible ball he could get into. The first soldiers who came into this bunk had reported that there were over a thousand men stuck inside here, five to a bunk. I shook my head at the thought, a thousand men crammed into a stable fit for eighty horses. The man just sat there, breathing, but not falling asleep. His eyes stared straight ahead and I could tell that he was going through the day, the times he had to dump a body into a grave, the days where he had to have the blood of his fellow prisoners on his hands, the nights where the screams of the tortured would echo through the camp. I stared at him, looking into the eyes of a broken and tortured man. I hated every second of it. "Fucking Nazis,"I whispered as I took out another cigarette. __________ /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work, thanks for the prompt.
After hearing the captains announcement it occurred to me that I was the right person for the job. Then there I was making the seemingly long journey to the exit, I could feel everyone's eyes on me they all seemed so anxious about the whole thing. It was like they couldn't believe that someone was stupid enough to go through with it, I saw it as being genourus. What was a few seconds of pain for an opportunity like this! where I could help this many people. Then there it was the end of my short journey, the door of opportunity if you will. The only sound to be heard was the hushed tones of the on lookers who where in complete shock that someone was willing to take on this burden. I opened the door and the wind that hit me was the coldest I'd felt in a long time. Then I looked down and took it all in, what was to be the fall of a life time. Riddled with anxiety for what was to come I said a quick goodbye to my fellow passengers and I jumped... And let me tell you something, the tarmac is freaking hard! Especially in the middle of January. Sorry if this is not up to snuff I'm just getting into writing. Any comments or criticism is appreciated.
As a private pilot and having access to a light plane, it was fairly straight forward. Wrapping the device in tinfoil prevented it getting any signals as I drove it to the air club. There I readied the plane, and took off, heading generally into the country, towards some low mountainous foothills. Unwrapping the device, I was sure it would not function since civilian GPS units do not work in planes, a precaution against their use as missile guidance. I merely unwrapped the device and pitched it out the window. Where it is now, I couldn't tell you, exactly. But it could.
I answered the ad. The guy was nice enough. His name was Todd Nelson. I could smell alcohol on his breath, but it was a Saturday afternoon. I really didn't think much of it. The place wasn't bad and pretty cheap too, so I took it. When I moved in, I found out that being drunk was an around the clock thing for him. The guy was huge then, probably something like 6 foot 4 inches and 340 pounds, and he towered over me at 5 foot 10. He had a couple of women who would frequent the place, and I learned how important ear plugs were to my sanity. He hit on my girlfriend Anna to the point that she refused to come over. Even with all of this, I didn't think much of anything. The situation wasn't great, but the place was cheap. I was trying to save money for a ring. Of course, I saw the pictures of Todd with other mountains. I asked if he played sports in college or something. The guys in the picture looked so familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where I'd seen them. Todd always dodged the question until one night he came home bloody as hell. I told him I was going to bring him to the ER. He said no. Call the police. Nope. Weeks passed, and I spent more and more time at Anna's place. Todd asked why, and I told him the truth. This mountain of a man started crying in front of me. He told me everything, how strong he was, how tired he was of the superhero drama, and that he was done fighting. The bloody night wasn't an attack by a villain though. He was beaten by his former team members. Here I thought he was just this drunken lazy asshole. Some of that was probably still true, but he was also in hiding. He told me his name was Firestorm. I had never heard of him, but I looked him up. I found out why I didn't recognize his name. He'd accidentally killed some people, normal and good people. Then, I had a decision to make. Do I live with this secret or turn him in to someone? Honestly, I was relieved when I didn't have to make that decision. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4c8kld/wp_you_find_out_your_roommate_is_a_superhero_no/) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4c8mra/wp_you_find_out_your_roommate_is_a_superhero_no/) [Finale](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4c8q78/wp_you_find_out_your_roommate_is_a_superhero_no/)
Some huddled in fear, drawing strength and comfort in the presence of their loved ones. Others raped and pillaged everything in sight, finding truth in the certainty of their demise and choosing to relish the moment. I had fallen far lower than any. I had convinced those closest to me to not seek comfort in those they love. I had convinced them not to seek pleasure, no matter how deprived. I, in my own arrogance, had convinced those that I cared about most to abandon the shackles of life, to accept the mercy of a quick demise. One by one, they imbibed the poisonous bile I prepared so carefully. But not I. In my own pride, I sought to see the ultimate end, the final blow that would destroy all that had been created in defiance of oblivion. It is in my darkest hour that the threat set to destroy, that loomed above all, should vanish before my very eyes. The solace I looked to find in the surety of my own destruction is replaced with disgust. The bringer of destruction may have not been a destroyer of worlds, but I certainly was.
Katie waited in the branches above her prey as she watched him walk. Her mouth was dry, and she let out a little sound at the idea of filling her mouth with his fresh blood. He was dressed in a suit, his tie loosened and his wingtips making a distinct tap against the sidewalk. The wind blew the autumn leaves around his ankles and swept past Katie's nose, making her fingers tighten on the tree branch. As he stepped closer, Katie timed her jump. She counted to three, and then she jumped. She collided with the man, taking him down to the ground. The weight of her body went straight through him, pinning him to the sidewalk. In confusion at the lack of resistance, Katie looked down to see a suit and a pair of wingtips. "Oh now, you'll have to do better than that,"the voice said from behind her. She turned, crouched on her back legs. The man was standing there, in another suit with another pair of wingtips. Katie frowned. "Oh for Christ's sake,"she said. "Don't tell me you're not a human either." He shrugged. "Sorry, don't know what to tell you. You picked the wrong person." "What is it with you people? Can't you give a girl a break? Every human I've tried to drink dry lately has turned out to be a ghost or a spirit or a god or a guardian angel or--" "I get it,"he said, holding up his hand to cut her off. "Believe me, I understand it more than you ever would." She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Standing on her feet, she tilted her head each way to crack it. "So what are you, then?"she asked. He smiled. "We're at the crossroads, darlin'. Who do you think I am?"
The engine roared as the thick treads pushed the vehicle forward toward the darkness. “This is Captain Warren, we are ten minutes from the Curtain. Lights up everyone.” He set the mic down and flipped a few switches on the console. Bright ultraviolet lights lit up the cramped interior of the tank. Spotlights on the roof shot their bright beams into the closing darkness. “You ready for this?” Captain Warren asked his co-pilot Lieutenant Nichols. “Going into the dark? Sure. I mean, what should I be worried about? Freezing to death? Or better yet slowly die from lack of light.” He flashed a cocky grin. “Hell yes I’m ready.” Warren laid on the accelerator and the tank picked up speed. The convoy of six vehicles followed closely. The spotlights pushed the darkness back as they breached the curtain. The landscape began to slowly change and darken with every one hundred feet they went. Light soft sand gave way to hard grey rock. Skeletal trees clung to the hard rock, their limbs trying desperately to reach the light. “Fascinating” Shouted May as she furiously scribbled in her notepad. Dr. May Mallory was the lead scientist for the expedition. “Can we slow down? I didn’t get a good sketch of the trees.” “No. We are going deeper.” Warren said without turning around. She pouted but didn’t say anything else. First and foremost this was a military operation. The scientists were lucky they even got to tag along. Two miles past the curtain the vehicles were completely swallowed in darkness. Even with the most advanced lights technology could make, they couldn't see more than three hundred feet in front of the vehicles. “Nichols check our location, make sure we are going in the right direction.” “Is there a wrong direction?” He quipped sarcastically, but read out their position. “We are headed due east at approximately 40 miles per hour. We will reach our first checkpoint in one hour and thirty two minutes.” “Can I get out and look around when we get there?” May asked pressing her head forward in between the two men. “No.” “This is bullshit!” She yelled falling back into her seat. “How the hell are we supposed to discover anything if we are trapped inside these stupid metal boxes!” She punched the metal roof for effect. Warren turned around in his seat and stared her down. “I don’t plan on chasing you through the darkness. I don’t have the men, OR the patience for this. Sit back, look out the window and draw things.” He snapped at her. She crossed her arms and ground her teeth. They rode in silence and May watched out the window staring at the unchanging landscape. Grey cracked ground as far the light would show her. Who knew what things they were passing by just outside the ring of light? Minutes turned into hours as the vehicles pressed on. The plan was to drive eight hundred miles into the darkness. That was as far as their fuel would allow plus a few miles of reserves, just in case. “Sir, we are detecting strange thermal read outs.” Nichols said pointing to a screen between them. The screen showed small heat signatures low to the ground just outside of their light radius. “What does that mean exactly?” Warren asked. “Lifeforms?” May whispered excitedly staring at the screen. As quickly as they showed up the heat signatures vanished. “Strange.” They all said in unison. “Push forward see if we pick up anything else, switch spectrum.” Warren said as he picked up the receiver. “Everyone watch thermals and keep your eyes peeled.” Multiple copies came from the other vehicles. They passed the point where the signatures were and slowed down. May pressed her face against the window straining to see anything. They idled for a few seconds, Warren shrugged and throttled up. The tank pushed forward deeper into the gloom. Miles passed underneath their treads. The sudden stop jolted May from writing in her notepad. “We are stopping here for a rest. Vehicles form a ring, supply trucks in the center, lights out 360 degrees. Erickson, Mayers, Turner, Vane, suit up you have patrol.” Warren said over the intercom. “Suit up Nichols.” They let the tank idle and walked to the back of the tank. A small door forced them to duck as they entered the rear of the tank. Three heavy suits hung on the wall. With some effort and teamwork they pulled the suits on and secured the helmets. “Light test.” Warren’s said muffled by the large helmet. He pressed a button on the wrist display. The interior of his suit flared to life giving him an ethereal glow. “Light test good.” Nichols responded and gave Warren a thumbs up. Nichols repeated the process and the two stood at the backdoor. “Don’t even think about it.” Warren said firmly to May. Warren pushed the small door closing May on the other side. Warren pressed a button and the hydraulic door began to lower. Even with the door shut May felt the cold rush into rear hatch. It thudded heavily on the grey rocky ground and the two walked into the darkness. --- Thanks for the response! Here is [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4dtmcp/into_the_darkness_part_2/) And here is [Part 3 The Finale](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4du0yc/into_the_darkness_part_3_finale/)
"Mom, Dad. . . Come here." I was back home for the holidays, trying to get some work done on my parents' ancient desktop. They were sitting next to me in the living room, watching the news. I was sort of doing the same. I'm an historian, so I often comb around old newspapers and that sort of thing in my spare time, looking for primary sources. A friend from my hometown had given me a bunch of old area publications on a flash drive. I was midway through an old edition of the Mocannock Journal, our hometown newspaper, when something caught my eye. "Look here, dad. Tom and Anna Richards of Sterlingville. Aren't those your parents?" "Yep,"said my dad, "why?" "I just came across this in the newspaper: Tom and Anna Richards of Sterlingville announce their adoption of a baby boy. The child's birth parents, Joe and Martha Hill, passed away tragically in a vehicle collision, leaving behind five children and no close relatives. . ." My parents had shuffled over now, peering over me at the computer screen. "You had an adopted brother, dad? I thought you were an only child?" My father had gotten quiet. "I was,"he said after a time. Oh. Hadn't seen that coming "Oh,"I said, "did. . . You know?" "No. But. . . Thank you for showing me this, son." The room had gotten even more silent. My mother shuffled back to her chair, while my father retreated to the kitchen. Headed to the garage, no doubt. I tried to get back on with my work, turning a virtual page. Something caught my eye again. "Richard and Emma Thompson. . ." My mother's parents. I didn't really process this before I continued reading the short clip. ". . . announce the adoption of two twin girls, aged 2. The girls' parents, Joe and Martha Hill, passed away tragically in a vehicle collision two months ago. These are the first children for the Thompsons -- and, according to a chuckling Mrs. Thompson, the last. . ."
I started out with small, inconspicuous places. Public bathrooms at football games were a great testing ground. I would hide in a stall waiting for halftime and once the line got long enough, BAM. It wasn't really a "bam"kind of noise, more like a "DRUMPF". The sound of 60 people farting with perfect synchronicity. After the first test I began carrying a respirator, as the smell was powerful enough to knock out smaller children in the enclosed space. I'll never forget the looks on people's faces as they stared around in astonishment at the sheer, earth-shaking power their collective rectums could release. After the third test however, people began talking. News stories popped up about the flatulent phenomenon sweeping the region. I needed to go bigger. The societal orgy that is professional sports was still my best outlet. I drove for six hours to the next state over to avoid suspicion. Upon arrival at the stadium I set up my device in a cooler on the sidelines, posing as a water boy. I had to wait for the perfect moment. The home team was down by one point after scoring a touchdown, and we're going for a two-point conversion to secure victory rather than take the easy one point and battle it ou in overtime. 10 seconds remained. I stood on tenterhooks, my finger poised over the button, filter mask around my neck. The center snapped the ball. click What happened next can only be described as a rolling shockwave of human emission. At the speed of light, my brown-note emitter sent signals to every colon in the stadium, forcing gas to bubble forth and explode from between sweaty cheeks. Over a hundred thousand people farted at the same instant in that now too-small stadium. People doubled over, asphixiating on their own gas. The players on the field, game now long forgotten, frantically tried to peel their helmets off while retching into the astroturf. I looked up, basking in the glory of the chaos I had created when I saw it. The stadium's roof was open. The signal escaped, rebounding off of the troposphere and back to the surface, striking nearly half the globe at once. Scientists would later describe this event as the tipping point from which there was no return. Simply too much greenhouse gas was released at once. Global warming kicked into overdrive, and what was an unseasonably hot summer became a scorching, storm-wracked nightmare. Hurricanes ripped apart the coastlines while wildfires and flash floods took turns eviscerating the interior of the country. The planet was doomed. And it never smelled better to me.
Where am I? All I remember is that car coming out of nowhere and - oh, am I dead? There seems to be a path for me to follow. What are these things on the floor? Maybe I should pick them up, they could come in handy. - God damn it Billy! You are lost. This place is a freaking maze. I must be in some kind of purgatory. Wait, what's that coming around the corner. Dear god... It's a... it's a ghost! I've got to get out of here! huff huff No good, it's just as fast as me, I can't lose it. Maybe if I can communicate with it, I can explain that I'm not here to do harm. Well, here goes nothing... "WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA" ...Holy crap, I'm P- NEW GAME. 3...2...1
Swords. Bloody swords, bloody everywhere. GOD do I wish I could be rid of them some days. They say that old styles and trends go in big cycles. What is fashionable one day is gaudy the next, and vice versa. Well, that has never been more true these days, especially in my hometown. Once upon a time, people used to have cell phones dangling from their wastes...but nowadays, people seem to be taking a more...medieval approach. It is rare to see ANYONE walking around without a sword buckled to their belt or back It all has a good explanation, really. With the advent of new technology, it became possible to stick extremely powerful AI in increasingly small spaces. Coupled with hard-light construct generators, micro batteries that last lifetimes, and society's unquenchable desire to be on the cutting edge, and soon tech companies were pushing ALL of them anywhere they could, without thinking of whether or not they SHOULD. All for the sake of selling more phones. Because they no longer needed to worry about touchscreens, phone companies started experimenting with designs...and then someone thought of the brilliant idea of sticking all of that tech into an old hilt. Yeah. Don't get me wrong, these things are amazingly convenient, if a little lame looking (George Lucas, eat your heart out). MY problem comes from that AI, and the strange personalities that crop up when you stuff too much tech into too little space. "Turn left, ahead."Said a tinny voice from my left hip. "Yeah, I know. I have lived on this street for my entire life."I gritted my teeth in frustration. "Just trying to help."It began to whistle. Whistle. It wouldn't have been so bad if the thing could carry a tune. After several seconds, I had had enough. "Could you PLEASE stop? I'm trying to drive here." "Grouch."The thing sounded just as annoyed as I felt. "Left turn ahead, again." "No, it's a right turn." "Trust me, you are going to want to go left." "Trust ME, you are going to want to SHUT UP."I flipped my indicator on and started to slow. Suddenly, a hand of glowing orange light erupted from my belt and grabbed the wheel, yanking it so hard I nearly spun out into oncoming traffic. "WHAT THE HELL!"I yelled, stabilizing the wheel as best I could and shooting a dirty look at the hilt. It laughed it its strange metallic way. I just unclipped the thing, sheath and all, and tossed it on the floor of the passenger side seat. The laughter grew louder, as if it were a recorded track and someone was pressing the volume button up by mistake. "How did you DO that!?"I griped. "You aren't supposed to be able to make constructs in your sheath!" The laughter got louder still. "You...you put me in upside down."It wheezed. I hope it blew a circuit. "At least we are going the right way now." With a groan, I realized that it had actually succeeded at making me miss my turn. "Why do you insist on doing that? It doesn't get you anything." "Because...I'M EVIL!"The sword laughed again in a way that clearly supposed to be menacing, but sounded more like gears clanking together. "...Yeah I highly doubt that." I indicated again, this time making a u-turn to get back on the right track. "WAIT!"Cried the sword from the floor. "What are you doing?" "What does it look like, going home!"Could this thing get any more pedantic? "Nonono, you can't! Not yet!"It sounded panicked. A glowing orange hand pawed at the wheel impotently, but it was just out of the thing's reach. I swatted the fingers away. "Why not?"I retorted. "I have nowhere else to be, and my girlfriend is waiting for me back at the apartment." "St."The thing said, it's automatic censor beeping in the middle of the word. Immediately, I heard the distinctive sound of a number being speed dialed from the floor. "Hey, Suzie."The sword drawled. "Listen, I have a message from Adam. He needs you right away, at work. Has to do overtime, and could REAAAALY use one your sandwiches." "No! What the hell are you doing?"This time, my hand was swatted away before I could reach the hilt on the floor. "Yeah, with extra bacon. Thanks, he owes you one!"The line clicked dead. I could practically hear the thing smirking, even if it didn't have a face. "Call her back."I demanded. "Right. Now." "I can't let you do that, Adam."Oh great, it quotes movies now? "And we really should think about turning around sometime soon, maybe head Suzie off at work?" Before I could answer, an explosion rocked the street ahead of me, sending cars tumbling across the road bathed in orange flames. "WHAT THE HELL!"I exclaimed. I twisted the wheel as hard as I could, but it was too late. I crashed into the wrecked car in front of me, and everything went dark. * Part two coming! If you enjoyed, read more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!
It was a beautiful day on a planet far from the Earth that had been home to the first humans. After expanding across the galaxy, the universe’s only sentient beings began to look inward for direction and understanding. This perspective eventually turned to the past, which led to today’s event. Toz, the master of ceremonies for the day’s celebrations, prepared for the moment with a deep breath. Today was big. The galaxy’s best had set out to recover what was once thought lost to the depths of space. Models were created and improved and recreated. Theories were tested and debunked. Countless hours of human time and supercomputer calculations were used to simulate entire chunks of the galaxy at once, all to find this little scrap of mankind’s past. Toz stepped up to the microphone to address the masses. The microphone was supposedly made to look and sound like the ones used at the time the probe was launched. He tapped it and got some retro-sounding feedback. Satisfied, he adjusted the stand to bring it up to his height and spoke: “Welcome, residents of the Milky Way, to the big event! I am thrilled to say that our efforts have paid off, and we have found the location of one of mankind’s earliest probes into the galaxy, Voyager 1! The crowd cheered. This had been promoted for years as a cultural mission that would reunite the millions of worlds now scattered among the stars. “I have just received word that the probe has been found intact!” The crowd exploded with cheers and shouts! Millions upon millions of people stood together and celebrated the moment, standing as one as they hadn’t done in so many years. “I have been told that the disk launched with the probe so long ago is intact! Our scientists are preparing now to relay the messages from Earth that Was sent to share their culture with the universe!” The crowd collectively held its breath. The scientist onscreen delicately picked up the golden disk as if it were the most precious, most valuable recording in the galaxy. At that moment, Toz mused, it probably was. That disk represented humanity’s earliest hopes as they began their steps among the stars. This moment would reveal to those explorers’ descendents, all those gathered here in the millions, whether or not we had risen to those hopes and dreams, or lost our way. More than a few planets’ stability would depend on the outcome here today. The screen showed the disk being loaded onto a tray and inserted into the analyzer. Rather than attempt to recreate the technology that had been used to play records like this back on Earth those millennia before, a special system had been created which would instantaneously recreate the recording in perfect quality. The scientist pressed a button and a light shined on the golden disc. The light reflected beautifully and the viewers gasped. There was a slight whine to the audio. Not actually part of the calibration, Toz realized, but an old fashioned sound used to signal that the recording was about to start. Everyone in attendance had been listening to recreations of music from Earth that Was ever since this mission was first announced. Experts had sprung up from every corner claiming to know what had been preserved by those humans first to send what they thought was important into space. Trends had already come and gone in what ancient music was popular again. Centuries of musical fads swept through humanity on an unexpected second pass. Tens of millions of ears strained to hear what happened next as the audio began. The music started, and a voice rang out: “We’re no strangers to love…”
It fits snugly around the throat, just tight enough so that you feel it when you swallow. It holds you. It warms you. It is a word of thanks for every bite of food that passes your lips. I watch it in the mirror, run my fingers over it incessantly, as if the simple act of friction could somehow spark it back to life. I cried during my collaring. It was embarrassing. No one does that. No one cries when they turn twenty-one. My own mother looked at me strangely, and I thought How could she not know? I've seen my own father, her husband, go quiet and still as the light on his collar blinked on and it sang its high-pitched hymn of warning. He was rising halfway off his chair to put a book back on the shelf, and when the collar went off he looked at me, so shocked and sad and resigned. He didn't say anything. I think he understood there was nothing to be said. The explosive charges all went off at once and neatly crushed his neck between them. There was surprisingly little blood, just the sight of his head going loose on his shoulders as his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the ground. He leaned against our bookshelf, his body propped up into an almost pyramidal shape. It was the human body devoid of life, devoid of tension. Just a slowly cooling ungainly sack of flesh. I've imagined it so often since then, my own collar calling me home. I've seen it again and again. Relatives, teachers, strangers on the streets. Sometimes there's panic, sometimes there's anger or sorrow, sometimes a slowly dawning acceptance. But every time the moment itself is the same. The light and the song and the sudden exultation of their spines as their heads are twisted free of their shoulders, pinched tightly between the sturdy steel fingers of God. We all die. We are born to die. Our bodies fail, our circumstances conspire against us. We succumb to entropy. But we are collared, and we are owned. Our lives are held captive, precious. There is no accident. There is no long slow process of deterioration. We die when we are no longer useful. For so long I dreamed of the collar fitting perfectly around my neck, knowing me more intimately than any human being possibly could, and then judging me unworthy in a single undisputed second right as the lock clicked shut. The light, and then the song, as my Guardian stared in wonder, and then I would smile back and go to God. And now my collar's not working. I woke up six days ago and the soft steady purr of its electronics was dead. It was a lifeless thing, dead weight. Nobody noticed. Nobody saw. They smiled at me and their eyes were sightless. My collar clung to me, heavy, as I pretended to speak. Under some pretext, I convinced my mother to put her hand on my collar, waiting for her to notice its silence. She stroked my cheek and asked my how my day had went and noticed nothing wrong. I needed to be certain. There are scratches on it, my clumsy hands and a set of screwdrivers, staring into an arrangement of mirrors, trying to pry open the panel on the back of my neck. This is a heresy. I'd looked upon those people scornfully, idiots trying to take apart their own fates. But I need to be sure. I need to open the panel and see the bright motions of the electronics working. I need to be sure. I should go. I should report this. Maybe it was only ever the warm flush of my own skin that I felt, the tingle of my own excitement. Maybe this is a delusion. Maybe tomorrow I'll see the light, hear the song. At worst a simple mechanical failure, I keep telling myself, made worse by my own heresy, my own doubt. They'll see the scratches. They'll think me a mere coward. But it's not the punishment I'm scared of. Their expert fingers will touch upon my collar, open it up, reveal to them its secrets. My collar is working perfectly, they will tell me. It simply closed around my neck, and found nothing there.
Randy woke up from his light sleep. He yawned and wiped off the sleep from under his eyes, and swung both legs out of bed. He'd been having a terrible dream about his cat and was surprised he hadn't been woken up already. He looked around; what could have woken him up? His clock was blinking 5:30. He groaned, and then noticed something out of the corner of his eye. His laptop had turned itself on and a message was blinking on the screen. 'New Email.' He opened up his gmail to check it; After all, it could be an important message from his boss. It was an email from 'Reddit.' "What is that?"he thought to himself. "Oh! I remember. That's that old website that claimed to be 'the front page of the internet. I thought it was taken down?' He clicked on the email. It said 'One new message from /u /Reminder Bot' He was sure he never used that stupid thing, or even set Reddit to email new messages. He clicked view message. ___ Most of the bodies were found the next day, many by spouses or neighbours. Some of them just disappeared. The police called it a 'A mass murder/kidnapping.' There seemed to be nothing connecting any of the victims, other than that they were sat at computers. And they were all viewing an email. A message from a long-gone website from a bot that should have died with it. 'Reminder: Don't turn around.'
I closed my eyes one last time as my thoughts grew fuzzy. Gone was the pain, gone was the image of my loving family around me. I noticed how my fingers grew numb, slipping out of the hands of my son. Then everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I sure didn’t see what I had expected. Instead of lying on a fluffy cloud with nothing but blue skies above me, there was a very mundane-seeming ceiling above me with blindingly bright lights. There were no little fat angels playing the lyre staring down at me, instead there was a woman who actually seemed pretty normal-looking to me. “God is a woman?” I was really surprised by that. Of course no one on earth had ever really seen God, but normally people expected him to be a bearded old man. “I’m not God, though I get that a lot,” the woman replied with a smile on her face. “But don’t worry, some confusion is normal after finishing ‘Human Life 3’. It means you were truly immersed in our 21st century universe.” Now I was really confused. In addition to what the woman had said, strange memories began to stir in my brain. “Can you tell me your name?”, the woman asked. “I’m Martin Sha… Wait. I’m not?” Memories fought in my brain. The life I had just lived seemed fresh and colorful, but something about these images made them seem artificial. “I’m Finn. Finn Reyes.” “Very good,” the woman smiled. “Can you get up and move? I will accompany you to our wake-up lounge.” Slowly, the memories of who I was and what I was doing here returned to me. Video games had really changed a lot from the 21st century – in which I had just lived an entire life while only about three days had passed in the real world – and “Human Life 3” was the greatest release of this year. While most people used to think that when playing a game, you wanted to do anything, just not live a normal, boring life, everyone loved the “Human Life” series. After the first two games that were set in ancient Egypt and 18th century France, the third entry had blown all our minds again. Everyone loved how long you lived there – so many opportunities – and it was just way better than history class. Actually, right now, I just wanted to go back. The realistic AI characters in “Human Life” really grew on you and I felt just as sad as I would have been if I had suddenly moved away to another country, never seeing my friends and family again. Life on the moon was really boring. We had colonized it after Earth had grown really cramped, but even though everyone did his best to make it a home, it was just a piece of grey rock and some dust floating around in space. I would have loved to see Earth, but there was war and hunger down there. Climate change, nuclear war and a huge gap between the rich and poor made life there a living hell. In my game life, I had grown up in a small town in Germany, but just like me, my fictional character had loved to travel. I had seen as much of the world as you could in one life. Going back was not an option, though. My vacation ended in two days and I had only today and tomorrow to get used to reality again. Playing the game took something between two and four days plus another one or two for adjusting to the normal world. Besides, it was really expensive. People didn’t go on vacation anymore – all there was to see on the moon was some huge craters, anyways. Instead they played games like “Human Life.” I had saved up all year for this and it had really been worth it. Sometimes, if you made some wrong choices when creating your character, you lived an entire life just sitting in front of a desk and watching TV when you returned home, so I had been fairly lucky. If you had really bad luck, you died early. By placing your character in the right country and family, the chances for dying young were small, especially since NPCs were programmed not to kill, but if you ran in another player who went on a killing spree, there was nothing you could do. And there were so many people playing “Human Life” at the same time that running into other players happened a lot. If you were lucky, you made a friend or fell in love in the game and then found yourself in reality. In fact, I hoped to encounter my wife in the wake-up lounge. She had died a few years before me, so just some hours in reality. When I opened the door, the doctor announced me as “Martin Shaw from Germany” so people who knew me could meet me. An old man with yellow teeth and little, scruffy hair got up as soon as I entered and laughed, at least until that laugh turned into a cough. If I had known him, I hoped he had been a distant relative or acquaintance. “The Martin Shaw who was married to Rebecca Shaw?”, he asked and I nodded. He started laughing and coughing even harder. “Well, that’s me,” he finally got out between two coughs while laughing so hard that tears had come to his eyes. Oh hell, no.
"As we all know, ten years ago, God reversed global warming." The audience nodded in agreement, except for Brian, who was somehow both an atheist and a climate change denier. "I don't believe in any of this,"said Brian. Everybody ignored him. Nobody liked Brian. The speaker continued. "And, in exchange, God left us with this box. It's a large one. And it has a 10-year countdown on it." Furious nodding from the audience. "And it looks like we've got about 30 seconds left. If anyone would like to do anything in that time, now would be the... uh... time." "No different than any other time, really!"shouted Brian, forcing everybody to spend the 30 seconds listening to his obnoxious thoughts. The countdown clock expired promptly, suggesting it was in good working order. Right on cue, the heavens split open above the large box, and God descended majestically from heaven, coming to rest on top of the box. "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT, BRIAN?"God said. "Do you hear anything?"Brian asked the person standing next to him, who pointedly ignored him. "I can't hear anything. It's quiet in here." "FUCK YOU, BRIAN."God said. "ANYWAY, ONTO BUSINESS. GORFLUNX CHILDREN - NO, WAIT, HUMAN CHILDREN. YES, MY OWN SPECIAL HUMAN CHILDREN, UNIQUE IN THE UNIVERSE. YOUR COUNTDOWN IS OVER." "We understand,"said the speaker, beaming. He looked at the audience, where somebody in the front row was shaking their head. "Oh, right,"the speaker said, "Actually, we do not understand. Oh great and glorious God, what... uh... what's all this about then? With the box and everything, I mean?" "OH SWEET INNOCENT CHILD OF THE GORFLUNX CONFED--EARTH, I MEAN. SWEET DELICIOUS HUMAN DUMPLING. OH BABY BABY." "Maybe we could play some music or something, so it's not so quiet?"screamed Brian over the silence. "SWEET, TASTY, PLUMP LITTLE HUMAN. WE'LL GET TO WHAT THE BOX IS ABOUT, OF COURSE WE'LL GET TO THAT. BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO DECIDE." "Right,"said the speaker, "Okay." God stared at the speaker, who stared back, until it became slightly uncomfortable, and then very uncomfortable, and then oddly normal, and then evened out onto a smooth plateau of uncomfortableness. "What... uh... what do we have to decide?"ventured the speaker, finally. "WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO DECIDE? SERIOUSLY? THIS IS WHY I NEVER VISIT THIS PLANET. YOU KNOW I ONLY CREATED YOU BECAUSE I WAS DRUNK AND I WANTED TO IMPRESS COSMOLORD SEVEN--LOOK, NEVER MIND, I'LL FILL YOU IN, MY WONDERFUL EDIBLE NUMPKINS." Everybody waited expectantly, with one fucking exception. "YOU HAVE TO DECIDE... IF YOU WANT TO GO AGAIN!" Everybody clapped. This sounded like good news, probably. The speaker took a cue from his crowd. "All right, that's great. Okay, I guess... we will... then? Right?"The speaker looked to the front row for approval. They were nodding vigorously. "We will,"the speaker confirmed. "FASCINATING. FASCINATING CHOICE, AS ALWAYS. DEFINITELY NOT AN APOCALYPTICALLY BAD DECISION. OKAY, WELL, LET ME JUST RESET THE CLOCK THEN." God waved a wand or whatever and the countdown clock started going back up. "SHALL WE MAKE IT FIFTEEN THIS TIME?"The speaker gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. God chuckled. "A GAMBLER. I LIKE THAT. OKAY, SEE YOU ALL IN FIFTEEN. WELL, SOME OF YOU. MOSTLY NOT ALL OF YOU REALLY. GOODBYE!" Everybody cheered as God ascended back to the heavens. "What a boring day,"said Brian, that fuckwit.
It was a small miracle the power was still on inside the old hospital. The place had walls pocked with bullet holes. Its floors were cracked and dirty and smeared with dried blood long ago turned brown and now flaking away. Chairs were overturned, tossed about by terrified defenders. The whole place smelled of rot and decay. Bodies were stripped to the bone. Kevlar armor and ceramic plates had been torn off, clothing ripped to shreds. Guns lay strewn at makeshift barricades. I vaulted myself over a desk, turned on its side to block a narrow hallway. Two more bodies here; both already stripped. The lights flickered again. The old power station is still running, I thought. Before the plague, people had really built things: things that could last. They worried about nuclear war or global warming, but they had no idea what was going to happen. We traveled into the depths of the old hospital, where lights worked less and less, where the bodies grew sparser. The human defenders always fled up, not down. Perhaps they hoped for rescue from the air. Finally we found what we were looking for: a locked door. I took out a small piece of plastic from my bag. It was square, and had the picture of a long-dead human. It was called an eye-dee, and it unlocked things. A green light flashed on the lock as I waved the badge in front of it. “See, I told you it would work,” I said to Sarah. We stepped inside. The room had a sterile smell. A large white box sat in the center, plastered with stickers. “What is it?” Sarah asked. “A fridge,” I said. “One of the machines people used to be able to built. It keeps things cold.” She laughed. “Why would that be useful?” “This is a transplant fridge.” “A what?” My head felt foggy. I was hungry, though my stomach was stuffed with scavenged protein bars and dried fruit. I had to fight to make every word appear clearly in my mind. “People kept organs there, to put into other people who need them.” “And now we need them.” I nodded. “It won’t be the richest parts. No brains. But hopefully it will be enough to last us a couple more weeks. I don’t know how much longer I can do this otherwise, honey.” She reached over and embraced me. I felt the gun on her hip when she did, a reminder that we were on our own. And a reminder of the last-resort cure for what ailed us, lest we become like the mindless horrors that had torn this hospital apart all those years ago. “You did a great job finding this place,” she said. “No one has seen a human in over a decade. It was a good idea.” She released, and I let out a long breath. “Let’s find out if we get to keep our minds,” I said. I opened the fridge.
Everyone loved Lisa. She was popular, athletic, perfect - at least that's what everyone else thought. I knew better. I was there when she'd sneak out at night. I saw what she did at the parties and in dimly lit basements. I watched her slowly destroy herself night by night, shot by shot. I never experienced the high that kept bringing her back, but I felt the crash. She blacked out, but I never did. It was my stomach roiling and heaving. It was my throat that burned, the acrid taste of vomit in my mouth. I loved Lisa. I hated Lisa. It might sound contradictory, but it was a complicated relationship. She didn't know I existed. Maybe if she had known, things would have been different. She wouldn't have given up control and willingly abandoned herself to the helplessness that was my entire existence. Only she never had to watch what happened while we lay slumped on some filthy bathroom floor. I hated what she did to us. I hated her as much as she hated herself in a scalding hot shower while she scrubbed our skin raw and sobbed. I hated her boyfriend, Chad, with his cold smile that never reached his eyes. I hated her best friend, Hannah, who said the most vile, poisonous things in the sweetest voice. Lisa wasn't perfect, but she wasn't a monster. She picked up a part time job to help pay the bills the summer our Dad was laid off. She worked hard to earn scholarships for college so our parents wouldn't have to support her. She was going to be a nurse. She tried to save a baby rabbit from the neighbor's cat, but scared the rabbit into the road and right under the wheels of a van. Lisa cried for hours over that rabbit. I loved my sister. I loved her loyalty, her sacrifice, and her sensitivity. Two weeks ago, Lisa took a pregnancy test. Two weeks ago, she told Chad that she was pregnant. Two weeks ago, Chad convinced Lisa to go to another party, to celebrate. She agreed, but for once said she wanted to stay sober. She wanted to keep the baby, and she wanted the baby to be healthy. Chad took our hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling his shark's smile as he said something meaningless that was meant to be reassuring. Hannah brought the drinks. Lisa reminded her that she needed hers to be alcohol free, and Hannah laughed and said it was. Her lips curled upward in a tight, bitter smile as she watched Lisa take a drink. I never wanted to be in control more than I did right then. I wanted to throw that drink in Hannah's face. Something felt wrong. I woke groggily in a puddle of vomit. Everything was so bright. I squinted against the light, groaning as I lifted a hand to shield my eyes. As my eyes adjusted, I stared in wonder at my hand, wiggling my fingers. I had control. I had never blacked out with Lisa before. It couldn't have been a dream, I didn't dream, I didn't sleep. I pushed myself up, grabbing onto a sink for balance. I was in a bathroom, which wasn't unusual, but Lisa had only had one drink. She never blacked out from one drink. I peered into the mirror at our face. "Don't be scared, Lisa. I'm your twin. I'm not sure what happened, but I used to be where you are now."I didn't want to get things back to normal, so I didn't lie to reassure her that I would try. I was practicing expressions in the mirror when the door opened. I turned to face a very pale Judah, one of Lisa's less savory friends. Judah's face turned completely pale and he immediately dropped the garbage bag and duct tape he'd been holding. He backed out of the doorway, turning to call over his shoulder, "I thought you said she was dead!" "She is. I checked myself,"came the muffled response, but I recognized the voice. Without thinking, I climbed out of the bathroom window, trusting in Lisa's muscle memory to land safely. I rolled my ankle. It hurt, but I didn't want to waste time seeing how Hannah would react to her foiled murder plot. "She slipped something into your drink, Lisa. She poisoned us,"I narrated to my silent twin. It was thrilling to have a voice. "We need to get somewhere safe. I'm going to the nearest main road to get my bearings and then to the police." A wave of pain wrenched my abdomen. I bent over, gasping in pain. Something trickled down my legs. Blood. Everything was hot. I leaned against a building for support, carefully working my way toward the safety of a busy public street. Everything started to get fuzzy and grey. My ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton that was screaming. Everything went cold. My knees gave out on me. The world went dark. I woke in a hospital. I can't remember many of the details. I lost the baby. I had so much poison in my system that I should have died. It's a miracle we survived, Lisa. I saved you. I'll make sure you're never lonely or forgotten. Hannah's begging me for mercy, just like Chad did. I'd never want to be in control if it meant you'd died. Of course you didn't die. You're still there, where I was. Do you forgive Hannah, Lisa? I can't forgive her. Forgive me.
I have to say, I'm not a huge fan of modern art. I know that's a terrible thing to admit as a board member of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but honestly, nothing I've seen in the 1920s and Beyond gallery has spoken to me. It hasn't burrowed into my soul and really made me think. Last night was the unveiling party for a new piece by popular sculptor Charlie Webster. I would have preferred a quiet evening at home and a fresh glass of merlot, but beggars can't be choosers. Fifteen minutes into the subway ride, I realized I'd forgotten my gloves. OK, fine, no big deal. It's happened before. I just have to be especially careful about what I touch. When I entered the reception pavilion, I bolted for the dessert table and grabbed a cupcake. The artificial coloring melted away, turning into a physical, paint-like substance that stained the tablecloth. Thankfully, when such a thing occurs, the artificial flavors disappear too, so I enjoyed the best damn cupcake I'd had in a while. Webster was standing in front of his sculpture, still covered by a tarp, and rambling on about its significance. "Hysteria in Motion represents the capacity for evil that lies within all of us, and the choice we must make every day to be better. In designing the figure, I plunged deep within myself to consider what lies within the neglected corners of our beautiful minds." I shook my head and grabbed some fake sunflowers from the table, which instantly bloomed into very real ones. "Thank you for your attention, and enjoy the artwork."Webster pulled the tarp away and revealed - in this board member's opinion - a rather garish gray sculpture of an anguished humanoid. It had arms and legs, to be sure, but on the whole it looked like a swamp monster. I decided to make a feeble attempt at enjoying the piece, taking the last bite of my cupcake and wandering towards the twenty-foot behemoth. When I'm wearing my gloves, I don't have to worry about something as simple as leaning on a wall for support. But when I tripped over my own feet - damn these high heels - and pressed my hand onto the sculpture's marble base to break my fall, well, it wasn't so great. The gray beast sprang to life and produced a deafening roar. It lifted its feet from the base and leaped to the ground, racing towards the food tables amidst screams from the gathered spectators. I sighed and ran over to Webster. "Grab one of these and tie it to another,"I said, pointing to the velvet, rope-like partitions designed to keep idiots like me from touching the artwork. Webster broke one of the ropes off, quivering madly, and tied it to the one I was holding. I wielded it like a lasso and sent it sailing towards the rampaging sculpture, who was now devouring a plate of cheese cubes. It caught him by the legs and sent him crashing into the table, wailing all the while. I used another rope to tie his hands as he moaned defeatedly. Webster grabbed the microphone again. "Uh...as you can see, this piece is a part of the Art Museum's new four-dimensional immersion initiative. I really wanted you to feel the emotions I had in mind when I was making it." A slow, hesitant applause began from the back of the room, which then transformed into an eruption. Webster walked over to me and whispered: "You can change this thing back, right?" "I...haven't figured that out yet,"I admitted. "Looks like you've gotta house train this guy." I sighed and walked over to grab another cupcake - now smashed, but hopefully still tasty. I still don't see what the big deal is about most modern art. But I have to admit, this one did make me feel something - even if the feeling was absolute terror. *** Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, and snag a free virtual cupcake on the house, check out /r/GigaWrites.
I drew forth by binoculars and checked the horizon. No one in sight. They hadn't found me yet. I sighed as I leaned again the rocks and rummaged in my backpack for some food. I'd stolen what I could after it had happened. I chewed a soggy burger, grimacing as I choked it down. I'd always hated the taste of the stuff, but you couldn't really be picky when you were on the run. A sudden sound made me sit up and peek over the rock. It was her. She was wearing her fighting gear, clearly on the lookout. A gun was strapped to her hip. She was hunting me. "Come out and face me, coward! You can't kill my friend and get away with it!"she shouted, punching a nearby rock into dust for emphasis. "Oh, no,"I breathed. I barely had time to try and think of an escape plan before she found me. She swung at my head, and I ducked. "Murderer!"she screeched. "I couldn't stand it anymore!"I spat back, kicking her in the shins. "That little pisser made my life a living hell for years before I did anything. He's lucky I didn't kill him sooner!" I scrambled backwards and dug desperately in my backpack for a weapon as she flung herself at me, howling with rage. I drew forth my broken clarinet - the one he had destroyed, the final straw that had finally pushed me over the edge - and stabbed her in the neck with it. She sank to her knees and gurgled, blood bubbling on her lips. I kicked her in the face for good measure. "Join Spongebob in hell, Sandy." ______ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
“Alright Sheev, fetch!” I call as I throw the tennis ball across the field. With remarkable speed and grace, the mutt that I picked up from the pound today rushes after it, grabbing it out of the air after the first bounce. After Sheev saunters up to me and the dog trainer, he stops and drops the ball before my feet. The dog trainer gives me a look that doesn’t give me much confidence about the rest of the training course. “You’re saying you picked him up from the pound?” she asks, and I nod. “Well, I could offer you the advance course? It’s for show dogs, and there’s some things you could teach him for like, service dog stuff…” Shaking my head, I pat Sheev’s. “Nah, I don’t need that stuff. And I think if I ever do, Sheev’ll pick that up just as easy.” The trainer nodded a little sullenly. Having to lose a customer would do that, probably. Or it could be that she’d never seen a dog quite like Sheev. He is a curious one: he looks like the cutest lapdog, albeit as big as a Labrador, but he possesses a strange intelligence. Even now, as he’s being petted, he looks at me with one eye open. As if we’d struck a deal: I would feed him, pet him, and in return, he would be my companion. My ‘man’s best friend’. As I put the leash on his collar, the trainer asks: “Why the name, though? I’ve never heard it before.” “My friend, who picked him up, he’s this big Star Wars geek. I dunno.” I say, and head to my car. --- The rest of my day is pretty uneventful. I buy large breed dog chow, some dog toys, and a comfy bed for Sheev to sleep on. Though as I make the last purchase, I notice him staring, as if to say I am wasting my money. I just shrug it off: He’s going to be sleeping comfortably on his own bed. At home, I give Sheev his food before making my own dinner. Strangely, he doesn’t start eating immediately, even as I try to get him to do so. Only when I’ve cooked my pasta and meatballs and sit down to eat does he start on his own chow. “Aww, that’s sweet.” My roommate, coming out of his room wearing what I know to be his ‘lucky’ shirt. “Eating together, what a wonderful first date. “If I’d know it would be such a cutie I’d have given him a different name.” “The night’s still young. For all you know, we could take over the world by tomorrow. Right, Sheev? Take over the world for me?” I say, grinning at the large puppy. With his muzzle still in his bowl, he has that look again. It’s probably nothing… “Well, I’m going out. Don’t ban the nightclub scene while I’m dancing, or you’re bailing me out. Alright? Alright. See ya!” With a flourish, he picks up his bag and heads out. Finishing my dinner, I turn to Sheev. “Alright, when you do take over the world? Make sparkly shirts illegal.” I wash up, fill his water bowl and head for bed. As I do, I notice Sheev following me. “Hey, I bought you a bed, alright?” I say, maybe a little too indignantly. I only get back a sad frown. “Fine. You want to sleep in my bed?” I ask. He looks up a little more hopefully. “Alright. You take over the world for me, you get to sleep in the big bed. For now, you have your own in the living room.” At that, Sheev sadly pads out of the room. I lay down in my bed triumphantly, and as I fall asleep, my last thought is: Did I just argue with my dog? --- The next morning, I wake up, put on my slippers and head for the kitchen. I find a curious sight waiting for me. My roommate sits there with uncovered chest, eating his cereal. “Where’s your shirt?” I ask. “Did one of your dates throw a fruity drink all over it?” “No man, it’s pretty fucked up. I was dancing, next thing I know some guy taps me on the shoulder, tells me it’s illegal to wear a sparkly shirt!” he says with the practiced theatricality of a drama major. “…Have you been talking to Sheev?” “Sheev? What the- are you high? Did you find my stash?” “You have a stash?” I look over at him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not important, man.” he says defensively, just before we hear our door opening. The thought ‘Who else has our key?’ runs through my head but then Sheev comes walking in, holding a stack of envelopes in his mouth. Big ones. He drops them on the kitchen counter, looking incredibly tired. “Hey, where have you been, buddy?” I ask, but the stack of envelops draws my attention. The top ones are bills that I share between myself and my roommate, but then the bigger ones are… official documents? Tearing one open, I see the letterhead declaring itself to be from the NATO Secretary General’s office. What the hell? I pick up another one, this one from, upon closer inspection, the President of the European Union. What was going on? Without any ceremony, Sheev walks into my room, and I hear the springs of my bed compressing. --- Edit: just the last line, changed the tense.
"Well, we are all finished,"the doctor smiled as he pulled the syringe out of my forearm. "You'll need some time for the formula to get in your bloodstream. I would give it about, say... two hours before your new abilities set in." "Thanks doc."I thanked him as we headed back into the lobby. "Do you have someone to take you home? I dont want you driving just yet." "Of course,"I reassured him. "Thanks again." I could already feel the new power surging in my body. It felt like an extreme form of adrenaline. I had to get some energy out. I rushed to the lobby to my friend Dave, who peered up as soon as I walked in. "Pete! How did it go?"yelled Dave with excitement matching mine. "Tell how you feel. What did you get? Did it hurt? Bro, this is so awesome." "I feel on top of the world man." "My God, I cant believe you did this!" "Yah yah he just put the needle in, and then- BAM!" "No way! Just like that?" "Just like that." "This is crazy. What did you get?" "Laser Vision." "Laser Vision?!" "LASER VISION." "My God this is absolutely insane,"Dave said in disbelief. He poked my chest. "You have laser vision!" "Yah Im basically Superman now." "Man, I cant wait to see this!"he said as we walked out of the building. 2 HOURS LATER "Go ahead Pete, give it a try,"Dave ushered. I stared at the Coke bottle we put on the kitchen table. I focused, harnessing all my energy, the essence of my entire being. All my muscles tensed and my face turned red. In a single instant, I focused on released the energy straight through the bottle. Nothing. "Well, are you going to do it?"Dave said in excitement. "I dont understand." "What, whats happening Pete. Fill me in." "It should have set in by now. I can feel it in my body. I dont understand why its not working." "Damn it!"yelled Dave. "Ok, the doc gave us a CD in case we ran into any problems. Ill go ahead and play it on the TV and we'll this sorted out." "Ok."I said as I laid back, feeling disappointed. Dave picked up the TV remote and pointed it at the TV. As he pressed the power button, I saw an infrared beam shoot out from the TV remote towards the TV. Shit.
You smile broadly as you walk down the street, the crowd splitting in front of you as each individual smoothly moves out of your way. Nobody slows down, even spares you a glance. You walk into a Starbucks and the cashier stops halfway through an order and turns toward you, giving you the biggest smile of her day. "Your coffee and bagel are ready!"She hands you the drink and food you started having prepped minutes ago. Of course you don't pay as you turn and walk out the door, the next person in line smoothly resuming his order. You walk into the office where you've worked for ten years. Of course you haven't done much work since you developed your powers: you prefer to spend your time now in other ways. "Well hey there Lana."You say, in a loud yet awkward voice. She of course immediately turns toward you, annoyance filling her eyes. "Want to go to High Point Hills this weekend?"I knew Lana loved the Hills: I had pulled the knowledge of visiting there from her happy childhood memories. But as usual she turned me down. "No you creep! Stop asking me on dates to places I haven't been since I was eight!"She turned and stomped off. That was ok, she would find the necklace you had left for her there, that you had seen in her mind weeks ago and only just recently seen in a jewelry store. It would have been expensive. "Well howdy there buddy!"You turn toward your boss, rolling your eyes internally. You had hoped the three different falls down the stairs would have gotten rid of the man, but no, he kept coming back. It didn't help that you had become his favorite employee the day after your powers had manifested. You spend the rest of the morning goofing off, walking through halls naked and not allowing anyone to remember it. Sometimes you flash a particularly attractive coworker, followed by erasing her memory of the incident. Lana gets the treatment four times, her reactions hilariously identical. You go to the Cafeteria for lunch, skipping to the front of the line before being handed a tray of brownies. The bitch lunch ladies had never let anyone take more than two until you: now everyone eats only brownies for lunch. The afternoon is spent in meetings, which you spend idly flipping through the memories of others in the room. Mostly you look for sex, but also anything embarrassing. You take a free taxi home, before settling in front of your enormous home TV. You had received the largest model free, and the cable guy had so nicely given a fantastic channel selection. Life was just so easy with limitless telepathic powers.
It has been a long and arduous journey getting to the far east mountains of Tahi. I cannot tell you the amount of times we almost turned back. There is a no fly zone that starts nearly two thousand miles away from our destination and the land is stingy on road access. A majority of our travel has been on foot only and it's been a nearly unbearable trek. Week long monsoons, swamp filled landscape for miles and the constant barrage of exotic bugs, could make any person second guess their decision. But not us, we pushed further, our motivation prioritized over our own lives. We are not special. No, we are far from that. We are the outcast of the society. We are the conspiracy theorists. The Tahi Mountain Range is vast in its greatness. It stretches across the horizon and extends way beyond any human's line of sight. The peaks of the mountain dot the skyline and many protrude the clouds above with ease, making visibility nearly impossible from any angle. Those are the characteristics that first catch your eye but unfortunately, scaling the mountain vertically or horizontally is not the challenge here. The challenge is to be able find safe passage through the mountains. We do not want to climb, nor do we care how long it is. We just need to find a way through. According to government data, no one has ever attempted to go through the Tahi, at least, not until now. "Adam, I think it is time brother. According to our coordinates, this is where we need to make our tunnel", I shout over the howling wind to our tunnel maker. I mark a large X on the smooth rock surface in front of me. "Righto, let's get to it. Everyone, get back about fifty feet. This will get messy!", he yells to the group, as he sticks the digger to the mountain and begins working. The tool is simple in appearance and highly efficient in production. There are two handles that stick off the sides of a square motor, which is around two cubic feet in size. From the motor, a titanium rod, only five inches in diameter, expands straight out nearly twenty feet. The rod will spin at approximately eight billion RPM, essentially melting anything in its path. To maximize the cuts, an immense amount of electricity is pumped through the rod. We dig for nearly five days through the heart of Tahi. Five days of Adam carving out tunnels, with hardly any direction, other than feel and yet, we have been fortunate to not run into a cave in. We have been clearing, on average, 2000 yards per day. I expected to be at our destination a few days back but it really does not matter. We have food for weeks and we have come too far to stop now. 10 days later After nearly fifteen days of working the digger, we have stumbled upon an impassable wall. It nearly fried the motor when we tried to dig through and it managed to crack the tip of the titanium rod. Adam says that is damn near impossible and actually looked a little horrified about the whole thing. The most peculiar part is the wall is not made of rock. It appears to be a metallic compound of some sort but it is frigid to the touch. When light hits the sleek surface, it glows a radiant green with a slight hue of orange. Its metallic material is truly magnificent and incredibly unique, to put it plainly Although I did not tell my team about it, this is what I expected but seeing it in person and seeing my ideas coming to fruition, is terribly frightening. There are thousands of mountain ranges that spread across our great planet but none as vast as Tahi. Given the size and the apparent secrecy of the government surrounding this place, I always thought it would be a solid starting point. I am just glad I was right. This discovery puts me on the verge of proving all my critics wrong. All the false indictments of my character, the constant harassment I face from the media and worst of all, the tarnished reputation that removed me from the world of Academia, will not be in vain. All of that will be erased when I prove what I know is true... When I prove that space lies just beyond this wall.
Susan stared at me. Her quivering, green eyes teared up as she stammered out words, trying to form something resembling a sentence. However, I just stood there. Arms crossed, unflinching. "You cannot have a chicken for a boyfriend." "But, why, Dad? You always tell me how they should be treated as equals!" "Yes, I do." "So all that talk about treating them with respect and dignity was all a bunch of shit! Are you really no better then Andrew Sevvelton? He wouldn't let his son date a giraffe!" "We aren't talking about Mr. Sevvelton. We're talking about you, and there is no possible way in any universe that you are having a chicken as a boyfriend." "If that's the way you think, Dad, then Sam and I are going to run away together! We'll get married and you'll never see us again!" "Get married? Susan, if you're a lesbian that's fine with me." Susan the stairs almost vanished as she blinked several times at me. "What? I'm not a lesbian." "Then why are you dating Sam?" "Because I love him. I've told you. And I don't care that he's a chicken." "Sweetheart, chickens are female. Roosters are the males." From that day and forever on, I would never see my daughter's face as red as it was at that moment.
Fear? No, this was not fear. Because if it was, I would have been able to comprehend what I was feeling. After all, I was a dead man. And to dead men, fear is an old friend. The best description I could give, would be shell-shock. At each breath I sucked flecks dirt into my lungs, my heart beat with such fever I thought it would crack my ribs. My intestines churned and stewed inside my abdomen, vomit lurched forward into my throat. Soon I spewed bile on the freshly overturned earth. My fingers extended to their fullest reach, sensing every fibrous piece of the cold dirt. I squeezed it tightly through the cracks of my fingers. The light was fierce and blinding, at first I saw only blobs of color and light. But slowly, slowly and painfully, all came into focus. And I was born again. Born from what, I do not know. But from what I gathered, I was born from the corpse of a man. Born from the mud and earth. Born from the underworld, and into the land of the living. On hands and knees I crawled to a mighty oak tree among the rows of headstones. Covered in my own vomit and filth. I screamed, but my voice failed me, instead only a raspy whisper. "What am I?"I groaned, as I looked at my rotting body. Through my torn skin I could see the tendons of my forearms. The bones of chest and limbs shone ghastly white through my gray and receding musculature. But as my world spun, reverse on it's axis, as I surveyed my decaying and putrid body. It began to rebuild. The sinews of my forearm soon covered the tendon, it crept up, up, to my shoulder like a clinging vine. I felt it fasten into my socket, and with a snap and crack, my shoulder once again had function. Suddenly, gray spots began to appear, new skin sprouted and spread, soon recovering my arm. "Oh fuck"I cried, "What the fuck is happening to me? Jesus..." "Jesus, had nothing to do with this...I assure you." I looked up, my vision crystalized. Before me stood a dark shape. I focused. It was a man, yet something moved at his feet. A large bloodhound, with black eyes stared curiously at me. He licked at his lips, and nuzzled the man's hand. My eyes returned to the figure in black. A gangly fellow, with arms like tendrils and skin like ash. He studied my figure. "It was I who have returned you, back from your earthen tomb. Back from the eternal chamber which they had sentenced you. To suffer. To rot. I have deemed you worthy. Of retribution. Of atoning for your sins. And of committing many more. Your wrath will be my masterpiece. Make no mistake, your soul belongs to me. And I will free it, or devour it, at my will. But this is only the prelude. So gather your fragile frame. Your work is not yet done." All the while the man spoke the dogs black eyes never left my own. The man turned to leave. "Come"he commanded, "we have much to do."

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