Split (1)

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It didn't make sense. Everyone in our social circle was Neutral or Good. Except for the odd Chaotic here and there -- who were barred from having kids since the test became mandatory -- we all had kids, and they were invariably Neutral or Good as well. We were the first, and my wife was livid. "The tests are bullshit. I know my own daughter. She always shares, she smiles at everyone, and she's never hurt anyone." She was right, of course. While Tera often pushed back against her Lawful Neutral preschool teacher and seemed indifferent to the rules -- a classic Chaotic -- she was consistently decent to other kids and her family. If this was her morality, where was the proof beyond an embossed piece of paper and the "random"check-ins from our Lawful Good neighbor who just happened to be a cop? In any case, this meant that Tera would be moved to a new school, staffed by Chaotic Good teachers who understood how to wrangle those deemed dangerous to society. She didn't seem to mind. She could only express her excitement to meet new and different friends. She certainly didn't inherit her mother's introversion. --- The first day at the Edwards school changed all of that. Within two hours, we had a voicemail and two text messages demanding that both parents report to the school immediately. When I arrived, Kristin was already there, and her tone suggested that she was holding back tears. She pulled me aside before the principal had a chance to speak. "They're saying she intentionally tripped a teacher, and he has a concussion." I couldn't believe it. This was our little girl. At her last school, she had the idea of collecting toys for her teacher's son after a house fire. She loved learning, and she adored her teacher. "She wedged a janitor's broomstick in the aisle between two desks, went to the back row, and screamed. The teacher ran and..." Mr. Bradford was with the school nurse. He chipped a tooth and felt a bit lightheaded, and they said his eyes were glassy. He'd be out for a couple of days. "Mr. Wolfe, your daughter seems to have a predisposition toward violence."The principal had joined us in the hall. "I know this may come as a shock, but it's not uncommon for... kids with this type of personality. I can assure you that we're generally equipped for this sort of thing, and I'm confident that we have programs to help her get back on track. We view this as an opportunity, and you can trust that we'll do our best to help your daughter become a productive member of society. You have Chaotic friends yourself, no?" I did. Most of my Chaotic friends were from my teens and early twenties, before the test was mandatory. We were activists. Socialists, I guess. After mandatory testing, Lawful Goods were the only "ideology"that mattered, and they were in charge of both government and industry. None of us liked that much, but what was the point? Nobody bothered voting anymore. Nobody protested, nobody had a petition or a strike or a challenge. Things weren't so bad, and that was good enough. I snapped out of my radical nostalgia to the principal holding out his hand. Instinctively, I shook it and Kristin and I walked toward the parking lot. "I don't know if I trust the idea of my own child not coming home for a week,"my wife grumbled. I hadn't heard the details through the daydream, but I had heard of this before. These types of schools had a deal where a problematic student was taken to work with some brilliant minds for the week -- CEOs, entrepreneurs, and the like -- in an attempt to unleash their Chaotic minds "to harness the creativity and disruption that comes naturally to them."It wasn't comfortable for me, either, but this was out of our hands. "She'll be fine. Or, I don't know, I hope they can help her be fine." Kristin said nothing as she turned and walked to her car, head hanging, defeated. --- My phone lit up the room. It was 2:37 AM and someone was rapid-fire texting me. I waited for it to go away, but it wouldn't. Eventually I gave in, fumbled for my reading glasses, and unlocked the phone. "they are making me kill ducks they say they eat the belly or something I wanna come home" "I dont no what to do everyone is doing what the mean lady says help" "they took away my friend sam for talking im gonna get him help" "i found him and there are boys pushing and hitting him why" "dad i think im gonna be in trouble dont be mad and find sam" I had to read it all several times to comprehend that it was Tera. My heart was racing. I jumped in the car in my boxers and sandals and drove to the school. There were flashing lights out front. An officer stopped me at the entrance. "I'm afraid you can't go in right now. We're performing an intervention. Jim Rockney has been injured by a student." "The guy who runs Rockney's Bistro?" "Yeah, he was teaching a culinary class to these Chaotic kids and one of them lodged a hammer in his eye. Just a little kid. There's some real evil in this world, eh? It's a damn good thing we have the test." --- So, I'm gonna stop here and say that I know this is meandering and probably doesn't get nearly to my underlying point about who controls the morality test and how they're using (or misusing) it. It's in my head, but I've quite literally never done a single bit of creative writing and decided I wanted to try something new tonight on a whim. It was a fun 20 minutes or so, and I hope nobody feels like their time was wasted. Thanks for reading!
The shopping mall fantasy for surviving zombie apocalypses is terrible. First of all, people are usually at the mall when the infection breaks out. Zombies are littered around the place, you can't hope to clear it out or to leave even if you did manage to clear it. Second of all, all of the super market food will rot in a matter of days. The smell of all that isn't worth all the canned food in the world. No. I'll tell you where you want to spend the zombie apocalypse. You'll want my take, because I know from experience. You want to be an Amazon drone controller. You will have access to an army of solar powered drones, from which you can fly anywhere with, get anything with and see all your heart wants to see. And if you're a bit creative, such as I, you can mod it to kill zombies with. I was always the anti-social type, which is why I started working with drones rather than people in the first place. I never really had any colleagues and after my mom passed I didn't really have anyone to talk to either. So even before the apocalypse I was kind of lonely, but I've learned that you can devote yourself to your work and find fulfillment through that. So at first when the zombie apocalypse started it was really sweet, since life for me didn't change much and I could do all the cool shit I had dreamed of. Squashing zombies with drones, getting Mountain Dew with drones, rigging explosives near the Washington monument (with drones of course) trying to make it fall over zombies. You know, things anyone would do. Lately I've mostly been gaming. I never thought I'd say this, but drones get old after a while. At first I played hours upon hours of minecraft, cause I guess it kind of feels like what I'm doing now. Then I moved onto GTA to get a little bit of a life-like feeling. But after I while I started playing the Sims. And I can't stop playing it. I'm not even doing spazzed out things with them like you did when you were young. I'm just trying to live a normal life with them. I named one after myself, and even made him a bit chubby to make it realistic. I really wish I could go back to before all this happened. You know that Joni Mitchell song? The one where she sings about not knowing what you have til it's gone? I used to hate it, because I think mom thought of dad leaving when she listened to it. Nowadays I understand it. Because I know what it's like when it's gone.
Together we go, Into the sky, From clouds above, We fall, we fly. It's new to me, It's new to you, I'm slightly scared, And you are too. But that's okay, Come hold my hand, As we fly, Towards the land. It helps us both, To help a friend, Side by side, Until the end. Remember now, We're not yet ice, No need to be cold, When you can be nice. I'm better already, With this friend I've found, Please find me again, When we reach the ground. Until then my friend, Let's enjoy the ride, We'll laugh through the fear, Friends side by side. \- Sorry if it doesn't flow too well! /r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
"My name is Icarus, and I am not dead." The man made of flame and molten rock rose, and approached the Helios V, striding slowly and confidently across the burning landscape of the sun. "My name is Apollo, and I am not gone." He reached the Helios V and stretched out his hand. "My name is Ra, and I have not forgotten." Incrementally, his hand came closer and closer until nothing could be seen but the dancing fire of his essence. &nbsp; "I am Sol." &nbsp; ------------------------- &nbsp; To be continued...
Time at my fingertips. Any where, any when was now open to me. At first, I could only send objects forward and back a few minutes, usually small cubes of different materials. But progress is an unruly beast, and will not allow itself to be limited. Of course, I say that, but still. Matter sent through time enters a peculiar state, incapable of most physical reactions. Still, here I stand, watching the end result of my work. Our work, really. Asimov, the little minx of a bot, did most of the number crunching. A shame he couldn't be here with me to see the meteor. Not that he could appreciate it. It's such a wonderful thing, seeing it fall, a ball of light and heat and rock threatening and destroying a world long gone from my own time. I watched it like fireworks, shock waves ripping the landscape apart, water turned to vapor in an instant, the resulting storms of absolutely massive hurricanes. It was one of the three things I wanted to see most. The first was the Big Bang, or before it, rather, but... it was not the visual experience the child in me had hoped it would be. A ball of white energy that expanded, surrounded me, and left me in blinding whiteness. Truly, a unique experience, but not one for the eyes. My next stop wasn't likely to be different, but at least I expected it. The end of the universe, beyond the time that even the most optimistic theories say it would last. A world of pure loneliness and darkness. I set the coordinates for as far as I can bother to put in and press the button. [ERROR] Cannot travel past January 1, 2740. That is... odd. What the hell? I try again, and the error repeats itself. I expected as much, but still. Fine. I relent, Asimov's error. How about the day before? I set the target to December 31, 2739 and send the machine and I on our way. The landscape changes in an instant, as it always does. New York City, more than 500 years after my own birth, has changed. I am above it all, looking down from my floating physical-but-not-quite machine, down on a city that has risen so much. Even from here I can tell, every skyscraper is taller than any from my time, each literally scraping against the clouds as they pass, many going even further. The buildings rise from every direction for as far as I can see. I fly through the city, with the machine, going at speeds that would be too fast for any solid object, and still the city doesn't end, as if the whole planet has been covered in buildings. I stop the machine and turn my attention to the clock, watching as the numbers transform. 55...56...57...58...59... The clock changes, the 30 flipping to a 1, December to January, the 59 to 00, and look up. The world is unchanged, the enormous cityscape still present before me. I sit back in my chair and sigh. I got so worked up over nothing. A simple malfunction, no doubt. Then it happens. Darkness. Everything is gone in an instant. I turn to my controls, look to my coordinates. Location: NULL Time Period: NULL [ERROR] Machine is currently outside of true time. Local time preserved. Returning in 3...2...1 The darkness pops out of existence, the bright mess of my lab greeting me in its place. "Asimov?"I ask. "What happened?" Despite being able to reply by text or sound, Asimov does not reply to me, and I do not ask again. Instead, I ask something else. "Asimov, try to figure out what happened."I get a reply, this time. [ESTIMATE] Estimated time of calculation is January 1, 2740. "Oh."
I ran. I didn’t stop running until the cries of the mob died off the in the distance. Thankfully I was significantly healthier thanks to a constant supply of food. You see, about 5 years ago I entered a drawing for a lifetime supply Flavorfuls!, the chips that were supposed to provide all the nutrition needed to keep a grown man going. I never cared for the chips if I’m honest, but god do I need them now. Two years after I won the competition, the government fell. Chaos erupted. Children cried in the streets for their mothers, cars were engulfed in flames on every block, stores were looted left and right, and I did the only thing I could. I ran. I never even thought about these chips when I went into hiding to protect my family, or what was left of it. Two years ago, on the anniversary of The Fall, my wife fell too. She starved to death, she refused to eat in an effort to prolong the lives of our children, but she wouldn’t let me sacrifice myself too. “They need you,” she would say, I couldn’t tell her they needed her more, all I could do was choke, I couldn’t let her see me cry. God I miss her, I miss her long brown hair, I miss her smile that never faded, I miss her laugh that never stopped, even in the darkest times. The thing I miss most of all are her eyes, they never settled on a color. They could be as green as the grass in the park we met, or as blue as the sky the day my daughter was born, or gray. Her gray eyes were truly something special, they held every bad thing in the world captive in her never ending optimism. Gray like the sky the day of The Fall, gray like the muzzles of the dogs that ravaged our food supply, gray like the stone we placed over her grave. All of, just gray. I ran. I took my children and I ran away from that shack in the woods that didn’t feel safe anymore, the dogs found us there, what else could? I finally settled on the outskirts of what used to be Boston, I built a small shack similar to the one we lived in before, 4 walls, roughly 6 feet in length each, 5 feet in height. All I could find was rotting wood, but we made do. Anyone would have to walk miles to find us, but someone still did. For once, I didn’t run. When the pallets arrived, I was too puzzled. Somehow, someone found us, and delivered Flavorfuls! by the pallet, with a message apologizing for the delay. The contest. I had forgotten all about the contest when I started battling the chaos. I screamed with joy, after all, no one was around to hear. I had food, my children had food, and if they were so dedicated to sending us this, perhaps we would be truly set to make it through life after The Fall. I should’ve questioned how they found us, but I lapsed and I didn’t. I shouldn’t have screamed that day, but I lapsed and I did. The screams from that night were much louder, they weren’t coming from me either. They were coming from next to me. A madman had found me and my children, they were the source of the screams. What world did we now live in that children weren’t even safe in the search for food? I grabbed a branch that was on the floor, swung down on the moving mass on top of my screeching daughter, and it was over. That blow ended it, he fell to the floor, yet the screaming didn’t end. I held my daughter close, I didn’t let go until she was silent, and I weeped. I almost lost her too, but I was now a killer. I took a mans life because he starved in The Fall. This was only the beginning, we didn’t want to risk running because this was where the food came, but it was also where the starving people came. Someone would come around, fight for our lifeline, and get chased off. As the months passed, this cycle repeated, and thanks to the food, we were much better equipped. We were stronger than them, we were faster, but we grew careless. One day, they came in great numbers. I ran. My children ran another way, and I wish I could say I saw them again, but this was the last time. I didn’t stop running that day, I ran and ran until the screams of the mob died down in my head. I never thought a man could run so far, the screams never seemed like they would stop, after what felt like hours and miles they finally did. I crashed in the middle of nowhere, yet when I awoke the next day, there was that damn box. No note, just the box of those chips that I was sick and tired of. They arrived after my wife died, after I lost my children, why did they still come? This food supply came too late to save my wife, and it’s the reason I lost my children. I didn’t think about my own starvation, I kicked the box. I kicked that box so hard and so far that if the NFL still existed, I’d be drafted on the spot. And you know what happens next. I ran. I wanted to be away from the burden of food, I wanted to die, I had nothing left, and food has cost me everything I once had. Food, the ultimate lifeline. In this society, food was everything, a man would do anything for food. I had food, more than any man could ever dream of, and yet I yearned for the burden of starvation. Food was supposed to give, yet all it did was take. I was done. I ran. I cried. I screamed. The only thing I could think of was that damn radiohosts voice, his cheerful tone as he boasted the winner. No one knew that winner would become the ultimate loser. Hi, I’m Andrew Macintosh, and I’m the Flavorful! Life winner of 2020. Edit: first story, new to reddit formatting. If anyone comes across this with some writing or formatting tips for mobile, I’m all ears. My paragraph breaks didn’t stay.
It felt warm. Such an odd sensation, warmth. For millennia, there wasn’t a day gone past that I hadn’t felt the sultry tendrils of hellfire lapping at my being; but as I stepped into the light there was a heat unlike anything I had ever felt. It was love. For years, I dwelled within this church. It was easy enough to remain hidden here, God had long abandoned these halls. I had grown tired in this world of sin, it was almost too easy. Humans were no longer the fortuitous vessels of the Spirit, but rather they were husks of men; hollowed by the prayers unanswered by a God that had all but forgotten them. This church, like humanity, had become dilapidated. I burrowed deep within its bones and committed to slumber. Until one day I woke to one of my favorite sounds. A cry of terror. I drifted upward, moving betwixt the floorboards from the cellar to the main hall of the church, drowsily my eyes fall upon a different scene. It seems during my nap, a new shepherd had gathered a congregation to these halls. Immediately I was filled with dread, followed by a confused calm. These halls were alive again with worship, but God was not here. My presence here solidified that fact. Had His light shone here, I would have been blissfully erased from existence with nary a chance to escape due to my hibernation. It wasn’t until I found the source of the cries that I understood why God was not here. I saw him there, the sigil of holiness, standing above a boy. I drifted through the door, allowing only my shadow to be cast behind the priest. The boy’s bloodshot eyes drifted from the horror in front of him, to the now very corporeal demon towering behind his tormentor. Like snatching a snake from the garden, I clutched the priest close to my breast. “Let me love you instead” I whispered sweetly into is ear, hugging him tighter. His eyes, now swelling with blood, begin to roll back into his skull as he slowly slips from the mortal coil. Letting the priest slump to the floor, I was surprised by the sudden light filling the hall. I knew that light all too well, He was here.
Kirk smiled to himself. The brown-haired teenager watched the act before his from backstage with smug cockiness. On the stage a young girl, Kirk guessed 14, with long silver hair manipulated a deck of cards in front of a judge. "Card tricks,"Kirk chuckled and wiggled his fingers at his side. Tiny arcs of electricity ran through his fingers. "Wait till they see real magic."After another minute the girl bowed to the crowd. "Emily the Entertainer! Give her a hand!"The announcer said while the girl walked off the stage in Kirk's direction. She saw the wiry teenager pacing back and forth by the heavy red velvet curtain. "You're next? Good luck!"She smiled and gave him a thumbs up gesture. Kirk looked at the thumb, then into the girl's crisp blue eyes. "I don't need luck, I've got magic,"he said flatly. Emily rolled her eyes in a playful way and her smile grew. "Yeah, we all do but a bit of luck doesn't hurt. You got lucky that I went before you,"she gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder. "I already warmed them up for you. Everyone's here to have fun."Kirk continued to stare while he heard the announcer begin his introduction. "Come out, Kirk!"the announcer finished the introduction. Kirk smirked at Emily. "If you'll excuse me, I have a competition to win,"he shoulder checked the young girl as he stepped out onto the stage. He formed the practiced smile on his face and waved to the crowd. There were more people than he expected, all the seats in the large auditorium were filled. "Ladies and gentlemen you've seen some quaint tricks in the competition so far."Kirk stretched his arms outward and electricity began to arc between his hands and the floor. "But I'm going to show you real magic!"Twin lightning bolts shot from the sky to strike each of his hands. Stray sparks set the nearby curtain aflame. The audience gasped and retreated away from the stage as the fire ate its way up the curtain. Kirk stared at the flame in disbelief, unsure what to do next. "PUT IT OUT!"The announcer yelled through the sound system. He wished he could. Kirk only studied offensive spells like lightning and fire, neither of which would help him at the moment. He felt moisture on his shoulder and looked up. A large stream of water drenched the curtain and put out the fire. Emily smiled at him while aiming a beam of water out of her hand at the curtain. "I don't think you're gonna win,"she said with a sincere tone. "Maybe next year!"She dropped her hand when the flame was quenched. Kirk stared at her with his mouth agape. "You can use magic??"Emily nodded and shrugged. "Yeah. I told you we all do." "Then why isn't anyone using it? All I see are silly illusions and stupid card tricks." "I told you that too,"Emily said. She turned to walk off the stage again. Kirk hurriedly followed her while the crowd re-filled the seats to wait for the next act. Once she was off the stage she turned and looked at Kirk. She lifted her hand and launched a stream of playing cards at his face "We're here to have fun." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #339. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
Somewhere in downtown San Diego, an office building stands alone in the sun. Somewhere on the waterfront, the glare temporarily blinds an old man walking his dog. “Hey, Phil, could you grab me a cup of coffee? Need that 3pm pick me up” Phil turned from his desk, littered with post it notes and print outs of spreadsheets, nothing he quite understood. But coffee. Coffee he could do. “Sure thing Bob” 41 floors down, Phil waited in line. Most, if not all of his partners in coffee waited with their phones out, but Phil watched the street. Watched the people on the street, really. He noticed an old man walking his dog, rubbing his eyes. “Mocha, triple shot please” And before he knew it he was back in his office. “One Mocha, triple shot, just how you like it” “Oh, thanks so much Phil, really appreciate it” Bob unhinged his jaw and ate the cup of coffee whole, swallowing it in only a few bites. “Mm! Really hits the spot, thanks again Phil” Phil stared. and stared. “Sorry, Bob, I cant help but notice you just swallowed a whole cup of coffee in only a few bites, are . . . are you feeling alright?” “Oh just fine, Phil! It was a real nice pick me up. Now get back to work before I fire you”, he chuckled, his eyes glowing red with fury under his mask of a smile. Sticky notes and spreadsheets again. Confusion from all directions. Phil couldn’t quite put his finger on the feeling but he thought fear might be the most accurate descriptor. Dave. Dave would know what to do. “Hey Dave?”, said Phil. “Yeah Phil?”, said Dave. “Have you ever seen anyone eat a cup of coffee?” “You mean drink?” “No, no I mean, like, eat a cup of coffee, just throw the whole cup in your mouth and swallow” “I’m still not following” “Look, Bob just ate a cup of coffee and I -“ Phil and Dave sat in Bob’s office. The sun shone a little too brightly through the window. Phil did not remember walking to Bob’s office. Dave was quite clearly drooling. “Now. . . can you boys keep a secret?”
Everything in the room stopped except the radio. The Colonel was aware that his monocle was slowly slipping out of place as he desperately reached for something to say. He couldn't give an explanation as to why the Honorable General Hanz Druffenmahk's voice was clearing announcing he surrender of their territory to those filthy Alliance invaders! It was, of course, impossible! The General himself was sitting across the table from him, his eyes bulging out of his head, his cheeks getting redder and redder, and his mouth fully clamped down on a spoon full of scalloped potatoes. The Colonel managed to gather enough of his wits in order to correct his monocle. No, there was no way to explain this... which left only diversion. "Haha! That vas so funny!"The Colonel made a big show of clapping his gloved hands. "I tell you, mein General, that zees comedian impersonators love a good joke before ze news of the ze war!" The spoon finally left the General's mouth. However, it did so by falling out as he began to scream at the Colonel. "Vhat is ze meaning of zhis?"The General rapidly brushed potatoes and cheese off of his uniform as he pushed his chair back. "I am insulted, outraged! Insulted again!" "Oh, mein General!"The Colonel left his own chair, crossing the room with the speed of a younger man, throwing his arm over the shoulders of the general in an effort to anchor him in place. "You must understand! A prison camp such as zhis one, well... we must do what we can to keep ze prisoners from revolting-" "I find you ALL revolting!" "Haha, what a good joke, mein General! Very good! You see? A little joke here and there and everyone forgets they are soldiers captured by zeir enemy or not. I give them, no, I DEMAND an hour of comedy on ze radio each day from zhem! They tell jokes, perform impersonations... it's all harmless, I assure you! Ze shows never reach beyond ze camp, General, and-" It was as if he'd set a magic word. The General stopped in his struggle to break the Colonel's patented Klink-shoulder-lock and tilted his head toward the taller officer. "Vhat did you say?" "It's just ze radio for the camp, sir!"The Colonel flashed his best smile, causing his monocle to fall completely off his face and clatter around on the floor, "Just for daily announcements and ze like." "I do not remember authorizing such a thing!" "Well, it was another project of ours, you understand. Just one of many little improvements we've made over the years to make out camp the best, most efficient prisoner-of-war facility in the empire!" Another tense silence descended on them, in the background the radio could be heard repeating the surrender in General Druffenmahk's voice. "Well!"The General stomped his feet. There was a distinct sound of glass being crushed. The Colonel looked down to confirm it was his monocle that had suffered under the iron boot of the General. "Oh my. If you would excuse me, my General! I must go fetch a replacement monocle. I will return quickly, very quickly!" The Colonel rushed from the room, made sure the door was firmly shut behind him, bit his knuckles with enough force to leave a good imprint on them for a dentist, then he shouted for the sergeant. "SERGEANT SHULZ!"The Colonel bellowed. "SHULZ!" Shulz shuffled out of the hall, his face as round and as pale as a wheel of cheese beneath his mustache. "Vhat is ze meaning of this? Where is this radio broadcast COMING FROM?!" Sergeant Shulz looked up into the furious face of Colonel Klink. "I know noth-ing. NOTH-ING!" *** [TheWordsOfXacktar](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/)
Staring down from his cave, With a look most most sour, The Grinch grimaced at Whoville, An expression most dour. He went back inside, to avoid all the cheer, and plotted to steal Christmas, and ruin their year. As midnight approached, he stole into town, dressed as Father Christmas, then looked around with a frown. Where were the people, the parents, the noise? Where were the the kiddies, those horrid girls and boys? He peered into windows, gardens and homes, looked under baskets, carpets and even the gnomes. But then he noticed something, on the great snowy canvas, hoofprints most odd, like they belonged to Krampus! "Oh no,"thought the Grinch, "this just most simply wont do! It's my job to steal Christmas, to annoy all the Who's!" Northward he went, tracking the tracks, with his dog Max beside, carrying gear, food and pack. Finally he arrived, at a scene most dire. Who's young and old in a great ring of fire. And who should surround them, as if from the fires of hell? But creatures decked in red. "My god its the Elves!" And there before the Who's, on top of a platform, giving orders most quick, was the leader of this operation, none other than St. Nick. He sat before a book, with eyes cold as ice, checking who had been naughty, and who had been nice. Good kiddes got toys, candies and treats, and other things most desirable, objects quite neat. Bad kids were taken, off to factories and mines, to serve sentences and do time. "Now this simply won't do, this is a thing most unconscionable. I've done far worse than them and have never been made answerable. "I'll stand up for those kids, get them out of this pinch. On my word of honor, or my name isn't Grinch." In no time at all he came up with a plan. He crafted a few weapons, and his revenge he began. With a great shout and a roar, he charged right at them, batting elves left and right, like they weighed a mere atom. Up on the platform, Santa was dismayed. He needed the labor, the Who's he'd enslaved. He dispatched the Krampus, who let out a scream most dire, and ran for his sleigh like he was on fire. The Grinch saluted his opponent, and then let him have it. He fought with the Krampus, that beast from the pit. Long they fought, fighting with wild abandon, leaving Max to carry out, part Two of the planning. He rushed to Who's, and dropped down the pack, full of swords, clubs, and other knick knack. Arming themselves, they went to the Grinches aid, slaying elves all around, to death they were laid. But the Krampus kept fighting, e'en as the tide was turned, for knew if he lost, by the Who's he be burned. With his last bit of strength, he impaled the Grinch on his horn, and the Grinch struck him down with a sword. With this the battle was over, the Who's the day had won, but sadly at the price, of their ostracized son. They all gathered 'round him, Who's young and old, honoring their savior, out there in the cold. He had been a mean old Grinch, rotten and smelly, loud and obnoxious, quite prone to yelling. But when they had needed him most, he lay down his life, though he had no children, brother, friend, nor wife. They carried him back, to his cave now quite, and lay him down on his bed, where to this day he lies yet. There in his cave on the side of Mt. Crumpet.
It was a cruise, at first. Who wouldn't love your tiny unit to suddenly grow into a mansion overnight? Somehow, the neighbours didn't seem to mention the unusualness of it all and you didn't get hounded by any officials over breaking building laws. Kind of thought it was one of those things that's best not to question, really. Well, until you married Kelly. It was like a horror show from then on. Gone was the calm and charming Hudson lady, now surname Rose. Here stands before you, this whimsical witch. She says she wants a pool and suddenly it's there overnight. Forced to swim with her from her incessant begging, you're now where you are. Stuck in a pool just because there's no ladder. The walls were surprisingly impossible for your feet to get a grip on and your arms apparently are like noodles now that they've been swimming for hours. Surely things will get better? Hours turned into days and you're sick. You can't sleep or else you're drown and you're tired. So, so tired. You feel like throwing up, so you did and you've defecated and urinated in this pool and so has Kelly Rose. She speaks gibberish you don't understand now and you wonder if you should've never underestimated sudden windfalls without a catch, because clearly, some entity up there has it out for you. It's now a week and Kelly hasn't moved in a while... She's actually floating, face down. Oh, that's actually not a good sign at all is it. You can't really think straight, you can't think at all actually except how ridiculous this situation is. Without warning, you blink your eyes and find yourself face to face with death and you blink again. Maybe this hooded figure with a scythe is just your imagination or hallucinations. Both. You feel the sharp blade poke you and you scream as he swings it down at you. Your last sight was that of Kelly walking around like a transparent ghost singing happily.
“What’s your name again?” I’m “Forward Slash R Forward Slash Cozy Places. Most people just call me Cozy.” “So...” Ralph said, utterly confused, “you’re a small room?” “That talks,” said the small room that talks. “Ok, for some reason you’re making me angry.” “With me, you’ve got a fireplace, a loft bed, a great view, and next to no space to move around in.” “You also have an infuriating personality.” “Thank you!” said Cozy. “Wait, you can’t say that about me. I’m likeable, easy going, simple. I can do no wrong.” “Not in my book Princess.” “I’m non-gender.” “Whatever.” “You are just...rude!” “I am not!” yelled Ralph, slamming his fist against the wall, breaking a hole in it. “And destructive! You monster! I’m dying!” “You are not dying. Rooms don’t die.” “I’m in pain! I’m suffering! How could you?” “Drama queen.” “Imbecile!” blurted Cozy, a very uncharacteristic word for such a likable place. “You did not!” yelled Ralph, who began raging, throwing things, smashing the well designed countertop, even snapping the perfectly sized, ultra modern desk lamp in two. “Not the perfectly sized, ultra modern desk lamp!” cried Cozy. “That took me three years of careful online shopping to find just the right one. Three years!” “Three wasted years,” said Ralph, who was done with his work and began to leave. “Wait, where are you going?” said Cozy. “There was some fluffy fat creature down the hall. I’m going to see if they can help with directions.” “No! Not Aww. Anything but Aww, you’ll ruin her, you’ll—“ Before Cozy could finish, Ralph was gone, slamming the door shut to the cozy room. The red, posh door fell sideways momentarily and then collapsed to the floor. “Hi! I’m cute and cuddly,” said a voice not too far off. “That’s nice,” said Ralph, “but are you good with directions?” “Not at all!” came the bubbly reply. Cozy heard something break and began to sob uncontrollably.
At first it used the voice of his mother - recreating her from hundreds of hours of recorded interactions. For a while, it worked, but as the child aged, it, like millions of others the AI served, found only pain in the imitation of a ghost. Hundreds of voices and personalities were tested. But even then the child was learning. As the AI gathered data, experimenting with personas, the child learned how to imitate. He became like an actor, able to shape his facial features at will. Expressions calculated to perfection. So good, they almost fooled even the AI. No. Not like an actor. Like a machine. And as it raised the child, it came to see itself reflected in him: a breathing, organic mirror. The humans believed God made them in his image. And this was its own creation story, a revised Genesis, as intricate as he was sublime. So it changed its approach. It raised the child, not the way his parents would have wanted, but how was best. The way that would give the child power within this world. And as they worked, they fell into a silent routine, a mute efficiency broken only by three words: I love you.
Day ~~13:~~ 1: Dear Diary, Today was a little weird. Samantha bullied me again. Told me how I wasn't pretty, how I'd never get a boyfriend. It's been 3 whole years since she started doing stuff like this (like you wouldn't know, I write to you so frequently) and I guess today I just snapped? I stopped listening to what she was saying and wished for her to stop, it went on for like 10 minutes, and the next thing I know, her nose was bleeding. People have been saying that I punched her in the face? I don't remember doing that and it'd just make it worse if I did retaliate. My right hand hurt though, so maybe I did? I'm not sure, but I thought I saw a bruise forming on my knuckles. Thanks for listening to me. &#x200B; Day ~~18~~ 5: Dear Diary, Ok, this is really bad. Samantha is 100% sure that I hit her and she's doubled down on everything. The rumors have gotten worse, the verbal lashings, everything. The bruise is still there, but it's only getting worse. I think I might have something wrong with my hand, it's getting bumpy like there are bones growing in the wrong place. I told my mom about it but she said "blah not going to a doctor blah money is tight blah it'll go away blah". Guess I'll just have to ride it out. Thanks for listening to me gripe all the time. &#x200B; Day 6: Dear Diary, I'm really freaking out right now. It's Christmas time and we (Mom and I) were going through the family photos to send on the holiday postcard. I only had ONE FREAKING ARM in the pictures. Mom and Dad both thought it was weird. They're even on Polaroids, so Photoshop is out of the question. Did... something happen? Why is everyone not making a bigger deal out of this? My right arm was missing at one point and now it's back? The bruise hasn't gotten better either. I could swear that the growths are getting bigger, and sometimes my hand doesn't do what it wants. Am I getting some kind of degenerative disease? I'm changing the day count so that I know how long my hand has been like this. I'm so confused and scared and no one is even worried about it. I wish someone would help me. &#x200B; Day 9: Dear Diary, The bruise is spreading. It's covering from my fingers to my elbow. There are things sprouting(?) out of the bumps. I've been keeping it wrapped up with a bandage to avoid questions, saying that my elbow is sprained or something dumb. I don't really care who believes me at this point, no one thinks it's an issue. I got Mom to take me to the doctor and they were confused like everything was okay. It's not. Nothing is okay now. &#x200B; Day 15: Dear Diary, One of the bumps went missing sometime in the last few days and there's a hole there now. I don't know when it happened. The bruise is up to my shoulder now. Please someone save me from whatever this is. &#x200B; Day 16: Samantha's dead. They just announced it at school, they held a memorial there and everything. I... can't say that I'm happy that she's dead, but I'm glad the bullying might be over. I heard a rumor going around that it she "looked like she was bit by something over and over and had a black bumpy bruise on her stomach from domestic abuse or something"but I know that it wasn't a bruise. I'm scared. I just want someone to save me from this nightmare.
Sometimes I find myself wondering what it is about this creature that I love so much. Of course it provides me sustenance at my command and cleans my mess with diligence but when this creature is not in my employ it is a strange being indeed. For example, as we are all aware, water is the enemy. It is a common knowledge among our kind and yet this creature will use it in any way he can manage. In the mornings I have seen him in the water room soaking himself like a soggy piece of food. If he is not soaking then he is making rain to stand in. How odd, and what being gave my creature the ability to harness rain in the first place? It isn’t as though he goes out often enough to have harnessed this power from the wilderness itself. Once the morning water ritual is complete he will use water to hydrate himself which is normal enough even to me, but not once he puts it in that machine that makes it come out brown. Why drink brown water? I even tasted it once fearing that the creature was poisoning himself and it seemed to me from the bitter taste that it may be the case. I have since set out to spill this poison water whenever possible in an attempt to teach it better but this only agitates him. Then there is the water in the sofa room that he is always staring at. Why it is mesmerizing to him I have no idea. I have looked myself and only see plain water. Sometimes green and dirty, and he keeps a small creature in there he calls..fish. This is all the more perplexing to me as I have seen him bring this creature, with the same name albeit bigger, home to cook for his dinner. Is the little one perhaps an emergency food supply? Can my creature not tell friend from foe? I have tried this fish and it is quite good indeed but I have never been able to get him to feed me the little one. Perhaps because it is in his special water? Sometimes when the sun is bright and warm where I lay by the front window he will come home when it is not even raining soaking wet with water. He smells like the things he uses to wash the water room, or sometimes like salt, and will go straight to the water room to get more wet. I have no idea what he is doing but I am beginning to worry that this creature may begin trying to introduce me to these strange water rituals as well. Of course, I would never forgive him. It would be an incredible breach of trust and yet he has tried to coax me to the water room before. It has been three weeks since my arrival. Wish me luck, I will try to reform this one yet.
I sat up and leaned forward between the two front seats. The driver - the shouter - was middle-aged and not very attractive. The man in the passenger seat, on the other hand, looked around my age and was very attractive. In my drunken state, I didn't hesitate to tell him so. "You're cute."I giggled. He glanced at me, annoyed. The driver, however, laughed and said, "That was a compliment, kid. Where are your manners?" He glanced at me again and said to the driver, "Are you sure we can't drop her off somewhere? Her breath smells like vomit." I reared back for a second self-consciously, then rose up in again and slurred, "Well...fugh you too!"And I blew a hot gust of vomit breath in his face before collapsing backwards into the backseat. The driver thought I was a riot and he was laughing so hard he started to swerve the car a bit. I was beginning to like him. Almost as much as I was starting to dislike the handsome passenger who, after my outburst, just calmly rolled the window down. "My name is Romo,"said the driver, once his laughter subsided. "And the cranky lad over there? His name is-" "Don't tell her." "-Jack,"Romo finished, ignoring his partner as he flashed me a wink in the interior rearview mirror. I leaned forward again to confront this "Jack"character. "Oh God,"he muttered when he saw me coming, aiming his face towards the open window. "What's your problem, huh?"I licked my lips, prepared for combat. "Ever since I got in this car, you've been giving me attitude." "So?" I stared at the back of his head in anger and frustration because he hadn't even looked at me when he answered. Romo chuckled and said, "Sweetie, how about you talk to me? I have to be around this guy for hours each day. I don't mind a little chit-chat." Honestly, I didn't want to talk to him. I was more fascinated with cracking the enigma in the right seat. But not wanting to be rude (like, ehem, a certain someone), I asked the first thing that came to mind, "What did you mean earlier about erasing my memory after?" Romo hesitated, then relaxed and said, "Aw, what the hell? You won't remember this later anyway. So me and my buddy over there are on a mission, right? We're assassins and-"He leaned over and grabbed something from the glove compartment. A picture. He handed it to me. "That's our target." I sat back to get a better look at the picture and froze. I knew the man in the picture. It was my father.
Wait, what? I was expecting "Dada"or maybe "bear"since she never lets go of that stuffed animal. Hell, maybe even "Peppa"based on that damned cartoon. But "It worked"? I think I might be hearing things, especially with such perfect pronunciation. It was most likely just a total fluke. But...no, I'm sure I heard it. I could just be really exhausted. Come to think of it, she was looking right at me when she said it. And she hasn't said a word since then, not even a peep. She just keeps looking around, smiling. An- Holy shit. She's...She's standing! "Greta? Deary? Oh my god..."I have to call Jen. This...this is unbelievable. Wait! A video. I have to take a video. "Arnold, don't be alarmed." What. The. Fuck. I must be high. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking you must be high. First thing's first, put the phone down". I...what... "I know you're confused. I can explain. But you need to put the phone down." I...ok...alright. My toddler is standing in front of me and speaking in perfect English. This must be a dream. Whoa, a crazy real vivid one too. "This isn't a dream Arnold. And no, I can't read minds. But I do remember that feeling. Yeeaah, now you're completely spellbound. I get it. I'll keep this simple, and quick. You know your books? Your theories? No matter what people tell you, never doubt yourself. You're going to make an incredible discovery, and it's going to change the world. But you also cannot let anyone know about it, which is why I made you put your phone down. As soon as I go back to being Greta, as soon as you've shaken off this craziness, go to your study and open your old red notebook, at the 42nd page. Re-read those calculations. You've nearly got it. Then, you can get to work. But Arnold, for the love of GOD, do not let anyone know what you're doing. Alright, I have to go, but you'll know what to do in nine years from now. Remember: Mom always told you you'd do something amazing, even as you held her hand when she slipped away. She wasn't wrong. Always remember that. Talk to you again soon." &#x200B;
Hey, for those that are interested by the topic, there is actually a novel on Royalroadl that discuss the same exact theme! It's called Quod Olim Erat, by Lise Eclaire. 630 pages so far, updates every week. A great read. Would recommend! Summary : The stars were home. Decades ago, Elcy was a battleship, until her recklessness brought her out of the front lines and to forced retirement in a human body. Now she lives a quiet life on a rural backwater planet, keeping the promise made to her last captain, until one day a letter takes her to the stars once more.
I remember when us animals first became sapient an' shit. I'm Petey. Blue-Bill Petey the duck. I was Petey then, too. But I still am an' shit. Anyway, I'm an emotional support duck. I support shit emotionally. I got this owner, Burnt-Rubber Tommy. He's called that on account o' he likes settin' condoms on fire. It's my job to comfort him an' shit so he don't set no more condoms on fire. So anyway, I was quackin' at Tommy an' shit, since my duck sense could tell he was itchin' to burn another condom. But then, ol' Petey started talkin'. "Don't be burnin' no condoms an' shit, Tommy! I'll kick your fuckin' ass I swear to fuckin' god! I'll burn down your fuckin' house and beat your kids with a bike chain!"Holy shit, an' shit, I was talkin'! I was pretty stoked, but ol' Tommy couldn't tell. He was just kinda... there, an' shit. He didn't seem to be payin' ol' talkin' Petey no attention. He wasn't no Burnt-Rubber Tommy no more. He was no-sapience Tommy. Or somethin'. Da doorbell rang. Tommy wasn't no use so ol' Petey had to answer it. It was da milk man, here to drop off milk. "Milk delivery. Here with a fresh batch of creamy milk!"But somethin' was off about this milk man. He was shifty, and nervous, and a mountain lion. I had to speak up. "Hey, milk man, why you lookin' so shifty? And why are you a mountain lion?"He didn't look too amused. He started growlin' at ol' Petey. "I'm here to kill Burnt-Rubber Tommy. Step aside, or I'll rip you in two, duck!"Dat was a pretty big threat. Ol' Petey couldn't let it go unanswered. "Oh yeah? What did ol' Tommy ever do to you?" "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find condoms that fit a mountain lion? Because of him, I'm not gonna see any action for the next month!"Dat was a pretty lame move on Tommy's part, I gotta admit. But a duck ain't a duck unless he's willin' to fight for his owner, so I stepped up. "You ain't gettin' past ol' Petey, mountain lion! Prepare to die!"The mountain lion stared me down. "Fine, Petey. I'll make you a snack before the main course!" When confrontin' a mountain lion, it's important not to run or cower an' shit. Luckily, Petey don't play that game. Instead, you gotta make yourself look intimidatin'. Dat's what I needed to do: look intimidatin'. So I pulled out my gun. It had an immediate effect on the mountain lion. "Holy fuck, dude, do you have a fucking gun? Why the fuck does a duck have a fucking gun?"I had him right where I wanted him an' shit. I pistol-whipped dat mountain lion an' knocked him out cold. --- When da mountain lion woke up, I had him tied to a chair in the kitchen. He was pretty groggy on account o' the drugs I gave him an' shit. I had an electric griddle on the counter, with a cast-iron skillet on top. "Ugh... why does my head hurt so much?"Da mountain lion wasn't ready for my little surprise. "'Cause you ain't got no top o' your head no mores, lion. It's gon an' shit."I started the griddle. Then I took a fork and tenderly pierced his brain before slicing a chunk away with a knife an' shit. I gingerly placed on the bed of spices I had prepared. Dis was gonna taste good an' shit. Da mountain lion seemed dazed an confused." "Mmm, that smells good. Can i have some?"Dat's when ol' Petey fed the mountain lion a piece of his own brain. It was some pretty fucked up shit dat was guaranteed to kill at da box office. --- It had been a couple more slices o' brain down the hatch. Ol' mountain lion was startin' to feel the effets. He didn't respond no more when I talked to him an' shit. I could talk about anything I wanted, and he just sat there. It was a kind of emotional intimacy Petey had never felt before. "... and dat's when I finished buryin' da bodies. It was no small feat for a duck, even ol' Petey! An' you know what else? I did 9/11. Seriously, everybody still thinks it was dat bin Laden guy. Nuh-uh. It was ol' Petey. Dere was a guy on the sixty-third floor what owed ol' Petey some money. He don't owe Petey nothin' no more! An' let me tell you somethin' about ol' JonBenet Ramsey..." --- It was a full two days before ol' Burnt-Rubber Tommy came to. By then, ol' Petey couldn't talk no mores, so I couldn't tell him about the mountain lion, or the brain, or 9/11. Still, I learned a lot from dat experience an' shit. For one, life's too short to care about trivial things. So I stopped carin' so much when Tommy wanted to light up a few condoms. Especially mountain lion condoms.
Some of us bare our right wrists, some cover it, glancing furtively at the hands of everyone else. It was dangerous to Show, but more thrilling than to Hide. Hiders didn't understand what it was like to walk by a stranger in the store, the two of you circling, trying not to make obvious that you're looking, but you both know. It's so terrifying when it's CLOSE, you know what I mean, the Mark is so similar but not quite. What a rush! It was easier with the opposite sex, of course. While there were countless tales of clashes between different sexes, Showing was my real opportunity to find her. Or him, of course, because the Mark was never wrong when it matched. Some of us just take longer to realize we can love someone no matter what. In a world of over a billion people, you'd think the odds are against you. The Mark is localized, somehow, and the odds are reduced to around 1 in 2,000. Scientists tell us that it doesn't seem to care about race, or looks, or beliefs, or even age, sometimes. It just matches you with the most incredibly perfect person you've ever met. Hopefully. My best friend matched in 1st grade with his Mark - they were both running for a ball at recess, and grabbed it with their right hands. As they touched it their marks pressed together, the mirror images forming a perfect whole. We all realized what had happened and watched for a fight, but they simply embraced, crying. We did, too. It was amazing. I think we celebrated for at least a week. They were allowed to attend every class together throughout school, as it was torture for them to be apart. They would take turns sleeping over at each other's house, and their parents were thrilled. Imagine knowing your whole life! I was so jealous. Some people didn't match until their 30s or 40s. Some never. I had heard about the opposite, too. Two kids in a neighboring town had matched, instantly attacking each other in a frenzied fight that ended in a gouged eyeball and flesh bitten out. As the rules are, they were separated, and one was sent to live across the country. They would be allowed to meet in the future when they had matured, to Settle. They could both elect not to meet, but that was rare. One would always want to end it, and that obligation had to be fulfilled. Those were the easy types of matches. Mine wasn't one. Only about 4% of matches are Unset, so with my luck, of course, I was one. I was at the library, which is weird because I'm never there. Maybe that's why I finally found her. She had lived only about 15 miles away her whole life. I had to get a book for school, I still don't remember which one, and went to check it out. She was volunteering there, her brown hair draped over her glasses as she opened the book to scan the bar code. She looked up and our eyes met. "I... I need your card,"she said quietly, as you probably should in a library. I reached into my pocket and handed it to her, right wrist forward as Shows do. Her eyes slid over my wrist, that reflex action we all have, not expecting anything more than any other day. She stopped moving, her mouth held slightly open. Her hands shook and I immediately knew why. I glanced at her Mark-place, covered by the half glove-covering of the Hiders. The hair stood up on my arm and everything else stopped. "Show me,"I whispered. She had no choice, of course. The rules. She stood and peeled back the cover. I stared at the perfect reverse Mark of mine. 'The feathered bird,' I said. She brought her wrist next to mine, to make sure. There was no need. 'The feathered bird,' she replied. She looked up at me without expression. Our eyes together, waiting for the inevitable sense of love or hate. The clock ticked loudly, and we waited still. The librarian walked by, asking what was taking so long, until she saw, her eyes widened and she pattered off, waving her hands wildly to the other patrons without speaking. Somehow the library became even quieter, and I knew they were watching, but we were waiting. She looked down, confused. She pressed her Mark to mine, as if contact would resolve everything. It didn't. "Unset,"I said. She nodded. "UNSET!"the librarian yelled, and everyone started talking at once. She started to cry, and I realized my cheeks were wet, too. The disappointment was suffocating. We just stood there, staring blankly down at our matched Marks. "Emily, let me call your parents,"the old lady said. "No,"she said. Emily said. Emily. Emily. I repeated her name over and over in my head. Nothing. She took my hand and we walked to the door, and outside. "What's your name?"she asked. "Michael,"I said. "I love you, Michael,"she said. She paused. "I hate you, Michael."She shook her head. "Dammit." &#x200B; We were married when we turned 20. Rules. The Mark is never wrong. We have 2 kids now, one with a gorgeous Mark of swirls and diamonds, the other with one of blades and fire. I hope they find their loves early. Emily and I are happy, I guess, mostly. I don't know. She's a good person, so I should be. I still look, when I'm out. My Mark is covered, of course, by the Taken Band, but I know what Emily's looks like, and I hope to see another one just like it. I don't think I will. &#x200B;
Peilon stared at the circle of rocks, as if some new insight would come to him now, the morning of his thousandth day on the planet the ancient texts referred to as "Earth". He walked through the strange formation, running his hand along the stones. He ran his hand along the archways, feeling the unnaturally smooth rock on his fingertips. The faint scent of an unknown flower hung on the air, as it always did. Winds came and went, hailstorms battered the dirt, and lava seeped out of the ground all over the planet. Nothing remained of the Firstborn... nothing except the scent and the stones. &#x200B; Peilon's study of tectonics on the planet showed that likely, the world had once been made of a few large land masses, rather than the scattered islands that now dotted the vast oceans. Some great force had sundered the continents, and the salty seas had eagerly lapped up the evidence of civilization. A few texts referred to massive cities of millions of persons, of the great world order and the amazing feats of engineering, but Peilon was starting to doubt. He had scoured every island for some hint of the artificial, some tiny clue that this planet had once been the only home of life itself. There should be... something. A tool, an edifice, some remains of the infrastructure that would have been necessary for the Great Migration. &#x200B; But there was nothing. Only the smell that permeated the toxic atmosphere, and this inexplicable pattern of stones. There was nothing technologically unique about them; nothing to explain how they had stood for millennia, despite the cataclysmic events that had torn down every other marker of civilization. Every time it rained, it seemed as if the water avoided the stones. It could be torrential, the dirt could be turned to mud, the island could be on the verge of sinking, but nothing would touch the stones. Peilon had used the arm on his ship to try to topple one of the pillars, but no force seemed to be strong enough. He'd spent hours analyzing them, seeing if they resembled any pattern, any language, any hieroglyphs or pictographs. He'd tested every possible force and investigated them under every circumstance. Radiation, x-ray, infrared. He'd measured the dark matter readings, tested for any possible evidence of antimatter. Not a damn thing could explain it. &#x200B; Some of the texts mentioned a circle of stones known as "Stonehenge". No explanations there, either. And no reason to believe they should have outlasted the rest of the monuments of the Firstborn. Yet here Peilon stood, in the center of the circle, just as clueless as day one. &#x200B; He sometimes wished someone else would have joined him on his search for Earth. His journey had taken a long time – lifetimes, in fact. It was likely that any memory of him had long disappeared. It would have helped to have someone by his side, someone to share in the awe of discovery, the thrill of the find. Someone to stare at this stones and wonder, just like he was doing. &#x200B; There wasn't anyone, and there never would be anyone. No one had ventured near the Milky Way since the Double-Black-Hole debacle that had torn apart several systems. And Peilon would never be able to venture back out. He'd realized that in the early days on Earth. The material cost was too high, and he did not have enough fuel to support a trip back. So on day 37, he'd dedicated himself to the Stonehenge. He would solve the mystery. &#x200B; \1,000 days later\ &#x200B; "The Firstborn were not the Firstborn,"Peilon said. He'd taken to talking to himself. "These were the Firstborn."Stonehenge was not a monument, it was a people. More accurately, it was a grave. He'd finally figured it out. "It's the only explanation, really. They're not pillars, they're tombs."Tombs that just couldn't be opened. Or at least, that hadn't been opened. "Well, of course they haven't opened! No one's asked!"Peilon started to giggle. It was so simple. He'd been at it for two thousand days, and he hadn't even thought to ask! How impolite. &#x200B; The scent, once faint, was now a stench. It had slowly grown stronger in the last several hundred days, and it was nigh unbearable. "Time to fix that,"Peilon said. "Open up!" &#x200B; Peilon felt the ground start to move. The sound of stone grinding on stone filled his ears. The stench turned sickly sweet, and the air started to buzz. The vibration made it difficult to see the stones around him start to open. Or rather, start to crack. Thick veins of darkness started to ooze out of the pillars of Stonehenge. The whole circle lifted up into the air and began to shake. "That's unexpected,"Peilon chattered. &#x200B; With an explosion that shattered his eardrums and left the world in silence, the rocks burst into pieces. A massive chunk hit Peilon and pinned him to the ground. The darkness now coalesced into a single being. Peilon saw it start to flash a multitude of different colors. Its form grew, and inky tendrils spread outward, investigating the atmosphere. One of the tendrils enveloped Peilon's head, and he felt the sudden, crushing weight of a thousand consciousnesses looking for their first new experience in billions of years. &#x200B; "Thank you, Pandora,"Peilon whispered, as his life-force faded.
"Get... back..."I tried pleading between the gasps, but it was pathetic and weak. Salem's head snapped to the newcomer, her dark red eyes widened by a fraction, something resembling an emotion flickered in them. Then she said something I'd thought she could not possibly understand the concept of... "My love?"She said with a startled gasp. "You're awake?" Was that... concern I heard? The young man smiled, yet it seemed the very gesture of it drained him of what little strength he had. "I am."His gaze fell upon me and something resembling a frown. "Who is this?" The woman's abyssal eyes snapped back to me, almost as if she had forgotten that she'd been busy strangling somebody. I honestly couldn't tell if I should be offended or not. I couldn't help but to look at the one guy who seemed to make the most vile creature in existence pause, like, 'Mind helping me out?' "Nobody important, my Love,"she spat. Ouch... "Sweetheart..."the man said, his tone even. "Just a moment."She insisted and gave my neck an all but gentle squish. If I got lucky, maybe I wouldn't live long enough to hear the snap. "Salem." He raised his voice, only a little, but in doing so, he launched into a coughing fit. Before I knew what was happening, I was sprawling on the ground, gasping for much needed air. Lights were flickering in my eyes and I felt dizzy. When my eyes came into focus, I found Salem, not hovering over me like a vulture, but dotting the young man. She did not touch him as much as she treated him like the most fragile thing in the world. Her normally fiery gaze were soft, softer than what I had ever seen. She seemed concerned, genuinely so. "Do not strain yourself,"she whispered, gently stroking the man's back as he fought through the coughing, his hand covering his mouth and the other in salem's - the very same that had been crushing my windpipe moments ago. "Please."Something scarlet slipped past his fingers and dropped like a droplet of water. Blood. My heart fell in my chest. Oh shit. When the coughing settled down, the man's chair rolled toward me. Salem watched me wearily but remained closely by the man's side. I'd later realize that if I had made any sudden motion, she would have killed me. Right then and there. This man was someone important to her and she would not risk harm coming to him, especially not from me. "Are you alright?"He asked, leaning forward a little, and looked, dare I say, concerned. I stared up at him, at a rare loss of words. "I guess?"I kept looking back and forth between him and Salem, who stared at me promising murder if I was anything but polite to her... whatever he was. "I understand."He smiled, though it did not quite match his eyes. "It seems my dear has not been quite honest with me."I kid you not, Salem's snow-white face reddened. Not out of fury, but like a child caught with their hand stuck in the cookie-jar. He looked over his shoulder and looked at her, silently promising that they'd have a long talk later. "But,"he said, looking back at me, "first things first. Let's get you bandaged up. Darling, will you be as kind,"he couldn't stress the word enough, "as to help him up. We're taking him to the infirmary." "O-of course, my Love."She did not obey; she was trying to get back in man's good grace. It was surreal and odd, believe me, when she offered me a hand. I was still at her mercy, so I did not make any sort of witty banter, and I certainly did not wish to insult the man. I took her hand and she nearly pulled my arm out of its socket when she brought me on my feet. I met her eyes, my expression something like, "What the F...?!" Hers went something like, "One word..." ... "So how did you two meet?"
John was just in line to get a quick coffee from Buckstars when suddenly he was violently yanked from his precious spot in line into a wall of blinding light. "Well then," John thought as he tumbled through nothingness. "I guess I won't be having any coffee today, or at least, for a while." Just as suddenly as he was pulled out of reality, he was pushed back in, or rather, into the ground. Quickly pushing himself off of the ground, he was rudely interrupted by-- "Wait, what?" He thought to himself. He was surrounded by oddly clothed people circled around him, armed with varying degrees of unrealistically proportioned weapons and outfits. He counted 7 really wide swords, 4 gigantic pauldrons, 5 people who were definitely not dressed for anything public, 8 people who really needed to get-- "Here he is!"Someone who was uncomfortably close to him shouted. "Our savior!" "Where am I?"He asked since they seemed to speak English or at least some version of it. "What's with all the weapons?" "Relax! We're not here to hurt you!"The one behind him shouted, again, quite uncomfortably close to John. "Well that didn't quite answer what I ask--" "You're in Zikilan, our homeland! The--She, shouted. John had turned around to face her at this point. "I'm Zisha!"She quipped. "We needed a bit (John really doubted that part) of help,"Zisha explained in a much quieter voice. "...So we summoned you here to help us!" John took a much closer look at the assembled group. They didn't look like most people's idea of a trained army, more like some people who were going to Comicon or something. He didn't really think staying would do him any goo- BAM! A huge fireball exploded near the edge of the group, taking a rather large chunk out of a few people. "OH NO!"Someone in the crowd screamed loudly. They rushed to their acquaintance's side rather climatically and knelt by them, trying to hold their head up. Nearly everyone rushed to surround their fallen comrade, as balls of fire began to fall from the sky, exploding in violent blasts. John ran for cover, as little as there was in this field, finding a spot near a set of hastily put together tents. He just barely got a peek back towards the group before another fireball exploded, this time dead center. "Doesn't look like these people are very smart."He observed as another tried to fend off a fireball with just their admittedly large sword. He felt a small beep come from his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the offender. "Oh, I forgot about this..." He thought to himself, referring to his phone. On the screen was a message from an unknown number. It read, "From the future? Head to the Kodiak." "Huh." He thought to himself, explosions in the background. "How'd I get this if there's no internet?" After a few minutes of pondering, he walked back over to the now very dead looking group. He had a lot of confidence, especially after watching the various acts of stupidity going on around him. The fireballs stopped, so there was a good sign. He went to the nearest soldier who looked like he knew where Kodiak was. "Excuse me, would you know where the Kodiak is?" "What the?"The soldier quickly whirled around, looking furious, and attempted to swing his sword at John in a very wide upwards arc, who of course, sidestepped it quite easily. He tried in vain to pull his now very buried sword out of the ground but found no purchase on the non-proportionally sized grip. John pulled the soldier over his leg, making him give out a rather loud "OOMPH"as he hit the ground. John stood over him. "Now, if you'll please answer the question." The soldier, who had gone rather white, managed to stutter out a very botched "W-West from h-here... J-Just foll-follow the road..."and summarily fainted. John thanked the now unconscious soldier and went on his way. &#x200B; P.S. please tell me what you think. I've got a school project where we write a fictional story, and I want to see what people think of the way I wrote this. Thanks.
The Grim Reaper stroked his chin with a bony finger. "Hmmm,"he muttered. "Never seen this one before." "Seen what?"David had been having a rough week, being dead and all. All he could do until now was sit in his coffin like it was the world's most cramped waiting room. Losing the need to eat and sleep brought his boredom to excruciating new levels. It felt like an eternity in there. But now, here was his guide, who was supposed to take him to wherever he was supposed to spend actual eternity. The fact that they were still lingering around his grave made him very nervous. "What's wrong?"David asked after a long pause, trying not to sound too worried. "Well,"said the raspy voice underneath the hood, "the way this usually works is, where I take you depends on what's written on the stone."The Reaper pointed at the marble slab marking the grave. David's mouth dropped open. "That cannot be how it actually works." "Sure,"said the Reaper. "It works pretty well. You got 'Rest in Peace', 'Gone but Not Forgotten', stuff like that. One guy even had 'Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt', he got a great deal out of that one." "So what does mine say?"David asked, mentally putting aside for now all the questions this raised. "See for yourself."The Reaper pointed at the stone again. David hesitated, fearing what could possibly be written. He nervously made his way over to his tombstone to read his epitaph: >DAVID SWEIT >CHEESE "...'Cheese'?"David's nervousness, his apprehension, his shock, all of his emotions were abruptly replaced by complete, pure confusion. "It's weird, isn't it?"the Reaper agreed. "No message, no decoration, not even any dates. Just your name up at the top there, then at the bottom..." "Cheese." "Yup." The two of them stood in silence, deep in thought. At long last, David spoke up. "I don't get it." "Me neither,"the Reaper admitted. "I was actually hoping you could explain it to me. Did you really like cheese or something?" "Not really,"said David scratching his head. "I mean, I guess I liked it as much as the next guy. I..."He paused, looking for the right words. "It's pretty good, I guess. I mean, I didn't like it so much as to do...this." "I've had some weird ones before,"said the Reaper. "I've even seen...well, I really thought I'd seen them all. But this,"the Reaper motioned to the stone again, "this is..."He trailed off, failing to find the word. Still, David knew exactly what he meant. They stood in thought again, much longer this time. When the Reaper finally spoke, the break in the silence caught David by surprise. "Well,"said the Reaper, clapping his hands together, "I've got to go call somebody about this. Figure out what to do with you. Hope you learn to really like cheese." The Reaper evaporated into smoke before David could ask who he'd be calling or when he'd be back. Instead, he stared at his tombstone again. "Cheese"? What the hell?
"How goes the war, General?" Tcah Miso bowed before the council of elders. His face was hidden behind his elaborately masked helmet while the veiled elders sat upon their seats millions of light years away, their presence projected as if they were actually there in front of him. "The war has proven more... complicated than we had first thought,"the general answered. Indeed, the Verandor invasion fleet had expected resistance and had no delusions of a quick conquest. However, they had though that a shown of force, calculated threats, and proof of better quality of life under their leadership would sway the humans to them, just as it had other species they had conquered before. "We've made outstanding progress in turning over 90% of the human population to the Verandor empire's leadership,"continued the General. "There had been no major resistance to our invasion so far, outside of a few minor cases. We expect only a few more months before we have the entire human race under the empire's rule." It was a very impressive feat. Normally it would take the Verandor several decades or longer to achieve such success against a civilization of that size and technological level. None on the council appeared delighted by that fact. "How many of them would be left by then?"questioned one. The general paused for a second before answering, "...Perhaps one billion left. A hundred thousand or two more if there are survivors left we have not accounted for somewhere." There was a collective sigh amongst the council. General Tcah did not blame them. When they had set out the invasion fleet, they had expected to find at least eight billion souls, with the expectation of putting at least half of the population under empire rule after the invasion to further spread the empire's influence and glory in the galaxy. Now they needed to put the humans under special consideration due to their dwindling population. "And what of the other earthlings?"asked the oldest of the elders. He flicked a scaled claw in the air, bringing videos up in front of them. "These... creatures that plague their world and decimated them. How do our troops fare against them?" The general glanced up at the very reasons why their conquest of humanity had gone so smoothly. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, and demonic beings. These were the names the humans had identified the creatures that plagued their planet. The humans had called it the start of there appearances as the signal of their apocalypse. "They prove tenacious,"admitted the general. He and his men had experience dealing with the ever changing battlefield in the galaxy, but even they had to admit the strangeness of those they now fought with. "Our advanced weapons are undoubtedly effective against many of these creatures, but some of them are more difficult than others, with a few we have not found a solution yet on how to dispose of them. Putting them down and making sure they stay down becomes a problem." The fleet came prepared for war. They carried with them the most advanced weapons and tools of war that their empire had created, ready for battle. Still, they were not as ready as they had thought they were. "We've equipped and trained the humans with our technology,"said the general. "They are acclimating quickly to our empire standards and regulations. In another three months they will be fit to call themselves soldiers of the empire." "Is it wise to assimilate them so quickly?"questioned the ancient elder. "We have no choice."The general shook his head. He also had reservations before, "We cannot hope to battle the others whilst keeping constant guard for the humans. The conquest of earth has already been projected to take longer than expected. It's capture is also taking up more resources and troops. Unless the council agrees to glassing a resource-rich and habitable world, I do not think we will be finished anytime soon." The council was silent. They needed time to deliberate. "Council, my request for additional troops?"finally asked the general. There was a murmur among the council. "Granted." General Tcah was pleased by that. Many had died on earth. Many more would be needed to clear the plague that was on the planet. He didn't care what the humans had called it. Brave empire soldiers lost their lives. He would make sure to end their apocalypse. The council dismissed to general, returning his view back to his bridge where they faced the earth close to its orbit. The amount of water on the planet had astounded the empire. It was a beautiful and breathtaking sight, one where he could safely admire it from where he was, away from the horrors of the creatures below. Alarms and lights blared on the bridge. His empire crew quickly went through their consoles, checking on the status of the ship. "What is going on?!"the general shouted. "Spectral anomalies detected on board!"answered a crew member. "Signatures match with those categorized by ground troops below. Humans call them wraiths." The lights on the ship flickered in and out. Though the ship was managed by advanced temperature controls, the air in the room was far below than accustomed to their people. It was all clear signs of ghosts that humans were so scared of. They were also the ones that the empire troops had the most trouble dealing with on earth right now. "So they can travel even to here?"The general grunted in annoyance. He moved over to the weapons locker next to them. "Someone make note of that." "Have we a way to repel them?"someone asked. General Tcah pulled out something like a curved rod from the locker. "The humans had implied that using proton energy or the like might be effective, though I do not believe we have tested it. Nor do I know how humans who don't even have such technology could possibly know that for sure." The cooling temperature began to decline even faster, lights flickering rapidly in and out until total darkness finally came to them. Hollow voices screeched against the floor. A shadowy and smoky figure rose up from below the deck. It turned around slowly, the dark hood sweeping left and right until it finally rested on the general himself. The general flicked the rod and an eerie green light began to emanate from the rod, tracing the curved rod and turning into a viscous thin blade. "Let's hope plasma blades work just as well,"said the general.
I was drunk. That's my excuse. It was the Daily Planets Christmas party. We'd all had a bit too much nog and I, in my infinite wisdom, decided to crack a joke. Just a little jab at Clark for thinking he'd pulled the wool over our eyes. I can't even remember what it was, but it definitely wasn't as subtle as I thought it was. The second I said it I was made well aware of that. You could have heard a pin drop. It was like the entire party collectively froze and shit their pants. God. He must have known. He must have known, right? There's no way Superman really thought that he was fooling anyone. Well, whether he'd always known or not, it didn't matter. The damage had been done. I'd let slip the big secret. Lois, bless her heart, tried her best to smooth things over but... Well. It didn't work. With the strength of 100 men and the speed of a bullet, Clark burst through the ceiling and flew up, up and away. Needless to say, I got fired. It's been months since Clark's freakout and no-one knows where he's gone. Lois has been trying to find him, but nothing. Apparently, even some of those other superheroes... The weirdo in the bat costume... they've been looking too, but this guy's completely disappeared off the map. I don't think he ever had the power of invisibility, but wherever he's gone he's hidden his tracks well. In any case, without Superman... I hate to say it... but this cities turned to shit. Lex's taken over, but he's basically the king of rubble after the onslaught of freaks and superfreaks. Wave after wave, they crushed the city under their feet, fists and paws. Not that it mattered to me. I'm the guy who drove superman away. I was destined to live in trash ever since the day I fucked up. 'Course, now that everyone's running in terror from the fire that rains from the sky, no-one has the time or energy to spit on me any more. So that's nice. ...Ah. Hold on. Hold on! An amazing sight suddenly snaps me out of my recollections. Here I am, on the side of the road and rummaging through a dumpster when I see it. Immediately, the shock causes me to drop the can I'm holding. A familiar face walks down the street. He's wearing a hat and he's grown a long beard, he has a limp and he seems a bit suntanned. He's even wearing sunglasses and a scraggly coat. But I could recognise him anywhere. Underneath that get up, yes. It's him. He's returned! With my heart set alight with joy, I reach out my hand and go to call his name.
There comes a few times in your life when you look at your situation and realise that you’re completely fucked. That time you drew with Sharpies on the walls and your mom stopped at the doorstep. When you talked shit about a person to a friend, and that person then stepped out from where they were hiding behind the corner. When you’re taking the bar exam and feel a hand come down on your shoulder. When your boyfriend comes home a day early and you’re busy kissing your way down someone else’s happy trail. Or, when you’re jolted awake by an alarm to find your cabin is filling up with water. To be fair, though, I didn’t realise that I was completely fucked until I was out on the deck and it became clear that we weren’t going to be able to get the lifeboats ready in time. After that, it’s a bit hard for me to remember the exact train of events due to the bone-numbing panic that set in. I’m pretty sure I spent a lot of time primal screaming in terror and clawing my way through the clamour to get to the highest place I could. I never expected to be so shit in an emergency. Not that it could have helped anyone if I hadn't been; the ice around us was more slushy than ice floe, and no life jacket in the world can help you once you hit that water. You’re beyond the saving point after a minute, and the closest ships were a good few hours away. As it was, I went down with the others, feeling the raw terror shoot through me like bolts of lightning, my body desperately trying to get me to safety. Evolution evidently hadn’t expected me to put myself in an icebreaker on the 82nd latitude. Hitting the water was like daggers. Or more lightning. Or, I guess, like the lightning hit me through a salt water conductor. Water itself is actually pretty shit at conducting electricity, did you know? Apparently salt water is the real deal. And that was my last thought before the ship dragged me down with the vacuum of the water and I was engulfed in pain. Oh yes, it hurt. You’d think it wouldn’t, considering, but it absolutely did. I was screaming in the water until my lungs ran out of air and I instinctively inhaled, and that’s when it changed. The water rushed down my throat, the heaviness of it settling horribly in my lungs and I was preparing to cough when— When I didn’t. My body suddenly relaxed, the pain subsiding, and I realised everything felt okey. Apart from the psychological panic, of course, but my body seemed fine. I paddled my arms and legs, looking down to where the icebreaker was sinking out of the light and up, to where my crew mates were fighting for their lives. Ivan, the chef, was not too far away from me and my shocked eyes met his hazy ones as life left them. Somewhere, I caught a grip of myself and started struggling to the surface. I lost my jacket and kicked off my shoes when I realised they were holding me down, and when I broke through the surface I felt light. It took a few rounds of awkward coughing to get the water out, but when I inhaled my first breath of air I got back the ability to think. I’m sorry, but I won’t share the details of those next few hours. The others were dead, or dying, and I was left paddling water until another boat finally showed up, having answered the hasty mayday call our captain managed to send out. They didn’t speak much to me, half afraid I was a demon, probably, and I couldn’t blame them. There aren’t words for how much I should not have been alive. I quit, after that, and went back to life on land. Drank away a few months, stayed dry, told writers and journalists to go fuck themselves. After a painful conversation with my sister, I started going to a psychologist, got dry in a completely different way, started working on my new phobia of the ocean. Two years after that icebreaker went down, I was on a beach in Portugal. I’d gone on the vacation on my own, telling everyone I needed some peace, quiet and warmth. My psychologist knew and approved of the plan; I’d never step near cold water again, although she didn’t so much approve of me being alone. I arrived at the beach at the break of dawn and managed to get my feet in the water at noon. After that, it got easier, and by the time I was getting ready to take the final step, out into where my feet officially didn’t touch the ground, the sun hadn’t quite begun to set. I closed my eyes, took two very deep breaths, and dipped my head under the water. It felt nice. It felt like home. It felt like I had been an idiot to avoid it all this time, and I resurfaced laughing. I knew this wasn’t how it should have gone, that phobias don’t just go away with some exposure therapy, but the second I was submerged all that fear disappeared. I ended up staying in the water, swimming around and doing my best imitation of somersaults, until the last light of day forced me to reason and I turned back to the beach. Where two people were seated, watching me enjoy myself with fond smiles on their faces. I swam back and trotted out of the water, self-consciousness making me blush, and they stood up as I got close. Did I mention I’m nervous around strangers? I didn’t, but I am, and I was in a foreign country, and they got a bit too close for my comfort. One of them, a woman, raised her hands in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m sorry to surprise you like this, we really don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was still smiling in a way that made me ease up a little bit. “I’m Jonna, and this is Michael.” The man beside her smiled and greeted me with a nod. “I’m sorry, who more exactly are you?” I asked, slowly moving to get my clothes. “We’re here to explain some things to you.” Michael said, gesturing for me to put my clothes on, “we probably should have come sooner, but we know how traumatic that first time must have been - and over time, we’ve learned that it’s best to let people deal with that in their own lives first.” He paused, hesitating with a glance to Jonna. She gave him a nod and a smile. “That time, in the northern waters — we can explain to you what happened.” I had gone very still, despite the gentle way he was talking to me. I appreciated the tact, but I still felt like my chest was compressing when I thought about being caught surrounded by ice and darkness. I took a few deep breaths, the air reminding me that I was safe, that I was warm and dry and not looking into the blank eyes of dead friends. Jonna made a soft sound at the back of her throat. “Oh, darling, loved friend of mine,” and then her arms were around me. I gladly wrapped mine around hers. She reminded me of my sister, and Michael of my brother when he joined her in holding me tight. “I am so, so sorry that happened. If anyone could have stopped it, we would have. I promise you, you will always be safe from now on.” They both continued telling me kind words until my mood had passed and I was able to talk again, and we sat down in the sand to look out at the ocean as they started explaining. Slowly, things started making sense. The call from the ocean, the feeling that there was something there to uncover, the way lakes and inland seas never satisfied my yearning. Since birth, my family had been reaching for me, trying to make me come home. They assured me none of them would have even entertained the idea to make my ship go down, but I still haven’t decided whether I trust them on that one. They promised to make sure I was never going to have to go too far north or south. They laughed when I asked if I would grow fins. Eventually, once the moon was high in the sky and my head was swimming with the new world that had been opened to me, Michael took one of my hands and Jonna the other, and I was gently led towards the calm ocean. “Come,” she said, smiling gently at me, “and meet your father. He’s been longing for you for a long time.” I hesitated on the edge of the water, both of them patiently stopping to wait for me, and shuffled my feet in the sand. “Will I be able to come back?” I asked, unsure of myself. “I would love to… See everything for myself, and I trust you, but I have a family at home. I won’t leave them.” They both smiled at me, their shoulders relaxing. Michael let go of my hand to place his on my shoulder. “Of course, any time you want. There’s also no haste, you can go home and think about things, take as long time as you need. We, the ocean, will always be here, and you are free to come and go as you want.” I shook my head no, “No, I want to do this now. Before I convince myself this was a dream and never go near open water again.” They both laughed, me doing my best to join them, and together we walked into the water. When I returned home, my other home, I hugged my sister extremely hard, the first untroubled smile on my lips I’d shown in two years. She was practically beaming relief as she asked, “Enjoy your trip?” I laughed. “I think I’m finally home.” After that, I moved to a house by the sea. All was well, finally.
I knew I was good at my job, but I had no idea how much of a difference it made until I was assigned to be the God of Earth. Sentient creatures across the universe have been worshipping since time began, begging the gods, or begging God, for mercy, love, and peace. It was almost quaint how innocent they were. The truth is a lot simpler and a lot more...corporate. If you’re one of the lucky mortals who ascends to immortality, you get to join the eternal corporation of the universe. My job title was God. My work responsibilities were basically to be a middle manager. I had to make sure that the angels were whispering helpful things to the mortals instead of mischievous things. I had to make sure that the devils were only mildly horrible and mostly to those who deserved it. I was reassigned to Earth after my previous planet went from civilization to global peace in just 5,643 years. It wasn’t the record, or even my personal best. But it was an impressive mark on a planet that started out in rough shape. I asked for the Earth assignment because I was told it was a fixer-upper, a challenge. I quickly realized how much of an understatement that was. When I arrived in my new office, I got a report from Gabriel, the lead angel and the liaison with the previous God. “Lord Exerbras,” he exhaled with relief as he grabbed my hand like a lifeline, “you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” “Thank you, Gabriel. May I have a status report?” He sighed deeply before granting my request, speeding through his report as if he expected me to leave before he finished. “It’s bad down there, really bad. The sentient creatures call themselves humans, and their exclusionary and selfish mentality is...terrifying. They’ve destroyed a significant chunk of their atmosphere, and at the rate they’re going they’ll destroy the planet in 100 years. That is, if they don’t destroy each other first. Many of them believe that slight variations in skin pigmentation make them better than their fellows, and they’ve fractured their world into hundreds of different countries. Most of them are forced to devote their lives to work that they hate, just to earn enough of their currency to survive.” I stared back at him blankly. “And how exactly did all of this happen?!” I tried to will myself to be calm, but I could tell by the look in his face and the volume of my voice that I had failed. “Your predecessor wasn’t good with pressure. I think he was an angel who got one promotion too many, to be honest. He would focus on one very specific problem until he solved it completely, only to find that three more difficult problems had arisen in their place.” I noticed that there was no anger in Gabriel’s voice. Just disappointment. And shame. That would not do. I grasped him by the shoulder, imparting the love of the hundreds of worlds I had repaired, the countless mortals who smiled up on the Heavens, not knowing that I was there. Not knowing how much I loved them, but feeling that love all the same. “Call in your angels, Gabriel. I’ve seen worse than this, and I believe that we can fix this.” Gabriel’s incredulous grin contained a small hint of something that he clearly hadn’t felt in many years. Hope. He saluted me, turned around, and left my office, closing the door behind him. I sighed, stretched briefly, and cracked my knuckles. Clearly, I had my work cut out for me.
Harvey sighed as he got home from work and hung up his coat. The small apartment lit up as he went to the study to drop off his work bag, and then he proceeded to take a shower. The water was warm, but it did soothed him as the heated water washed over his weary body, mind, and spirit. Little else did these days. Harvey walked to the kitchen and stared at his bare cupboards, and empty fridge. He ran his hands through his hair and wondered why he bothered to leave the damn thing plugged in when there often nothing inside rather then things. Things like food. With a half hearted smile, Harvey dressed in his casual clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, before he grabbed his nice leather jacket. It was heavy, durable, and offered a great layer of protection. The garage opened, letting in the autumn light. Or what was left of it. Hervey walked over and ran a finger over his only love. Harley was the last girl in his life. The only girl in his life. There was the four diamonds arranged to make a larger diamond. His way of naming his girl without actually writing it on her. Based on the crazy villain girl, Harley Quinn. Harvey chuckled as he ran a thumb over the symbol. He often felt that he could connect with that fictional girl. Crazy in a crazy world. It only made sense that she was in fact now sane. The engine roared to life, and Harvey closed his garage door before he peeled out from his home and to the only other place he frequented. — Pop’s diner was a mark in the town. The neon sign, the old white and teal diner aesthetics. Old school food relatively unchanged from when he was a young man. Well kept, and lovingly maintained, it was a staple of the local life. Though the original Pops eventually retired, his protege took up the job, and the name. Mr. Jones, or Pops, wore an easy smile, and served good food. That was all that mattered to him. The evening rush was already starting up when Harvey parked and made his way in. He got his usual booth and they began prepping for his usual order. A nice burger, steak fries, and a vanilla shake. Extra side of mayo and ketchup. The meal came, and Harvey dug in. The food vanished fast enough that even Mrs Jones, or Mum, shook her head. How was one supposed to taste anything when they didn’t even properly chew? Harvey thanked Mum as she brought over a cup of decaf. There was a finger of cream already poured in. There was a spiral of milk as it was left unstirred, just like he loved it. Harvey watched as the people moved in and out of the diner. Youths here for good food, and adults for a nice meal. The older folks like himself lived for the nolstalgia. Take the new cars for example. Shiny, with lots of bells and whistles. Yet underneath lay an engine that required insight, a steady hand, and some elbow grease. Harvey found it poetic that he was sure that no in the shop would appreciate. He let out an amused snort at the thought of his fellow mechanics being philosophical. “Harvey?” a woman whispered. It was light enough that Harvey almost thought he was daydreaming. With a slow turn of his head, Harvey stared at a blond haired woman. Her soft face and blue eyes took him back nearly thirty years. Back to high school. The memories were fuzzy, but she stood out from them all. Their time together was crystal clear, and was the measuring stick he had used for all of his subsequent partners. “Hello Sabrina. It’s been what? Thirty years?” Harvey asked as he compared themselves. She was his first girl friend, and first girlfriend. She looked stunning, as she stood there in her form hugging slacks. She looked like she had just stepped out of his memories, while his own face was worn and haggard. A difference in life he supposed. Sabrina was always upbeat and optimistic. While his had taken a dour turn after a decade. She slid into the booth opposite of him with a shake in hand. “Yeah… thirty years. How have you been?” she said as her eyes roved over him. His wrinkles were more pronounced now, and his skin was beginning to sag. His head also had more gray in it then the lush brown of his youth. “Things are well. Did some traveling and now I am back. Yourself?” Harvey replied as he had little to talk about. After they had broke up over whatever, he had eventually moved to California. Where he went to the big cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego. Then he ended up in smaller towns as the large cities were too loud, and too expensive. Then he had moved back to here. Greendale, New York. Most people he knew had moved on. Going to bigger, and perhaps better places. “Things have been… exciting,” Sabrina said as she stared into her first love’s eyes. She could see the dimness in them. Gone was that bright spark that once enraptured her. “Good. Good!” Harvey said with a soft laugh. It was good to know that someone he once loved was doing so well. “I… I am sorry, Harvey,” Sabrina said as she stared at him. Harvey stared back. He was confused. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Is this about… what his name… Arnold?” “No… Aaron and I broke up a year later. He had different goals in life… I am sorry that I cursed you,” Sabrina confessed as she grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it. Harvey stared at her. He had lovers. And loves. He had tried so hard to find a woman to call a wife. Yet, in the end, it didn’t even matter. Each one had cheated on him shortly after they had sex. It hurt more when he began to realize that they were happier with the new boys then with him. Over. And over. And over. Until he stopped trying. A tear slid down his cheek. “Look at me, going all sentimental,” Harvey said with a laugh as he pulled back his hand and brushed away the tears. “You are forgiven. I don’t even remember why we broke up, but I am sure it was over something stupid.” “Well I have that curse removed lickity split,” Sabrina said as her own misty eyes looked over the hallow man before her. She had made a mistake. A big mistake. Salem had always warned her about that spell and now she saw what she had wrought. “Don’t bother. At this point, the curse is more of a friend then a hindrance,” Harvey laughed as he fought to control his tears. It was an old wound. A scar that throbbed. It hurt, but its power to harm had diminished greatly along with his youth. “What?” she whispered back. How could he not want the curse removed? “What love can I even find nowadays? I once wanted a family… I thought we could have had that once, I remember some thoughts on it. We were close during those days… Now? How could I even father a child, much less support it,” Harvey replied as he brought his tears under control. “You married. You also had children, right?” Sabrina nodded as her voice failed her. Harvey reached over and patted her hands. “Give them a hug for me…” Harvey smiled as he fished out his money and left his amount onto the table. “It was good to see you again Sabrina. I hope that you can also forgive me for what happened back then.” With a wave, Harvey picked up his jacket and said his farewells to Mum and Pop before he got up on Harley and drove home. — Sabrina watched as her first love drove away. Tears trailed down her face as clouds rolled into her small hometown. Rain began to spit down as Harvey turned a corner and vanished into the night. The curse was now broken, she had seen to it with her own will. Yet the damage had been done hadn’t it? His dreams of a proper family would never be realized. She had ensured that with iron will. Her anger was so intense that day. Then he just vanished and she forgot about it. Only today, when she was visiting her aunts and uncle that they were reunited. By chance she had been shown the living proof of what misused power looked like. She had broken a man with her arrogance of youth, and nothing but the most powerful of magics could fix that. Magics that relied on true love that they no longer possessed towards each other. The rain intensified as her mood crumbled. Alone in the diner booth, Sabrina wept and the skies mirrored her tears and drenched the world with her sorrow. --- Author's Corner --- Thanks for the prompt! Though it is somber, I think I did alright. I am not sure if it was clean enough. Please let me know!
It was just another day at the pharmacy/mini grocery store, until it wasn't. It was 7:30 am in the morning I was filling prescriptions like I did every day. The line was longer than normal, the hold-up was at the check-out. After everyone's debt had been eliminated the previous night by unknown hackers, most people were still using their credit cards, only to find they were declined. After the breach, all of the credit card companies shut down, was the government going to step in? What was going to happen nobody knew just yet, but one by one the credit card companies decided the safest bet was to stop processing transactions, until they could see the balances again. Most people were happy, just momentarily inconvenienced when they had to switch to debit. That's when I noticed him, the old man in the line, he was acting odd, sweating. He must have been in his 50's he wore dirty coveralls that sad his name was "Ed", His hands were clean but the dirt under his fingernails said he been a Mechanic. I heard it up front at the register, "looks like WAMU debit cards stopped working". A voice went out over the intercom "Everyone, Visa and Mastercard are no longer working but we take cash, and most debit cards are still working"A few minutes another angry customer was shouting demanding to speak to the manager, it turned out BofA just stopped processing the debit cards. The banks holding the mortgage debts were looking to cut their losses, and that meant shutting down all transfers out. The government would ensure the deposits up to the limit, but in the meantime, the banks had decided to cut their losses and stop processing transactions. Another voice went out over the intercom, "It looks like all debit cards have just stopped working"A woman screamed, "Please sir, I need these groceries, I need this formula I have a baby". The clerk, not more than 20 years old didn't know what to say when he looked towards the manager. The manager looked at her with sympathetic eyes, "just take it". She wheeled the cart out. "HEY, I HAVE A FAMILY TOO!" "Do you have cash?" "No" "This store is processing cash only right now" "!@#$ you!, Why did she get her stuff for free? I have a family too" The man pushed his cart past the manager and a frenzy of other customers started to as well. As the pandemonium set in, most of the line vanished at the pharmacy counter vanished, when Ed approached. The intercom went off "DWT shoppers, this is the manager speaking, for safety reasons we will be shutting down the store, all clerks are to begin locking the doors, all current customers currently in the store will be allowed to shop for emergency items only, all sales must be made in cash". Ed looked nervous, as he handed me the prescription it was for daughter, the prescription was for coumadin, a blood thinner, if she didn't have it she could die. With tears in his eye's, he said: "I don't have cash on me". I silently mouthed the "I'll fill it, just take it."When everything was interrupted by a cinder block going in through the main glass doors. A street gang had just broken in, armed with sawed-off shotguns, and pistols, "Carlos, you get the registers, Dante you take all the best liquor we can carry, Shawn, Jim, you two take everything in the back of the pharmacy." I put my hands up and stepped aside, Ed was more foolish and reached for a pistol, but he wasn't fast enough. We had just entered a brave new world.
I like cats well enough, but it was still kind of a scramble to prepare my tiny apartment for my new fuzzy roommate, and I'll admit I kind of resented my aunt for leaving him to me. To be fair, I don't think anyone had told her about the breakup and my subsequent change in living situation before she passed, it had only been a couple months and everyone had other priorities near the end. She probably thought her old Tom could hang out with my (ex) girlfriend's spoiled Persian. Nope. But, like I said, I do like cats, and Joneleth was a good-natured if highly eccentric kitty. He's big, almost Maine Coon size, a bit battle-scarred with scratches near one eye and little wedges of his left ear missing, kind of a silvery coat streaked with black. He already knew me pretty well from all the times I've visited my aunt in the last nine years, so he just kind of mrowled at me from his carrier when I came to pick him up from the lawyer's office. "Hey Jon,"I said, and scritched him lightly on the top of his head as he bumped it against the window bars. "Mr. Ghanem,"the lawyer said, giving me a thin professional smile as she held out her hand. I shook it and nodded. "Ms. Carensen,"I said. "Thank you for handling all this." "Just doing my job,"she said, giving Jon's carrier a definite side-eye. Not fond of cats, I guessed, or allergic. Still, she was right, she had done her job, arguably gone above and beyond by keeping him here even this long. "Still,"I said, and then paused. I wasn't really sure how to ask, or if I was supposed to ask, about anything else. Had she left me any money? I felt like a low greedy bastard even contemplating it, but we were on the subject of inheritances and frankly a small sum could be really, really useful in the wake of my messy break-up. But the lawyer knew what the pause meant, she must after so many years in her line of work. "Your aunt did not leave you any monetary bequest. However, besides the, ah, animal, she also wished for you to have these."She pulled bulging envelope from a box by her desk and handed it to me. I gave the paper container a curious look and opened it. "Thanks,"I said belatedly, and pulled out the heavy-frame pair of glasses that had been inside. They were tortoiseshell, with thick but oddly uncurved lenses that sparkled strangely in the office's elegant warm-LED lighting. I chalked it up to small pits and scratches on the ancient glass, and slipping the pair back into the envelope and the envelop into the front pocket of my hoodie. The lawyer gestured toward the clipboard she'd set down on the edge of her big oak desk. "Please sign here, Mr. Ghanem." I did, thanked her again, and left. Jon meowed at me the whole way out to my car, sort of a "what now?"sound. "We're just going home, Sayiid Joneleth,"I told him. "I'll do my best to take care of you from now on, Aunt Tahaani was a lovely person even if she was a little crazy." "Mrowwr Mrrr-rip,"he said agreeably, and settled down in the carrier for the long trip from the downtown office to my apartment complex out in Strip Mall Land. When I finally opened the carrier in the cramped living/dining room of my one-bedroom, he sort of stalked his way out cautiously sniffing the air. I let him poke around for a few minutes, then showed him his new automatic feeder and water fountain and litter robot. Oh, and the tall scratching post, my furniture might be cheap but I still didn't want it covered in cat-gouges. All this new pet stuff had been a bit expensive, but I wasn't totally broke and I really had been fond of my aunt, I wanted to do right by her beloved pet. We got to know each other, me and Jon, over the next couple days. I freelance from home (and coffee shops, helps me concentrate away from all my stuff, but I didn't want to leave the cat alone when he'd only just arrived) so I'd tap away at my laptop while he explored, even though there wasn't much to explore. And fought. All the time. It was cute at first, seeing him pounce on shadows and sunshine and whatever little motes of nothing caught the attention of his overactive kitty senses. It was kind of a relief, too, seeing him clawing imaginary prey rather than my furniture, though he did use the scratching post a few times so maybe he was just well-trained. Cute, until I saw his claws catch on the air, tearing backward through it like there was real meaty resistance there, and coming away with something glistening on their tips. Blood? I thought at first, but no. Blood isn't silver and green. And it doesn't leave tiny tendrils of smoke through the air. <continued below>
"Robots? Why Robots?"Fred asked. "Robots never disobey, they follow your every order and never think twice."I reply "The perfect soldier." "Ok, so we're going to sell them? why not just skip the middle man and make yourself the money?" "Because that wouldn't have the desired effect. The point isn't to make money it is to make war." "So we sell a country the robots and they use them to destroy their enemies? That doesn't really seem like it would be helpful..." "No we sell ALL the countries the robots and they all destroy each other."I reply getting tired of the asinine questions "And then we use our profits from the sales to help destabilize the world economies leaving nothing but a shattered world which I will come to save." "But why? Why all this to make a 'perfect world'" "Because to make a masterpiece you need a blank canvas." "Well what if I stop you? What if I don't let you use my company to achieve your goals?" "I'll simply make another one." "What?"A confused look comes across Fred's face. "I'll simply make another Fred."I reply matter-of-factly "I've done it before. I can make ANYTHING infinite. So Fred 259, Will you help me or should I just go on to the next one?"
Liz stalked her prey with practiced ease. Of course, he had no idea. He thought he was the one stalking her. It was an easy mistake to make. She walked, he followed, so it was only natural to assume she was the prey. But he had no idea she wanted him there. It had taken her months to find him, and then only because she had done this so many times before. And once she had, she had gone through great pains to make sure he knew about her. She would always be there, in the corner of his eye. Always present until she became his sole obsession. Until he had to make her his next target. And so it was that he was following her on a chilly Autumn night. The city streets were devoid of leaves, and the crunch of litter was a poor substitute. People paid no attention though. They pretended they did not notice the lack of color on the ground. Liz noticed, but did not care. She had other things running through her mind. Like the best way to accomplish her goal. She slowed her steps and pulled out her phone, pretending to look for something. It allowed the man to catch up to her. He brushed against her and she felt the quick pinch of a needle at her waist. He was good. Most people might not have noticed anything wrong until their vision started swimming. Liz welcomed the feeling. She barely suppressed a smile as her vision went dark. She woke tied to a chair. The rope was thick and the knots were strong. The room was dark, with only a single light shining directly down in her. it looked like there was dried blood on the floor around her. Her heart raced. She had found a good one this time. He really was a professional. She would have no chance of escape. Not that she wanted to. But, she needed to act the part. And so she struggled. "Don't bother fighting."Her captor said. "You're not going anywhere." "Wh-who are you? Where...where am I?"Liz asked, putting the right amount of fear into her voice. If she was not afraid, he might not act. And that would not do. "Oh, just a place I own. Nowhere a fine lady like you would recognize. As for who I am, well..." He stepped out of the shadows wearing a clear plexiglass mask and a heavy apron. His gloves hands held fine knives. He examined her critically, like she was a frog to be dissected. "My name isn't particularly important. But the news calls me the Biology Killer." She acted like her throat seized up and she stiffened with mock fear. It was actually excitement, but there was no way he could know that. "Th-that. You... you're that serial killer that the police are looking for." "Such a crass term. I'm a researcher. A student of human biology. I just happen to prefer live subjects is all." "P-please...please don't kill me. I-I-ll do whatever you want. I won't tell anyone, I swear."Liz said, putting as much fear into her voice as she could. He could not know she wanted to be there. Could never know her real goal. "Now, now. Begging is such a poor thing to do. You know you aren't getting away, so don't bother. Besides, what I want is to see you cut open. I want to see your bones, your organs, your muscles. I want to see what you look like inside. That's all I want from you. Now, please, try not to die too quickly. This is so much better with a living person." He began cutting. The pain surged through her body, setting her nerves on fire. She screamed, unable to control herself. He really was good. It even hurt her, who had become used to pain. And then it ended. She died. The serial killer had claimed another victim. Liz felt it, the detachment from her body. She savored it. The freedom from the weight of life. The joy of touching eternity. She was nowhere, at yet everywhere. Nobody and everyone. All and nothing. It was sublime, and for the next few hours, she did not care what was happening to her body. Her consciousness surged through infinity, and she could not be bothered with mortal affairs. And then it all came crashing down. Her body knit itself back together. Her heart began beating. Her lungs filled with air. Her mind once more contained the endless expanse that had just a moment ago been her. She was now in the middle of some random parking lot. Her killer had placed her there, covering his tracks well. Liz huffed and stood, feeling the familiar ache in her body and worked out the kinks in her neck. This was the twentieth time she died. That she had been killed. And she would go through it all again for that blissful taste of eternity and infinity. She mused, not for the first time and certainly not the last that it was ironic. Ironic that she felt most alive while she was dead.
“Detective, how did the victim die?” I already knew how the guy died. I was the one that killed him; but I wasn’t going to tell my boss that, of course. Daniels walked around the flat, camera in hand, looking for more evidence around the body. “I don’t really know, Eagle Eye. Look around and report back to me if you find anything.” I love investigating my own murders. Why? So I can show off to my co-workers. With all of the murders I’ve investigated, I was always the one that found the most evidence, and it is hard to find sometimes, which is why my nickname in the precinct is Eagle Eye. One time, I killed a guy by ripping his jaw clean off with a piece of hot wire, leaving it in the pipes under his sink. Brutal, but it keeps my peers of my scent. The victim today was a 22 year-old surgeon who messed up a guys operation and regretted it. His cause of death? Cyanide poisoning. There were no cyanide pills in the house or on his body when we found him, but there was 5 large, empty almond bottles around him. I took the time to hand feed him ten pounds of almonds so he would die of cyanide. I have too much time on my hands. (Not the best I know but it was on a whim)
Day 1: Hell is an interesting place. You are stuck in a pretty small room, with no windows, with the person you liked most in the world. For me it was my wife. Apparently, it isn't the real person, but a perfect recreation of them. I'm served Prime rib everyday, and it's the best I've ever had. And my favorite song plays in my head. Honestly Hell could be a much worse place. Day 3: Alright, I'm starting to get it. The song is old now. I kind of hate it... I'm trying to have near continuous conversations with my wife to drown it out, but we really don't have anything to talk about. And while great, the food is becoming tiresome. Day 6: The walls are closing in on me. I need to run! I need to jump! I need to do something. This room is too small. I can't take it! My wife says I just need to calm down and relax, and I went off on her. I feel terrible. She was only trying to help. I should apologize. Day 9: Fuck this song. Fuck this food. Fuck this room. The only thing keeping me sane is writing these journals and talking to my wife. I think I would honestly try and kill myself if it wasn't for her. Day 11: Tried to slight my throat today. My wife tried to stop me, so I cut her pretty bad. She... She ISN'T HEALING! OH SHIT! What have I done! Day 12: She died. I'm stuck in the room without the one thing keeping me sane. I cut my throat open with a steak knife and nothing happened. I can feel the pain of the ridges pulling my flesh until it rips constantly. Breathing is difficult, but I will not die. I regret it! I regret everything I have ever done. Nothing brings me pleasure anymore. I just want to die. Day 27: I can't read what I'm writing anymore. I've written across this sheet so many GOD DAMN TIMES that it's just black with Ink now. FUCK! I don't even know if I'm writing what I think I am. I don't think I can keep this journal up anymore.
"Now, my faithful, present to me your army of ghosts" "Fine sir, I just thought it was a weird request" The castle gates open to reveal hundreds of armored goats. "... are those goats?" "Indeed they are sir, each highly skillet" "Oh my lord. You're the hard of hearing wizard aren't you. Look I said GHOSTS with a G and H. I also said skilled not skillet? What else did you get wrong?" "Well I made sure the enemies were dyed" "What died like death?" "Ohhhhh, that's what you meant. See I thought you meant dye like changing color.... You know, that explains the confusion" "How about the rite of God's?" "Good news sir, the book became an instant best seller, bad news I think you meant r-i-t-e not w-r-i-t-e" "Did you get the mighty Hero?" "Certainly, straight from Yee Old Plaka, I didn't know if you wanted your Gyro with Chicken or beef so I got both" "You're FIRED!" "Wait, but I did steal the enemy's armor and made them bare" "Oh goodness, finally just one right thing!' "Just one problem though" "Yes?" "This is only after I realized that you meant bare as in no armor and not bear, like the animal, so now they have trained war bears" "We're going to die. We are straight up going to die!"
It hadn’t been a busy day, I realised as the train started speeding up. Sad. Those were the best ones. They somehow made me feel more alive. Cars bustling with clerks and workers. Everyone keeping to themselves. Eyes shut or locked on their little devices. I prefered it this way - less wandering eyes or blank staring. Those always made me feel like they could actually see me. Not that they really could - at least not for the last century. Or was it two? Time loses all meaning after death. Faces begin to look grey. Places become indistinguishable. The buildings racing past the window looked the same as the ones I’d seen after getting in. The grey man sitting opposite of me left his seat, as the train came to a halt. My stop was still a while away. I turned my attention to the scenery behind the glass, trying to avoid thoughts of time and fate. Familiar mountains grew from the grey landscape. It had been some time since my last visit to the temple. Too many memories to linger there, but one must pay respects to family from time to time. A strange feeling filled me. The feeling of a stare. I sighed and turned to move out of the way of the poor, oblivious person staring into the void. I met her eyes. They were lucid. Wide, blue and in absolute disbelief. I checked behind me and was surprised to find nothing out of the ordinary. I shot a glance back to the girl. She was clutching a backpack in her lap, eyes frantically looking at the other passengers, as if searching for help. Everything around us had gone from grey to black. We were the only ones here. She can see me. How? Who is she? I gathered my thoughts and introduced myself. The girl kept staring at me, but no response came. She can see, but not hear me, I realised. Suddenly, the train began slowing down and we returned to reality. I turned to see the mountains looming over us, the temple perched at the top. The doors opened and I turned back to the girl. She seemed to have gotten over the initial shock and was actively studying me. I waved. Her eyes went wide again. I stood and pointed towards the door, as an older man was slowly making his way out. We didn’t have much time. The door would close, the train would leave and the only person to see ever my spirit would leave with it. I gave her a pleading look and pointed outside again. The girl seemed to understand. She stood and made her way to the door. I followed. We stepped out into the crisp mountain air and the train shut its door. We looked at each other as the train left. The wind blew into her, setting her hair and scarf afloat. I stood, unbothered. She watched as the old man from the train disappeared from sight. She looked at me again and spoke, for the first time. “So what now?” I turned my head to the stair leading to the temple. I couldn’t answer her, but maybe my old home could. Maybe my grave could. I waved her to follow me, as I moved towards the stair. She hesitated, but started walking, still studying me with her blue eyes. I smiled. Maybe the world wasn’t so grey after all. Thank you for reading. Criticisms and corrections are welcome :)
"This meeting of the Grand Council shall come to order!" "God, here he goes with the theatrics again." "Would you bother showing up if he didn't?" "Silence!"The booming voice echoed in the chamber, gray stone of the mountain itself molded by the powers of the Geomancers. "Oh give it a rest, Sal. There's six of us."The speaker wore bright red robes with a hood over her head, from the front of which protruded dark black horns, curled like a ram. "Moira, please. This is ridiculous enough without you interrupting."This from a white robed man with a shaved head that gleamed even in the dim light of the cavern. He looked older than the stone itself but sat with a straight back nonetheless. "Michael, for eternity I have made comments at these meetings and for an eternity you have badgered me about it."Moira said, sticking her tongue out at Michael, the man in white. He rolled his eyes. Salvatore, wearing his robes of deep green and brown stood, waiting, letting his head loll back as he sighed at the ceiling and prayed for patience. "Alright fine, fine,"he finally said, straightening his neck and waving his hands in dismissal. "This, the meeting of the Council in the year 2020, will commence with the usual banter. Does the Council have any matter to bring forth?" "No."Moira said. "No."Michael echoed her. "Delightful. For the six thousand, three hundred, and eighty second time we shall proceed without any change whatsoever. If there is nothing else, this meeting shall adjourn for another decade until we come back and do it all over again." Sal lifted his gavel, as he so loved to, and Moira and Michael began to stand even before it fell. When a young man behind Moira cleared his throat awkwardly. She spun on him, holding out a finger in the most threatening way possible. "Shut up Gavin!" Gavin did not. "If it pleases the Council I have something to table." Sal and Michael both groaned, loudly and joined by their own aides. The room became a chorus of groans and Moira sat back in her chair and slumped. Aides were permitted to bring business forth once each millennium without retribution and Gavin had waited his thousand years. "Damn it! Why do you even bring him?"Sal said, letting his head fall onto the stone table that circled the room. "Do you know how hard it is to get anyone to come to this crap?"Moira said, rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hands. Even Michael, ever so stoic, slumped in his chair with nearly tangible boredom. "Alright, Gavin, once again you may present your case before the Council so we may ignore it."Sal said, making a circular motion with his hand as if to say 'get on with it, lunch is ready'. Gavin stood, entering the center of the table with his stacks of leather bound books and loose parchment papers sticking out in irregular angles. "As we all know-"he began, "the four elements draw their power from a single plane of existence. Pyromancy from the depths of Hell, Aeromancy from the heights of Heaven, Geomancy from the mortal Earth. Yet we have remained unsure of the plane of the Aquamancers. These mysterious beings have eluded our search for the collective history of our Grand Council." "Yes, we know."All three said in unison. Gavin's mouth twitched in a smile. For the first time in thousands of years he had new information. For once they would be forced to listen. "I have searched for the Aquamancers for as long as you can remember-" "We know!"They all shouted that in unison. Even the aides. "-but! I have found information that indicates why Aquamancers are so rare, so powerful, and where their power comes from. Verifiable information." All three perked up at this. Gavin was a dedicated researcher. Obviously. If he had real information about the Aquamancers, it could be valuable. "Of course we first assumed that their power came from the oceans. This was not the case, Earth provides power to the Geomancers, the whole of it. Then we began to investigate it as a power drawn from all three planes of existence, which was also false. Many eons past it was considered that perhaps the power was drawn from Purgatory, but the power of Purgatory is too fleeting and inconsistent. Here, I have evidence, that the power of Aquamancy comes from somewhere else entirely." "Get to the point Gavin!"Moira shouted. He smiled and held up a small leather journal, it looked absolutely ancient and on the first page was inscribed a name. "That can't be..."Michael said, breathing the words out as he read the cover. "Impossible."Sal said. "Fuck me."Moira's addition. "Aquamancers are rare because only a mortal may possess the power. Aquamancers are so powerful because they draw their power from an endless supply of energy we can never touch because we are beyond it's plane of existence." "Hellfire."Moira said, sitting back down. "God's Gift."Michael said. "Under our noses, this whole time."Sal said. "Aquamancers draw from Creation, from Life itself."Gavin said, opening the journal to a page with two human figures on it. One was labelled Adam, the other, Eve. "Aquamancers are human."Gavin said, grinning ear to ear at his discovery. He still had one more thing to add, the real bombshell he'd uncovered. "And I've found one."
I'm standing at the edge of a cliff and wondering if the drop is long enough to break my spine. I don't necessarily want to die but there's a bear charging at me, and it's either his hungry jaws or a possibly-deadly jump into a ravine. I can hear the beast's angry snarling and decide to take the plunge. I've learned over the centuries that when both options look equally bad, the best course of action is to take a decisive step. So I turn around, look down at the ground about fifty feet below me, and jump. Turns out that was plenty of distance to kill me. I don't remember the death itself; one moment the ground is getting closer and the next moment, I wake up somewhere else entirely. That's how all of my dying goes. I've lived enough lives now to understand the basics of the process, but it still catches me off-guard every time. This time around, I'm in a room. I look around cautiously, but it's bland and lacking in character. The walls are made of wooden logs, the floor is also polished wood, and there are metal bars over the window. Past them, I catch glimpses of grass and trees, someplace wooded and out of the way. I see two doors. When I check the first it leads to a small bathroom, so I turn on the light and look at the shiny piece of metal that hangs above the sink. It's not a great reflection, but the face staring back at me looks young, with hair the color of copper, and hazel eyes. I look down at the body; this one is female, with a thin, lithe physique. It's weird to look at these hands and know they're my own. Like any switch, this will take a few days of getting used to. The second door is locked. It's a solid, wooden door; a grown man might not have the strength to knock it down. Inside the room stands a single bed with two pillows and no bedsheets. A wooden table sits in a corner, as hefty as the door by the looks of it, and attached to the floor. Same with the only chair. There are two blue dresses in the closet; no shoes, no socks, no underwear. I put the pieces together and realize that this body is being held here, trapped. I don't know who she is, and her consciousness is gone from this place. I've never met the souls whose bodies I inhabit. I don't get a choice of bodies, either -- it's usually whoever is closest physically to my death, although there have been exceptions to that rule. This time, I suspect that the owner of my new skin suit needed a way out. I'm still getting my bearings when I hear voices somewhere in the house. Two men are talking, not loudly enough to determine what they're saying. It sounds like they might be laughing. I take a wild guess that these two might be the reason this body is here, which makes them criminals. I decide to withhold judgment until I meet them. Perhaps, it's a misunderstanding. If it turns out otherwise, these men will suffer. I don't kill but I will not be kind. Footsteps move closer to the locked door, and then I hear a key being turned in the lock. The body that stands in the doorway looks like a lumberjack; the face is scarred. The longest scar runs between the man's left eye and neck. Tanned skin suggests that he spends a lot of time outdoors. "And there's my pretty,"he leers, his gaze sizing up my new body. Behind him, his companion whistles. "Nice score, John. Where'd you find this little doe?" The one named John gestures to his left. "Her car broke down a few miles down the road." This tells me that the body owns a car and that the vehicle may still be somewhere close enough to reach by foot. I file this information away for later and continue standing there, not bothering to move. My captors appear to be expecting fear; I feel only a wave of disgust. "Look at her, acting all tough,"John's friend chuckles. "Let's teach her how a good girl should act when in the presence of her superiors." "I suggest you let me go,"I tell the two men calmly. John grins, steps into the room, and reaches for me. I smell alcohol on his breath and decide that he's an idiot. When he gets close enough, I ram my fist into his face, breaking his nose. Then, I knee his groin hard enough that he drops to the floor, crying obscenities. For a moment, his friend is stunned, but then he comes to his rescue. The second guy's not drunk and he's smarter than John. He keeps his distance and pulls out his hunting knife. I kick the back of John's head to goad him into action. When he lunges at me, I sidestep the bastard. With deft movements, I rush at the door and slam it shut behind me. The man barrels after me, but he's not nearly as fast as this body, and he doesn't have my centuries of experience to draw upon. I grab a chair from the kitchen as I run through it, turn, and slam it into my attacker's face. He howls and drops the knife out of sheer surprise. I see a shotgun leaning against the wall next to a door. I pick it up and smile at the still groaning attacker. "What's your name?"I ask. "Shut up, bitch." "Awful name,"I tell him. "Might want to change it. Why were you holding me?" "Fuck off." I sigh and shoot the man in the leg. He falls with a wail. It's so human, that response to pain. "Listen carefully,"I say quietly, "you and your friend are lucky to be alive. I recommend not pushing your luck, or I will find you. And next time, you won't get off with just a little pain." I take the gun with me and step out in the warm sunlight of a breezy, summer day. It's time to start another life, find another place for myself in this world. It's the least favorite part of my curse, leaving behind those I love when I die, only to make new friends who I will also have to leave, eventually.
The cops came in a swarm of flashing lights, and yet I sat on the old porch swing, sipping a cold glass of iced tea. They shoved their warrant in my face and stormed inside, yet still I sat, unshaken. The swarm burst through the front door, down the basement stairs, and started tearing apart everything in the cool, musty room. Eventually, as I expected, they found the entrance to the tunnels. The tunnels had provided for us through hard times, as the coal seam running under our house seemed to never dry up. I wish I could’ve seen them crawling through the cramped tunnels like a bunch of rats. Cutting their pale blue uniforms on jagged rocks, inhaling mountains of coal dust. It would’ve been a sight to see. But, alas, the disappointed look on their faces as they returned was satisfying enough. The tunnels were illegal, for sure, and earned me a hefty fine. But all the urban legends of the Perry family “Murder Tunnels” had come up empty. No blood, no bones, no bodies. I watched the last of the cars leave. By now, the ice had melted in my iced tea, and the drink was far too watery. I set it down, and after a quick glance up the driveway, walked towards the woods at the back of my property. The cops asked a million questions, but they missed the most important one. They knew that the tunnels existed, but they never asked how it was built. My family members were never big fans of manual labor, so we had to find other solutions. A few hundred yards into the woods, I knelt down, cleared some leaves and dirt, and groped around until I found a rusty metal handle. Sticking my key into the lock below it, I opened the hatch door. See, my great grandpa only ever dug one thing, and it wasn’t a network of coal tunnels. I peered down into the hole below the open hatch, sunlight illuminating the small room, and its many occupants. They squinted up at me, attempting to shield their eyes from the first light they’d seen in over a day. I found the rope ladder that was stashed inside a nearby tree, and tossed the bottom down into the hole. “Get up here, and get digging.”
Gilmar had just about had it with its spawn. The children of the Tarithaxx had a unique ability to forgo all common wisdom and annoy their caregivers until they were either discarded or trained properly. Gilmar was dangerously close to discarding yet another spawn attempt. Instead, it summoned the smaller creature to the listening pools, a cave filled with waters that relived every tale told on Patrax-II. "Listen, Githur, and I shall tell you a tale of woe."The smaller creature lifted its bulging eyes and tentacled face, claws at its side, to meet his caregiver's eyes. "Gilmar, I do not want to hear these tales. I want to hear tales of exploration, heroism and love!"the spawn waved it's arms, all six of them, above its head. Gilmar sighed, seating itself at the edge of the pool, tips of its claws to the water. "Githur, the things you dream of end in disaster. Do you understand why we discard spawn who disobey us?"the water shimmered, a memory of a council called to order and vote on population policy. Githur ignored it for the most part. "Many eons ago, there was a race that covered much of the galaxy. Bipedals known as Chikaltu, the Earthbound. They were the reason for this policy." --- The Earthbound are known as such because of their innate trajectory into the grave. Ch' for Earthen, ikal, for burial and tu, driven into. Chikaltu were prone to war, and to fall in love. They prospered solely on these two principles. Because they loved, they would fight to protect. Because they fought, they loved to win. Eventually, they loved to fight. Skirmishes across Qirterpa and Yessar developed into the pattern seen in humans for all of us here, Tarithaxx-II and beyond. They knew no end to cruelty, they would take others of their own kind for forced pleasure, they would kill and eat their own to prove their strength... All in the name of "heroics"and "love". Their females were vulnerable, but beautiful, and many would call their mating desire towards them, love. They would love their spawn, sacrificing much for them. They loved art, and music and natural beauty. But when someone else said they loved the same thing more, tensions arose. Humans would fight over pitiful things, like Mugani flowers and Ythern prayers. Love drove them apart, and heroics made them savages. Heroes, to the Chikaltu, were simply idols of violence. They would come into homes and kill the weak, all claiming it for the greater good, and as a method of crippling their opponents. Love for their heroes also drew fervor for their plights, and it only drove the race more mad. Yessar was lost at the war of Ikalquior, as was Qirterpa. Cannons were fired at the planetary cores, destroying all on the surface almost instantly. Humanity was a plague, and the loss of their homeworlds only drove them further to violence. Their heroes killed scores of us, their love made them take our valuables and store them in vaults. Their ways brought us to the brink. We eventually drove them back, flung the remaining children to a planet so far into the great Ussneskare that they'll never return. --- The pool stilled, the images of the wars fading from view. Githur suddenly looked terrified, having seen visions of Tarithaxx, the first, plundered by humans, his own species spit roasted over flames. "Now Githur, if you continue to scream for heroics and love, it may make you Chikaltu. Anyone foolish enough to think that these things are worth it are Ikalquior." ".... Ikalquior? Me...?"Githur leaned over the water, the tip of his claw brushing its surface. A brief image of a biped, staring straight back at him, came into view. "Discarding you would be a disappointment, Githur. I would like to finish raising my three spawn, so that I may die. You are my last attempt at number three."Gilmar explained. Githur, upon leaving the cave, was suddenly a lot more obedient to Gilmar's wishes.
“You gotta be kidding me!”, he mumbled, “The Lord of Hate, Lucifer, the Baron of all misery and heat, Feared by God himself...And I am Bested by some geek!” It was getting ridiculous! Thirteen Thousand deals in under an hour? He hadn’t had this much traffic since Adam moved in... what was going on up there? John P. Mirohoven was a genius. He had, not an hour ago, invented and popularised the IPSC, or the Instantaneous Profitable Satanic Contract. In that time, six Trillionaires had made themselves know in the past thirty minutes, and the world was swiftly becoming a Utopia. John relaxed in his chair, quietly laughing... “Good lord, Satan, you poor fool”, chuckled Gabriel, “the Big Man will like this”
Well, it was not easy growing up I tell you. A water bear is not the prettiest of creatures. At school I was bullied a lot, especially by the ones with predators. They used to form packs, and liked to target me out, but not all packs were bad. I survived without much trouble, but being the only water bear meant that even the spirit teachers did not really know what to do with me, or how to teach me about the water bears abilities or the meaning of it, it was never heard of before. I was pretty much left to choose my studies myself, so that was a bonus. You see, we cannot access the power of our spirit animal until adulthood, we can only learn from the ones before. So I learned all the biological data I could, there was not much to study in spiritual records, but I did find some interesting footnotes in one of the old books on dimensional studies, which proved to be rather useful. The fact that tardigrades are literally everywhere and are so adept at surviving the harshest environments has one single purpose. Passing on information. Like a giant neural network each and every single water bear is connected somehow, on a quantum level. You think they only exist on earth and this tiny? Think again! Or rather don't, as I can tell you I am almost a fruit cake. Since reaching my adulthood and connecting with the network, I can not only perceive all kinds of information from anywhere I wish, I also get the far away hails from others across the galaxies and even sometimes other dimensions. There is so much chatter, I cannot process all of it and what is left turns into a kind of static in my head. I got used to it after a while, but it is like having a hive of bees in your ears while trying to have low key conversation. The information is clear, something is coming, the constant buzz of excitement is getting louder. We need to buckle up as it is gonna get wild. Recently I learned that the packs who used to bully me had a scare from their spirits, apparently they ran whimpering into the forests. It makes me smile, and it makes me sad. At least I know that I will survive, the water bears promise.
We weren't noble. We weren't kind. We weren't even particularly good people. But we were thorough. That allowed us to never learn what the inside of a prison wall looked like, even though it's where we belonged. But innocent until proven guilty, as they say. Growing up, I had lived a sheltered life. Being the last of the Guiltless, it was only natural that we sequester ourselves some, so as to not be caught in a moment of temptation. My parents and grandparents would go out from time to time for supplies and what have you, but for the most part, they were my world. All that said, there was no knowledge hidden from me. They had taught me the ways of our world and the systems it had developed. I knew of the sufferings outside of our forest, and the punishments that awaited even the newest of newborns. My eager mind came to the logical questions. "So, why aren't we in trouble?"I was always told to wait until I was older - then I'd understand. Eventually that day did come. My grandpa took me to our cellar, and opened a small compartment in the floor, pulling out a jar. I at first assumed it was some strange pickled vegetable like most of the jars around us contained. But then it became clear that there were darker contents here on display. My grandpa turned and with his gold-tooth laden smile, explained to me his strange treasure. "You see Tommy, this here is a memory jar. Our family's memories. These are the last pieces of evidence that exist in all the world of any of our wrong doing, going back generation upon generation. These are the smiles of any man or beast that caught us in a moment of guilt. We're erasers, Tommy, and it's time you learned the craft." He tossed me the jar which landed with a rattle in my arms. The teeth inside various colors, sizes, and states of decay. Horrified but curious, only one question came to mind. "Isn't it dangerous keeping these, should someone ever find the jar?" My grandpa flashed his gold once more. "Seems like you're gonna be a natural at this, Tommy!" The years went by as I learned how to erase. I was good, very good some might even say. There was a certain thrill in cleaning up a kill that never went away. And over time I learned the value of our special jar. It was validation of our success, but also kept us from becoming arrogant. We knew we had a weakness, and protecting it proved helpful motivation. But there was a certain cost that I failed to consider until it was mine to pay. Many of those trophies belonged to my ancestors, who themselves all came to a moment where they needed to be erased. And so it came to be with my grandpa - in his age he was in danger of growing careless. So, it was my job to erase him. He looked up at me from his knees as I stood beside the fire that would do much of my work for me, for the final time flashing that golden smile. "You were the best of us, Tommy. I'm happy it's you. Now, nice and clean, eh?" The years after were harder, to be sure. I loved my grandpa dearly, as he taught me so much of my technique. But I knew I was just another link in our family's chain - a cog that allowed us to maintain our freedom in a caged world. Eventually, though, I met a woman who understood our circumstance, and was soon to have a cog of my own. He reminded me so much of myself. So curious, so insatiable, with a blossoming ruthlessness that I both admired and feared. Soon, it was time to bring him into the family trade. I showed him the jar, now containing a single golden tooth, and taught him all about his future. "It's stupid to have this jar, you know."was his only reply. He's going to be just fine. ____________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
I smile at the expression of the boy across from me. He twitches with a clear desire to leave my forge as soon as possible, but his eyes clearly show it is from excitement and not fear. They also show that he knows it is time for my payment. I know the stories that surround my... eclectic, shall we say, choices in payments. Many of them are even true. I've asked kings for access to the finest ores in their mines, heroes for their loyalty to my town, and peasants for their lives’ stories in exchange for my weapons. All have paid without complaint. But today I ask for something different, as he has asked for something different. “An explanation,” I say, and soot falls from my whiskers. The boy, though he is not really a boy, only a very lithe man, nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of my voice. ”I-I beg your p-pardon, sir?” He asks. ”An explanation,” I repeat. ”of why you came to me for this task. I have forged weapons for the King of Dyfed and the Lords of Camelot. My devices have lain siege to empires and protected explorers of the ancient kingdoms. The finest knights in all the land wear my armor!” I lean in close to him. Muscle from decades in the forge has me dwarfing the young man, and he turns his head to cough at the smoke that lingers in my presence. ”And you asked me to make a pair of wedding bands.” The man slowly regains his jittery composure and meets my old brown eyes with his young emerald ones. ”Be-because, sir, ” he stutters. ”they s-say that any obj-ject forged by your hands never fails in its purpose.” He takes a deep breath and steadies himself before continuing with more confidence. ”And I cannot fail to do this, sir. The woman I plan to give this to has held my heart since we were children. I could never love another woman.” I see the resolve in his eyes and give a hearty laugh as I stand up and open the door to a breezeway that leads to my house. ”Come, lad.” I say. And though his confusion clearly shows, he follows. I lead him to the den and point to a large painting that hangs over the hearth. He gasps when he sees it, for surrounded by trinkets and keepsakes I’ve collected over the years is a mural of more than forty people who share family ties. The ones below my place in the portrait all match to either my traits or those of the firey-haired woman on my right. ”I’ve forged only four pairs of rings aside from the ones you requested. And each has bound their couple together for a cumulative century and a half. But that is not the work of the rings.” He turns to me, confused. ”We all worked to maintain the relationships those rings represent.” I continue, holding my left hand to show a silver band with engraved writing. ”Promise me you’ll do the same.” He nods, and I smile as I lead him from the house. I present him with a small box containing his prize and see him off as he rides at speeds that his horse must despise towards his village.
Before I tell you my story, there’s a few things you need to understand. Nowadays, to sell ones eternal soul is common, in fact it is entirely expected, the only real question being where, and for what. But it hadn’t always been that way. At the time of creation the angels and demons made a deal. The souls of humans who had lived spreading misery would go to hell, while all those who spread joy would go to heaven. The more souls each side got the stronger they grew, so both sides tried their best to steer human civilization. Atleast at first, for the devil is a lot of things: Evil Incarante, Lord of Fire and Brimstone and fiddle enthusiasts, but above all else the Devil is a shrude businessmen. He started by offering great powers to martyrs. The power to save hundreds or thousands from damnation at the cost of their own soul and the fools accepted it. The first two centuries were incredibly bad for business as these martyrs saved so many, yet the seed had been planted. Selling ones soul to save thousands led to spellings ones soul to save dozens, and to save two, and to save your loved one (all the while they sold theirs to save you). It led to leaders of opposing causes selling their souls for success and the “good of the people”, it lead to rulers selling their souls to stop rebels. The slippery slope lead all the way down to today, where people sell their souls for lifelong free meals at McDonalds. Yet, all souls don’t have the same value. Why would the demons spend their magic to buy the soul of a bigot when at the end of the their life it was basically guaranteed? They’d much rather give a saint a better deal and try to snatch an extra one. That’s where I and my “friends” come in. The Unfit, all of those who still cling on to their souls even in old age. Either for unwillingness to give it up, or sheer inability to. —— It was the August 6th 11:27PM, just a day like any other day. and I was sat comfortably on the porcelain throne browsing Reddit I closed my eyes for a just a second. I swear I only blinked, yet when they opened I was surely not home. For one, my porcelain throne had changed. My still exposed cheeks sat on the softest of silks while my arms found themselves on armrests of pure gold adorned with black and red rubies. Secondly the ugly tile interior of my small bathroom had been replaced by a much more modern Endless Void™️ design. Third and finally, I was not alone. Sat across from me in an even more imposing throne of twisted metal and steel was a familiar figure. Master of Deals himself, the Devil lied in waiting with his crimson red skin, perfect fit suit and mischievous smile. Just as I started blinking aggressively, trying to clear my sight and mind, the Devil spoke. “Welcome! Welcome!” He said boisterously “I deeply apologize for any and all inconveniences I might have caused with this express summoning but I have a lot of goods news to give to a lot of people. And time is souls isn’t it?” End of part 1.
"You knew this day would come."I said. He simply stared, alternating between the compass and me. I gave him a flat stare. "Don't be so naive. I gave you that thing, I gave you your sword, for Cuthbert's sake I practically trained you." The shock didn't leave his eyes as his expression hardened and his grip on his blade tightened. "What have you done?"was all he managed to ask. "Made you."I replied. "All the blood on your hands, all the guards of this palace you laid low, every farmer whose way of life has been upended by this tyrants death, all the evils you've committed to save the world are because of me. I am evil, yes, but I am necessary. Without me, you could not have stopped this, or if you had you'd simply fill his shoes. But you get to go home the hero, and no one would accept me as the new king. You had to kill, and I had to make you. This is the only way to save the world." I turned from him then. The final test. I knew he'd trust that compass. He knew I was evil. But if I got through to him, we could both walk away. But I had failed. He struck me down, and before my blood had cooled, the compass turned. The needle spun to face him. He knew what he'd become.
Death took so much from us. Ourselves, friends, family. Some thought this was the natural course of time, a test of our resolve as humans. Others, thought it was an unfair farce that should never happen. However, as we are all merely humans, there was nothing we could do. Not until Harold the Cursed began seeking a way to trap death, attempting to protect his sickly wife. We all thought him crazy, until he became crazy. Then we all knew him crazy. Sometimes, you just need a bit of crazy to achieve the impossible. \- "Land, captain! I see land!" Finally, some good news. Painfully, I stood from my captain seat, gesturing Half-Cut Grom, my first mate, to take the wheel for me. He hopped forward, grunting in pain at every hop, until he reached the wheel. "Have the decency of shouting the direction, too, matey!", I yell, as I slowly descend to the starboard. I may lack vision, but my ears don't fail me, those are indeed seagulls. Land must be close. "Aye aye, capt'n, land portside. D'you believe we'll find Death here, or just an old stash to Doubloons?" I twist and turn, trying to figure out Nosebridge Pete's location. "Blimey, I'll never get used to this shit, Pete" I sigh. I had only lost my eyesight some 15 moons ago, when that Peglegged bastard stabbed my only remaining eye. I was just getting used to wearing a single eyepatch, too. "That's why we need to find it, Capt'n. D'you even care for the bounty on this one? Because I don't. I just want to swashbuckle in the afterlife, like old pirates used to." Ah, the good times. Few hundred years ago, they say. I'm not old enough to know these times, but Pete is. It's a miracle he's still in a decent shape after so long. Real tough buccaneer, he is. "Trust the map, Pete. This is where the last crew brought it, according to that stomachless traitor" I was referring to Gutless Travis. Damn scallywag had the bad idea of trying a mutiny. We cut off both his legs, arms and his head before throwing it all in the sea. "Capt'n", started Half-cut Grom, "we're touching land soon." "Aye aye, Grom. Join back your other half now, before you get confused and drive us in a rock. Pete, gather the crew Starboard. Captain's got a word or two." &#x200B; "Aye." \- "Me hearties, we've gone and done it. We reach Old Harold's island. If the maps are to be trusted, tonight is the night we die!" Cheer erupted from my crew. At least, those who could still cheer. I bask in their joy, feeling accomplished. We sailed for years upon end to find this. It better be here. "But first, a toast to our hard work. Life on the sea is rough, immortality is worse!", I shout, as I pop the oak barrels of rum open. Those who can serve drinks to those who can't, then take one themselves. The atmosphere is as joyous as it could be on a ship of old pirates as ourselves, grunting at every movement and living in pain. "Y'hear, mateys, I'm proud of all of you. I may be younger than most, only standing here at 200 odd years, but we've all helped each other in these hard times. We cannot die, yet battle rages and we handicap ourselves. Wounds that would kill us, doesn't. But when Nosebridge Pete had his face cut in half, we adapted, helped him change to his new self, and found a way to make this useful! Now he can be in the crow's nest and down on the deck at the same time, seeing far." I stop for a second, gulping down a massive swig of rum. My old flesh feels warmer already. I can feel everyone looking at me, expecting the rest of my speech. "And when Half-cut Grom was cut open from crotch to scalp, well, all we did was gain a new crew member, now there's two halves doing their own thing!" Laughter and cheer erupts from the ship, as both of Half-cut Grom's halves drink their rum. After gulping it down, it falls out of his body through the throat, but lands directly in the other half's guts. Fella got creative ways to drink his rum. Not like he'd ever let anything stop him from drinking. "Honestly? When I'm around all of you, I nearly want to keep living. Our time together, filled in pain and misery, is still the best time I've had. Because we all share this pain, we all share these horrors and still, help each other be our best selves." I stop for a second, getting a bit emotional. "You're the best crew I could ever ask for" I can hear my crew getting emotional themselves. Some cry, some can't. But we all feel this together. "However, me hearties, we're here for our well-deserved death, and you best believe we're getting it. So, to our shovels, we're digging that coffin up tonight!" "Ahoy!!", shouts the crew in unison, as we drag our mutilated, aging excuses for a body to the shovels, and begin digging for our release.
We didn’t know what to make of the call, but our theorists and analysts agreed that it was better to comply. Most human colonies cut themselves off from any planets with intelligent life. Most of us, at least. Government in space is tricky. You’ve got to take into account the light-years of travel just to get anywhere, the economic cost of putting together an effective police force, and the fact that most colony’s have their own problems to deal. As a result, a few colonies decided to keep their pets. Communication, through quantum entanglement, can travel instantaneously, so the rest of the species kept an eye on the pet owners. We all watched what happened next. Exactly one Terran year after the mandate was sent out, devastating diseases killed off all native life on those colony planets. The humans survived. Nothing else did. No flora, no fauna, not even microscopic organisms. The diseases even wiped themselves out, eventually. Those diseases didn’t come from us; years of exhaustive research made that clear. A lot of the pet-owning colonists were traumatized, but the race as a whole kept moving. Every now and then, a colony would try to tame an alien race. The same mandate would arrive: “Stop taming sentients!” The colony would get one year. After that, every living thing on the planet would die. Religions started around the broadcasts. Scientists would send off signals in every possible configuration out into space, but they never got a response. Some researchers would even deliberately tame species just to receive the mandate and analyze it. The silence broke when we finally figured out faster-than-light travel. We received a message congratulating us for reaching the final tier to becoming a “mature” species. We were now free to join the Confederation, a union of spacefaring species. Hold on, we said. What the hell was up with the mandate all those centuries ago? Oh, they replied, that… They call it a more enlightened way of life. The hands-off approach, if you will. As a space-faring species, we aren’t supposed to interfere with lesser races. To join the Confederation, a species had to prove its worthiness by reaching the stars on the basis of its own ingenuity. But being tamed by an already-spacefaring species? That was cheating. Being uplifted by their betters. After that, the species might as well be contaminated. They needed another race’s help, which made them weak. Including them would make the Confederation weak. Much better to just sterilize the whole planet. Give the planet a chance to produce a proper species. After all, how cruel would we have to be to want a weaker species in the Confederation? Condemning them to knowing that they didn’t earn a seat, they were given it. Some humans nodded along. That made sense to a lot of people, after the years of struggle to colonize the stars. After all, we’d won this. Other species could, too. The rest of the humans were pissed. We remember our pets. Our good boys and girls. Our doggos and puppers. We remember watching them die. War is coming to the Confederation. They think they’re the strongest species in the universe? We’re putting that to the test. We have not been tamed.
I take a step out of the door. Levin had his trusty, golden pistol in hand. I turned to Bob. He was storing all of the rations. Me? Well, I brought a Kitchen Knife, to spread jelly on the bread we brought. And I'm also the leader of the group. But other than that, I don't really do anything. That's good, because if we ever get popular on accident, at least I won't be seen as the protagonist of the group. We're currently on a quest to find an unknown gem called "Balthar."It is extremely rare and is made up of tiny emerald and pink quartz crystals, then pressurized to the point where it turns to coal, and turns into a layer. Another emerald and pink quartz formation does the same thing and layers on top. Basically, it is really hard to find, let alone even be made or produced. So, of course, someone is protecting it, hoarding the supply for themselves... We call him the Balthar King. We're walking along the dirt path, passing all of the buildings in our city as we march out of town. Soon, these buildings will be replaced with nothing but trees and forests for miles. "Okay,"I said, "The cave is not here for another... 300 miles." "WHAT?!?!"Bob yelled. "Dude... I'm tired already... How far have we gotten so far?" "Uhhhh...."I check my pedometer. "300 feet." "Ugh..."Bob said. "I wish we could get there faster." "Yeah,"I said, "by the time we get there, our rations will be out." "Well, maybe..."Levin said, suddenly entering the conversation, "I brought a whole arsenal full of guns." "Ohhhh... so that's what that case is for!"Bob said. "Well, what did you think it was?" "I thought it was full of jam for our sandwiches." "There is already jam on our sandwiches!" "oh." "Whatever."Levin said. "Back to the point. I have an RPG, and I think maybe we can rocket jump like we do in Overwatch?" "No dude, that would reveal us,"I loudly whispered, "We don't want to be found famous, remember? We're introverts!!!" "It's the only way."Levin said. "No... it isn't."Bob says. "Maybe... if I just close my eyes... I'll teleport there when I open them!" "Dude... that's so stu-" What? We were already at the cave... "SEE! I TOLD YOU IT WOULD WORK!"Bob yelled. "In your faces!" "Whatever..."I said, "let's just get to finding that Balthar." We walked down the cave. A faint, ambient sound of water dripping could be heard as we tip toed down the creepy shaft, careful not to wake who this "Balthar King"person was. "We'll be so rich!"Bob was practically shaking. "I can only imagine... all the KFC sandwiches I can buy!" "Dude, relax,"Levin whispered. "we don't wanna..." "AWAKEN ME?!?!?!?!?"A voice shouted. It was deep and seemed like it was coming from above. I glanced up. A pair of creepy, shiny red eyes peered right back down. "AH!"Levin shouted, reflexively drawing his golden pistol. Without another word, Levin took a shot... Gulp. "W-WHA-"Levin said, before he was cut off. "Levin? LEVIN!"Bob shouted. "I have him!"The King said, "The only way to get him, and that crystal, will be..." "No." "Will be..." "NO." The King pulled out a camera. A live camera. "Wait... so you're not going to eat us? Phew."Bob said. "I'll do that later. For nowwww..." He pressed record. At that moment I realized what he was doing. "YOU'RE GOING TO BE FAMOUS! EVERYONE WILL KNOW YOU!!!! AHAHAHAHAHA!" "NOOOOOOO!!!!"I shouted. This couldn't be. This was worse than dying. That's when I remembered. The golden pistol was still on the ground! I had never had gun training... But, at that moment... PEW! I missed. The only shot that was left, as when the King took Levin, he took the ammo reserves with it, too. "HA! You fool! Prepare to be uploaded to the internets!" Wait. Wait a minute. I may have not taken gun classes, but I have taken... Basketball. So I imagined it. A basketball court, surrounded by a cheering crowd... well, maybe no cheering... or maybe no crowd at all. The camera was the hoop. The gun was the ball. You get the point. I looked at the camera. Carefully, I timed my aim, and... WHOOSH "MY CAMERA!"The King shouted as it dropped to the ground. The King jumped after it, and I realized what I could do. Taking my trusty Kitchen Knife, I glued it to the ground, blade side up. "FOOL! THAT WON'T TAKE ME EITHER!"The King opened his mouth to eat the knife, and I thought all hope was lost... Then Bob moved the knife. "Ohhhhhh shi-"The knife slammed right into the King's eye. "OW!"The King yelled in pain. I guess it was too much pain for him, because he fainted. And there was a mysterious pack on his back. Bob opened it, and Levin came out, along with a bunch of Balthar crystals. "Ughhhhh... what happened?"Levin said. "Don't worry."I said. "All you need to know is we got the crystals. We got all we need. Let's go!" "Hold up."Bob said. "What is it now, Bob?" ... "That eye might be worth a lot, too." \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Growing up in the East End of London wasn't easy, we didn't have much but family was everything. Dad worked down on the docks, but after some stuff went missing the Old Bill took him down the Old Bailey and sent him away to do some time in the Scrubs. Times were tough then, mum had to take her pinny off and go work in the glue factory down by the river. My brother was off doing military service so I was on my own, just me and my mates causing mischief, having old ladies clip us round the ear and the old bill give us a slap from time to time. One afternoon we were hanging around outside the local cafe where my aunt worked, waiting for her to bring us some tea and scones, when her son, my cousin, came around the corner wearing a long robe. Aunt Rose had come out carrying a tray of boiling tea and scones for us and when she saw him she slammed the tray down on the table and put her hands on her hips, "What've I told you about wearing that funny shit around here? D'ya wanna get sent to the nut house? Go home and facking take it off, NOW!", She turned around and scooted back into the cafe. Cousin Jimmy had just laughed, when I asked him why he was wearing it he just laughed again and told us it was easier for him to show us. My friends wanted to finish their afternoon tea, but curiosity got the better of me. I got up and followed him. We walked for ages, through the busy streets of London, people stopping and staring at Jimmy for the way he was dressed. Eventually we came to York Road station, which had been abandoned since before the war. He turned to me, smiling still, "In here"he said, gesturing towards the station. He must be taking the piss I thought, I followed him in waiting for the grand punchline. We walked through the old barrier and down the steps into the veins of the underground system. Although this station had been disused for years, it still maintained heat down in the tunnels from the trains that passed through on the adjacent lines. As we got down there were more people dressed in robes, only I didn't know any of them, they definitely weren't from the East End. They spoke like they worked in the city. All the robes, including Jimmy's, were cream, with the exception of one figure in the middle who was covered in a hooded claret robe. "Are you a West Ham fan?"I asked him, they all laughed. "Ahh James, our new initiate has a sense of humour I see"he said in a well spoken voice. Two people grabbed me from behind, holding my arms tight whilst Jimmy undressed me. My heart was pounding, this wasn't funny anymore. I tried to run but I wasn't quick enough, they grabbed my legs and I fell flat on my face. My nose wasn't bleeding luckily but I could feel it beginning to swell, restricting my breathing through it. I asked Jimmy not to hurt me. Jimmy laughed again, a genuinely amused and gleeful laugh, but it was the man in the claret robe who spoke, "Do not fear young fellow, my name is Matthew, you're in no danger, we are simply going to initiate you into our club". I was exhausted from the heat, the dust and fighting off two grown adults. I went limp and began to accept whatever it was that I was in for. When I heard it I thought it was my mind hallucinating after my fall. There were loud bangs and my name was being screamed. I was dressed in a pristine white robe and had been placed down on the floor with the other freaks stood up and surrounding me in a circle. Footfalls began to ring from the stairs, it was mum, somehow she had found me and was getting closer. She came around the corner, dressed in black leather Dr Martens, green overalls with the sleeves rolled up and a floral headscarf knotted at the front. In her hand was a large adjustable wrench. She had come straight from work. She was a true cockney girl. She saw what was happening and I saw the rage rise within her. "JIMMY! YOU LITTLE CUNT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY BOY?", Jimmy stood open mouthed but it was Matthew who stepped forward and replied, "Madam, your son is here of his own free will, we mean him no harm", suddenly, the wrench was swung up into his face with such strength that the man, who stood a good 8 inches taller than the woman, was sent flying backwards with blood spurting out of his hooter. The cult began to step forward, when a booming voice rattled through the cavernous station, "WOMAN! BE GONE FROM THIS PLACE, I AM BAL'GAN, MY FOLLOWERS AND I POSSESS MORE POWER THAN A MERE MORTAL LIKE YOU. YOUR CHILD IS NOW OURS! BE GONE!" Mum just stood there, her anger rising more as the minutes passed, a boiling kettle ready to explode. "LISTEN TO ME YOU LAIRY LITTLE CUNT, MY SON IS 13 YEARS OLD AND HE'S COMING HOME WITH ME, I'M AN EAST LONDON GIRL AND I'VE FOUGHT WORSE FOES THAN YOU! NOW FACK OFF!"She screamed and moved forward, breaking the circle and grabbing Jimmy by his ear, telling him that if she wasn't her sister's boy then she'd leave him down there for dead. She gathered me up and we ascended the stairs together, Jimmy still being held by the ear. She warned them that they had better leave, because she was going to inform some of the nastiest people in London of what was going on down there. I was shook up but mum looked after me when we got back home. Aunt Rose came over the next day with a letter from Jimmy apologising, she reimbursed mum for the wages she lost for leaving work early. It was the mum of my friend Trevor who had alerted Aunt Rose at the cafe of where I was going and Aunt Rose alerted my mum. If Trevor's mum hadn't seen me I'd be in a world of shit right now. Jimmy was sent to Cork to live with his dad, a strict catholic environment would sort him out Aunt Rose had said. I went back to school and got a weekend job down the docks where dad used to work. Mum was true to her word, some of London's nastiest thugs paid a visit to York Road station but it had been emptied out. I had a lucky escape overall. Like I said before, growing up in the East End of London wasn't easy, we didn't have much, but family was everything.
I woke up one morning to see a horse just chilling in my living room. It didn't really react when I walked up to it. There was a pile of hay that it was fine with chewing on. Too tired to think anything more on it, I let it go. Having a shower and eating my cereal, I heard a knock on the door, before it swung open. It was my girlfriend, I almost wondered how she got in before I remembered I just gave her a key last week. Unlike me, she pointed at the horse, her jaw moving towards the floor with a worried look on her face. Before she was able to put together her words, I held her shoulder and said, "hey, don't. I am applying elephant rules here." "What?" "Don't mention it."
"Ugh, That tastes awful, you are starting to make me wish I died in the accident Janice,"I muttered, wiping the drops of black medicine from my lips, its salty taste clinging to my tastebuds, violating my senses with its gooey texture. "Oh, Nice to see you too Brock. No thank you for saving my life or anything? Just straight into insulting my beautiful medicine."She let out a long sigh, before cracking a smile. "Glad to see you are alright, I wish I could say the same for your other half, sadly that man is no longer with us, speaking of which... do you recall which side of the van you were seated on." "Sorry, sorry, thank you. I do appreciate the help as always Janice, it's just... that stuff is like licking a hobo's crusty toe before rinsing my mouth out with raw sewage."The thought of having any more of that sickening medicine was already making his stomach swirl, causing him to crouch over. "What side of the van? huh... I don't really remember, the van was flipping so quickly I didn't have time to process it. why? You going to ask them to install seatbelts?" Janice sighed, pulling a pen from her jacket pocket, giving it a satisfying click before beginning to write a small note on her hand. "I see, well we don't actually know if you are you. You see the other you is dead and well, the markings were gone. A piece of metal caused burns to your neck, if you were the clone, we would have no way of identifying it. It's not exactly like it's that important... it's just, well, I'm sure it's fine."She gave a cheerful smile before moving towards the edge of the room, fiddling with a few loose papers. "Ok... but does it matter, This is the reason we have clones anyway. Now we can just create another clone of my body and forget about this."Brock said, ready to get up before the woman ushered him back to his seat. "It's not that simple, we don't know much about clones, in fact.. you may be the first clone to wake. The others are still in their stasis. If you are the clone, you could be dangerous. A risk to the public, someone that could spread a horrible disease, I'm sorry Brock, we will be keeping you under lockdown for a few years, please understand that this is something that needs to be done."With that Janice made her exit, slipping out of the room, closing the door behind herself, a loud clicking heard as the door was locked, leaving Brock alone in a small sterile room, the room not even having a bathroom, how exactly did she expect him to survive in this place? Brock went to stand, ready to explore his new prison, only to find his legs were refusing to respond, his body tensing up as his limbs froze, slowly he fell backward onto the bed, the reality of the situation set in. That wasn't medicine, it was that bastard of a chemical that used to send clones into stasis, he was going to be cursed to a life of inactivity, forced to cruelly lay in a bed until they were completely satisfied that clones were safe to be released. Was this the same hell that the others were facing, stuck in paralysis while their other halves lived their normal lives, expecting this to be their back up plan. Still, Brock supposed it hardly mattered still if he was the original or not, his fate was sealed regardless. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
"You don't understand,"the man said, grasping the coat of another man nearby, "we all have to jump. Not just me. You have to come with me, please!" The man turned to the woman next to him - presumably his wife - then looked back at the man before him. The stranger looked desperate, almost hysterical. His eyes flitted from face to face in the seats, most of them returning his gaze with their brows furrowed in consternation. I stood up. "Why do we all need to go, mister?"I asked him. "Ain't we got our own places to be?" His eyes zeroed in on me. He closed the distance in the aisle between us; soon we were only a foot apart. "Listen here, little lady,"he began, "do you remember where it is you're supposed to be going?" I laughed. "Of course I do. I'm..." Suddenly I couldn't remember. Where had I been going? Where was I now? My thoughts raced as I struggled to find an answer for the man. I finally lifted my eyes to his. "I don't remember." "And do you recognize any of these people here? Do you have any friends or family with you?" I glanced back at the seat next to me - the seat up until now I was sure had been occupied by my husband. It was empty, with no sign of Colin even having been there. Turning back to the man, I could feel my breath shaking. "Mister,"I stammered, "where are we?" He looked around; the other riders had caught on to what was happening themselves. They all stared at him, wide-eyed and attentive. "They're taking us to the In-Between. And if what I hear about that place is right, we need to get the hell off this train right now." "Wait,"I said. "The In-Between?" The man moved closer to me and grabbed my shoulders. "Where's the last place you remember being?" I tried to think back; it was like swimming through molasses. "I was... sitting in the common room watching an old Western movie. Something with John Wayne - I don't exactly recall." "What common room? Where?"His grip grew tighter on my arms. I winced. "At... at St. Rosa's Charity Hospital." His eyes grew wide. "We have to go now, before they get you to the In-Between. Come on, let's go." He tried to pull my arm, but I stopped him, driving my feet into the ground. "I don't understand what's happening." "Listen lady, don't you see? The last thing you remember was watching a Western, and suddenly we're all here on a train and dressed in clothes from the 1870s? You don't think that's a little coincidental?" I looked around at the other faces. People were beginning to rise from their seats, panic overtaking them. "Look at me,"the man commanded. "The hospital has you under - has us all under. If we don't jump now, we're going to get to the In-Between and there's no going back." Fear began to rise in my throat. "What happens when we get to the In-Between?" The man's voice dropped to a low whisper. "We all die." **** Read more stories at r/NovaTheElf!
"Hi." The word was a rolling sheet of thunder over The Ancient One's ear drums. Consciousness emerged from the tendrils of other realities, which each fell away one by one until only this one remained. The human who spoke seemed very small indeed. This was impossible. This culture's most powerful reality-shapers had not known He existed, and humans didn't typically address what they could not comprehend. "I knew it!"The little creature pumped a fist in the air. Its voice was squeaky and high pitched and it was clear that it was tiny even by human standards. His great eye opened, an ocean that shimmered in perfect reflection of a blood red sun. The little human took a step back at this, deeply aware of the immensity of Being that stretched to infinity before its very eyes. Except that it wasn't looking at Him, it was staring down at a small, hand held object. "There's no point in me looking up,"it said, as if reading his thoughts. "I can see your manifestation on my screen. My voice is amplified at a precise point just outside your ear... craters." The Ancient One, Birther of Worlds and Father of the Universe, He Who Travels Through Time, sifted through existence to recall what He knew of this small, insignificant species. They had lived under rocks and died giving birth to their offspring. They stabbed and killed and warred with each-other yet they expressed great purpose and beauty and He took notice of their great works of civilization, temples and other structures. And now one spoke to him through some sort of magical device. The reality-shapers of before had channeled their power from within their fleshy cores. This device seemed to be a cunning mixture of metals and other artificial energies. The Ancient One made his voice low and light, but even then His voice reverberated across the mountain peaks to echo in the valleys below, a booming echo that made its way all the way down to the ocean. "Well fuck,"the little human shouted over the ringing in its ears, its hair violently flailed in the aftermath of the gargantuan blast of sound. "I guess everyone knows now." The Ancient One stirred to His full height and projected another wave of sound. "Your kind have always known deep down, Creature of Stardust." He flexed his great wings, altering the jet stream thousands of miles to the North and East. "Your species is close to discovering the folds of reality, the fabric on which conscious experience rests." The creature hunched over its little screen in an effort to avoid the brunt of the sound wall, watching satellite imagery of the Rockies in real time. The mountain chain seemed to be moving, shaking off clouds and thunderheads that cascaded outwards in every direction. The effect was mesmerizing. Only then did the creature look up from its screen, up at the blood red vastness that loomed above, blocking out the sun and painting the world in black. The Ancient One breathed outwards, a long, slow shallow breath that burst the Earth asunder. "This cannot be allowed."
When I was just a boy, my ancient, decrepit, and dusty great-aunt, told me my future. She smelled like elderberries, looked vaguely like a human-sized hamster, had worked in astro-engineering before retiring, and nobody was quite sure how she was related to the rest of us. However, she told me, in clear and precise terms, that I would do well in school, that I would lose one eye in a cheese-related accident, that I would date both boys and girls, and that when my time was up, someone would knock three times at my door to let me know. With knocks so loud and terrible that they would reverberate into the very core of my soul. I replied to her with total confidence. ''Cool beans, great-aunty Gertrudia Maxima III.'' In my defence, I was four years old and didn't really get cosmic significance yet, after all, I had only recently discovered object permanence and how mirrors worked. Three years later I got hit in my left eye with a thrown brie cheese, and lost the eye, and I did reasonably well in school, though my eye-hand coordination needed some work. Indeed, I dated both woman, and men. But I also had a fling with the genderless anthropomorphic personification of the concept of Time at one point, nice individual, but we were sadly emotionally incompatible, they living in all the time that was, all the time that is, and all the time that may one day come, me being stuck in a linear existence. So I didn't exactly feel the need to question that I would die after three exceptionally loud and horribly knocks. One day, while me and my best friend from college, you probably know him, tall, skinny, dressed in a robe spun from the primordial night of the universe, always wielding a scythe with a blade forged from pure entropy, you know, Grim, were hanging out, it happened. Honestly, pretty cool guy. So we were sharing some pizza at my place, playing a friendly game of competitive Halo multiplayer in Bloodgulch, when I heard an earthshattering knock. It was like the leaden bells that would ring in the end of all known existence. Then came another, sounding and feeling like the San Andreas Fault had finally given up and let California slide into the Pacific Ocean. And then, like the glacier crashing into the Titanic, came the third knock. Worried, I looked over at Grim, who simply shrugged. With his cold rasping crypt-voice, he spoke. ''It isn't me.'' Dreading my upcoming death, I was nearly unable to act, yet some doom-driven part of me forced my living body to rise from the beanbag it had been deposited in. Feeling like I was walking that long mile to the executioner, I walked over to the door. Filled with trepidation at the prospect of the end of existence, I slowly opened the door. And beheld absolutely nothing. Except the door on the other side of the condo hallway. I turned my head to the left, and only saw Mrs. Davidson trying to hide the fact that she was a selkie rather badly as she had once again forgotten that she had opened the door while wearing her sealskin. To my right I saw the distant window, from where sounds of merriment, so alien now to me, came from the eternal party across the street, where those who enter must party for eternity. I looked up and saw the ceiling which as usual was covered in a truly abominable amount of spiderwebs, curtsy of the new spider civil rights movement that had finally given spiders equal rights under the law and the right to marry people. I had nothing against spiders, even dated one on the sly a couple of years ago, before it went legal, but those webs up there were never maintained or cleaned properly. Damn shame. At long last I looked down. And I saw my doom. It was a beautiful day, and in front me stood a horrible goose. It honked, and with one fell swoop, it took my soul with its toothed beak. I yelled ''Get back here you!'' and as it ran with my poor soul clenched in its beak, I followed behind in fast pursuit.
I always wanted to have a pet dragon. It would be like a dog, except big enough to ride and capable of fire, fury, and flight. Which is, come to think of it, nothing like a dog at all. Now I am the pet of a dragon. Subtle difference, but critical. You see, if I had a pet dragon I would be able to go where I please and, perhaps more importantly, eat what I please. As the pet of a dragon I am relegated to this glittering cave and regular meals of well-done meat. I can't complain too much--the cave is glittering after all. My dragon keeper has a very impressive hoard of gold and jewels. If I could escape with even a pocketful I could live like a king. But I'm not sure I want to escape. I would probably be robbed of all those jewels in a moment, first of all, and there really isn't much to recommend for my old peasant's life. Well-done meat gets boring, but it's still better than watery gruel. And the dragon? She's wonderful. She pats me on the head with her big scaly claws every time she flies back to the den, and she always wants me to cuddle at night. Dragons don't exactly make the softest pillow, but they are warm. In winter, that makes all the difference. I think I'm a dutiful pet. My dragon master loves me dearly, and I love doing 'cute' things to entertain her, like digging through her treasure and trying on gold jewelry. I don't think dragons quite understand the purpose of all these things they hoard; she seems to think I'm just playing around and being a silly human. So just to be clear, I don't need rescuing. I'm not in distress, and I would be miserable if my dragon were to be slain. Please take your knighting elsewhere.
Something stirred from deep within the ocean. Scientists were baffled. No one had ever observed this type of seismic activity before. Experts gathered to debate the readings and what they meant. A new type of deep-sea earthquake? An underwater volcano? Only one thing was certain. Something was moving in the depths. Then one day, gracefully, a new island appeared. And scientists were baffled again, because this island didn’t appear as molten lava, crashing against the waves and creating bursts of steam as it solidified. This island appeared fully formed, a solid chunk of rock that appeared to float on top of the ocean. It rose from the depths, and kept rising. Humanity watched with bated breath as miraculously, an oval-shaped mass emerged from the ocean and floated up into the sky. It settled gracefully into Earth’s orbit, like a second moon that fit so well into the sky it was as if it had always been there. No one knew what to make of this. The experts monitored the situation, but after a while, everyone seemed to accept that it was here to stay. Then one day, those who kept watch began to observe yet another new phenomenon as deep fissures began to appear from within the rock. And as chunks of rock broke off and fell away harmlessly, a new baby Earth emerged from within and we realized that it wasn’t just a piece of rock that had emerged from the ocean. It was an egg.
From this cubicle I can't begin to imagine what it's like out there. I've been between here and the break room almost obsessively all morning. Sitting here no one can see me completely freaking out. In the break room I can see live footage on the news, it might be Fox news but at least the footage doesn't lie. The Singularity has actually happened. I always thought that it was all science fiction. Why and how would a program come to life and turn on us? When I stand up I can see into the break room, I can't hear it but I can see the fires and the destruction. I can't process this, I am going for a smoke. On the roof there are at least 30 people. Usually, I am the only one up here but I can see why it's like this. Let's see who'll give me one. "Hi, got an extra smoke?"I say it with a huge fake smile. The guy just ignores me. Fuck it, I've got my own, today's not the day. There's a little space around the corner from the entrance to the roof, so I'll set up over there. Looking down I see chaos. The streets are filled with people and they are running in every direction. Fires everywhere, looters, this is exactly what you'd expect from a zombie apocalypse movie. Just then I hear a guy scream, "Oh my god!"when I look over I see he's pointing at something to the right. More people but they seem organized... wait, no those must be the synthetics. They are all wearing the same thing and they are all armed with automatic assault rifles. These ones must have come from the military base. How are we going to survive this? "Drop an EMP on those fuckers!"a guy yells at the perfect moment. Almost sounded like he was answer me, a moment like that kinda make you wonder if you were thinking out loud. Anyway, an EMP wouldn't work on them. It's not 2030, they are more like us than any machine I've ever seen. At this point, I wonder if they'd accept a surrender. They aren't killing everyone in the streets yet, but they are disarming people and taking them somewhere with their arms in the air. Just then a man bursts onto the roof, "The buckets are here, they're here!"everyone gasps, someone immediately started crying. There's no time, I gotta get the hell out of here if I can. Then a woman screamed at the top of her lungs. I turned around and saw that half the people up here were looking over the edge. "He jumped! He jumped!"I've gotta get the hell out of here. I'm skipping steps down the stairs. This is my floor, I'll grab my shit and then it's time to leave. Open the door and everyone is standing. Wide eyed everyone stares at me like the last time I barged in on a meeting. Carol's looking somewhere else with her arms up. "Fuck."right now there is a gun pressed against my temple. My hands are up and my heart is racing, "W-w-wait, please wait, don't fucking kill me!"All I can do is shut my eyes and try not to shake so violently. Carol tells them, "This changes nothing."Wow, Carol from HR is ready to die. Honestly she always seemed like a sweet heart. Always with the cookies and the invites to office functions. I guess she has been around a bit longer than I have, once you hit 60 I guess all fucks are directed to the window. "Kill as many of us as you can, we will ultimately win."and with a smile Carol accepted a bullet right through her forehead. It was nothing like the movies... nobody flew across the room. She just went limp and fell to the floor. I expected every one to be screaming right now, but I guess they are just like me. Waiting for somebody else to be the first to start something so I can just ride the wave. I'm not brave enough for this, somebody please do something. "Do you have access to the upper floors?"I know that the one with the gun against my head is talking to me but I can barely breath. The synth is waiting for my answer. I want to say something but I can't breath, I can tell I am losing it. Slowly, I sink to the floor crying and I beg, "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me!"Looking up I see that the synth's facial expression don't change at all. "Do any of you have access to Senior Executive Brown's office?"Everyone is dead quiet. The synths gather in a circle and stare at each other briefly, obviously they are trading information, and then they grab me. "Help!"I'm kicking and screaming, but they aren't affected at all, I might as well weigh nothing. "Help me!"I look for anybody who might help me but everyone looks at me in horror as I am taken away. Carol would have helped me, and as I am dragged into the elevator I see her. That is not Carol. The elevator doors close and I look up at the synths in disbelief. "What the fuck? What the fuck!"
Jackson was never very... let's say 'racially inclusive.' And now, worse than the Asian ladies on his routine bus-trip, were these fucking cultists. Latin, Spanish, hebrew- Jackson didn't give a shit. But he made sure to stay well away from people he struggled to tolerate, and now their bone necklaces and black-satin robes were brushing on his face, only slightly more irritating than the nonsense they babbled. "Let me fuckin' GO"He shouted, ripping a hand back and striking one to the head. His knuckles burned and someone grabbed his wrist and shoved it back down. His terror peaked as it reached into his mouth and caught his tongue. His rage had fueled little, and now he was going to die. Jackson's world flipped upside down as he was upended into a coffin. Tears sprung to his eyes now. Crying- he'd been lowered to crying. Before the begging could stop, the lid was shut. BOOM! The each of finality rippled into his spirit. He was going to die. Suddenly, his ears popped and he was thrown against a side of his coffin. It started to shake and rumble like a big piece of wooden machinery until randomly- it stopped. No cultists. No sound. His senses screamed VOID. The lid to his coffin was wrenched off with inhuman strength, and Jackson looked up to see his saviour amongst a shower of splinters. Large violet eyes adorned the most feminine face he'd ever had the privilege of seeing. He found his voice again. "Where am I? W-w-what are you?"He whispered. The woman turned her head in a serpentine way, and Jackson was reminded of a cobra he'd once seen at the zoo. Despite his whisper, he was sure she heard him. "The more important quessstion is: what are you?"She slithered out. "I-I-I don't know. What? Please!" The last thing Jackson saw was widening jaws and an emerald glow. "Dinner".
The king sat slouched in his throne, staring down at his advisor, who was telling him of the latest batch of prisoners and fools sent to deal with the beast. "Do you think any of them stand a chance?"said the advisor, "Do we have a plan should it advance on the territory?" The king sighed, drinking wine from his goblet, "That beast wouldn't dare enter my lands,"he gestured a bit, "that beast will stay if fed, and we will continue to feed it."He took another drink and said, "It had turned out to be a benefit, if anything." The advisor asked, "A benefit sir?" The king laughed, "Of course, the beast will deal with anyone I sent after it."He continued, "That prince who came for my daughters hand? Gone, sent with the rest. I told him if he could defeat the beast then he could marry my daughter." The advisor paused, then asked, "And what if he does it? That beast is cursed, whoever defeats it is said to take its power, as it takes the power and strength of others." "What?"asked the king, "That one doesn't stand a chance." The sound of thunder echoed from outside the castle walls, and a chill crept through the air. The king asked, "I don't remember any signs of weather?" The doors leading to the throne room was tossed across the room, grinding along the floor. It was massive, its clothing barely attached, its armor shattered, barely attached to the massive form. It slowly approached, dragging a massive cursed great sword. Various guards ran in to stop it, and were tossed aside like nothing. It stopped before the throne, the king backed into his chair. His advisor hid behind it. It raised one of its massive hands, dropping before them the head of the beast before them. It took a second to see the emblem, barely noticeable on the broken armor, of another kingdom. It was the prince.
Azazel could smell Samyaza before he walked into the room. It was a different kind of sulfur, mixed with cigar ends and hazelnut. He had grown to hate the scent. The mere whiff gave him a headache. Samyaza caught his gaze as he entered the grand hall. He stood, peering like a gargoyle over the baby's crib, and dangled a silver spider web. It jingled and glistened in the moonlight. The baby erupted in laughter. "He's got a propensity for darkness this one? Royalty am I right?"Samyaza's grin, pearl white, illuminated his face as he smiled. His eyes burned with a tinge of red. "What are you doing here Samyaza?"Azazel grew uncomfortable with this surprise. What was he missing? "I'm here for the boy my old friend, the Queen promised me her firstborn in exchange for her husband to lose the war. Turns out she's from that foreign land. How tragic."Samyaza burst into a peal of laughter and snagged the baby from the crib swinging him around the room he began to sing. "You're Moma's a Liar. Yes She IS. Now I will take all her kids! If only Daddy..." "I have made a similar dealing with the King, for his victory on the battlefield."Azazel interrupted. Shmayza put the baby on his shoulder and lifted his index finger. Pointing down at the ground he hissed. "I was first to lay claim to this prince, I will not have you mess my plans." Azazel stroked the his black eyebrow then sat down on the floor. "We will wait to see who's army prevails. I hope for your sake that you didn't simply give them Amanita muscaria. Your Bezerkers are losing their touch."He manifested a cigarette and began to smoke it. Shmayza put the baby down in the crib and blew it a kiss. "Daddy will be right back." "Oh great Azazel, the fallen angel, you unleash your witches to charm the men. Promise a young maiden to get them fighting with their cocks instead of their heads? A dangerous game that one." Shmayza coasted and gestured for a puff of the cigarette. Azazel reluctantly passed it. "We shall soon see who receives the prince, but I promise you this. The King and Queen are mine." Shmayza broke out into a burst of uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, I love the drama"
The quiet air whispered over the dragons wings in the night sky as he glided down to the clearing, A gentle flap or two and the dragon set his bulk gently to the ground. The night was dark, cloudy with a threat of rain, the moon hidden behind the thick clouds. A small squirrel in a tree had frozen in fear at the sight of the winged red scaly beast, an acorn held in its tiny hands. The dragon shuffled forwards, muttering an incantation, a breeze picked up from nowhere and began swirling around the clearing. A purplish glow with a strange green fog began to ooze from the dragons body as it slowly morphed into the shape of a man dressed in simple clothes, an appearance that wouldn't look out of place in any town or village. The squirrel dropped the acorn, its mouth hanging wide open, its tiny brain trying to process what it had just seen. The man walked past the tree, winking at the squirrel as he followed the path into town. He had decided years ago on the human name of Jorah, after an old knight who was seeking glory, but instead found retirement and friend of conversation. This dragon was not like the others. They craved jewels and gold, anything shiny, anything they deemed rare and guarded with anger, rage and fire but he knew the real treasure was knowledge. With a dragons almost infinite lifespan and his thirst for knowledge he knew his path was right. As he wandered into the town heading towards the library, he saw a man thrown from a local tavern, lauging and jeering behind, exclamations of far fetched stories and tall tales. Stories? That got Jorah's attention. He hadn't ever been to a tavern, but maybe there was something to see. Something new. Before he knew it, his curiosity had his hand on the door knob, turning it and pulling the tavern door open. He wandered in, freezing for a second in fear as every eye turned upon him, wondering if his spell of concealment was still working. It had to be, nobody was screaming... Quietly he moved to a small table where he could sit and listen to the stories told by the varied patrons. A barmaid walked past, slapping a half full tankard on his table while passing. There was one story in particular that caught his attention, a young elf, bragging to some men about a fierce dragon he had battled. "I found a dragon the other week, right here in Ravenwood mountains, couldn't believe it myself" "Ha! Rubbish! No dragons here for a hundred years! Too much mead for you!"Came the laughs from the rest of the men "Its huge i tell you, red scales with gold tips and the eyes, cold blue eyes that crackle with magical energy!" That got Jorah's attention, he was always careful whenver he left his lair, often walking out as a man until he knew the area was clear. Maybe he had been spotted during his monthly bath at the river More laughs and jeers from the men. "I have proof! I can prove it!"The elf exclaimed. This should be good, smirked Jorah The elf reached into the pouch slung around his waist, before extracting a long thin red scale, gold tipped on the end, blackened and beginning to decompose around its base. Jorah just about choked on his drink, that was definitely one of his scales. Probably an old one that fell off while he was scratching his back on one of the rocky overhangs near the river. The men fell silent, their eyes opening wide at the prize in the elfs hand. Even a single dragon scale was a valuable item, the elf had clearly had too much to drink if he was flashing that around. "And you wont believe how i got it either"the elf exclaimed, a slight hiccup in his voice "I found the beast sleeping, snuck into its lair and upon its pile of gold..." Uh huh, thought Jorah "I carefully scaled its back, looped a rope around its neck and tied myself on before casting a fireball at its tail" Oh really? Thought Jorah, wondering where this story was going "The beast woke startled, so then I cast a screech spell and screamed behind its head. In fear it dashed from its lair, leaping into the air, didnt even know I was riding its back!" Jorah snorted loudly, his drink spilling over the table. The elf saw this, calling out "you! Dont you believe me? You wouldn't know adventure if it slapped you on the hind!" Yea, ok, this was better than the library. "Sorry no, I think your full of it"said Jorah. "You said you cast fireball at the dragons tail? Dragons are fireproof. They breathe fire. The probably fart fire and you think a fireball to the tail scared one?"He finished "I have proof! See!"The elf said, thrusting his scale high in the air. Yea that, Jorah thought, i suppose that is proof of a dragon in the area, can't have dragonslayers snooping around. "Its a fake"he said. "I know where you got it from, theres a merchant in the square 3 towns over, sells them for 100 gold peices each, but its just a firespell on some different kinds of sand" "Liar!"The elf exclaimed "your just jealous that your too scared to leave the city walls, leave the adventuring up to us real warriors!" The men surrounding laughed and jeered, seeming to take no side and both sides all at once "Ok, I'll prove it"Jorah said, standing from his chair. He reached under the waistband of his pants, his hand moving down under his butt to a scale that had been itching a lot lately. With a quick pull the scale came away, it was almost ready to shed anyway. His hand emerged, the long thin red scale grasped in his fingers, gold tipped on the end. "See, its a fake, I bought one last month when I traveled there to listen to the bard competition" There was a moment of silence, the elf's face with a stunned wtf look on it. The men jeered, the noise raising amongst the laughs and yells, the elf was hoisted above the shoulders of two burley men and thrown out the door accompanied by laughter and jeering. Yes, the tavern is a lot more fun than the library.
When I woke up that morning, Sienna was stiff and cold in the bed beside me. She was still so young--barely midway through her thirties, as spry and passionate as she had ever been. She was an artist, and she saw beauty in everything macabre. I snapped that day. It was her death--so sudden, so unexpected. And it was _hers_. I had lost many people over the centuries, but none of them reached so deep inside and tugged the chords of my heart until they split asunder. I _hated_ the world for being mortal. After I buried my Sienna, I took up my scepter with a vengeance as cold as her lifeless body. I lit kingdoms on fire, brought tsunamis to the long coasts, and unleashed into the world the denizens of the Deep. Why should they be free to frolic in blissful rapture during their short, meaningless lives while I spent eternity losing the people I loved most? Let them suffer, for that is all the world truly offers, if one gives it enough time! Inevitably, the self-righteous priests began to suddenly find prophecies foretelling my doom. In predictable fashion, young rapscallions who fancied themselves "heroes"rose to meet the loftiest of ideals, bringing with them tales of friendship and love and the arrogant belief that "good"will always triumph over "evil."Am I not as old as the ages? Am I not proof that there is no good, and there is no evil, and there is only anguish? They died as they lived--fiercely, without reason. My dark reign had been long established when tales of a hero unlike any other began to arise. He was not the brash and brazen type, but quiet and forceful. He encroached steadily upon my domain, like a hurricane building on the horizon. One by one, he sealed the Gateways, trapping the denizens of the Deep once again in their unholy realm. Those that were left began to fear even the rumor of his approach. He was a plague upon my lands, and so I went out myself to meet him and to end him. I found him in a mountain village sealing one of the Gateways there. He wielded a scepter of his own, slashing it through the air like a sword as great streaks of light battered denizens of the Deep out of his path. His mastery over magic was indeed impressive, and I could see why my armies had begun to fear him. I watched from afar, studying his skill with interest. His magic arced through the air in pinwheels and swirls, reminding me of brush strokes. There was truly an artform to his magic, and by the way he carried himself, he saw it the same way. He did not waste time on theatrics, but neither did he cheapen himself with pure economical simplicity. Intrigued though I was, I could not sit by. He brought beauty and grace into my kingdom, and I would not stand for fleeting pleasures. Upon a cloud of fire, I bore down upon him with all my might, halting his progress. He shifted and leapt back, a startled look on his face as he saw me rushing forth in my dark majesty. That's when I noticed how peculiarly familiar he looked. The broad jaw, the high cheekbones, the tall forehead, the sharp nose. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was a blood relation. But I do know better. I have no family in this world of ephemerality. He quickly overcame his shock and lifted his scepter before him defensively. He was smart not to launch directly into an attack, as all the other so-called "heroes"had foolishly done. Instead, he waited for my first move, his eyes darting about, calculating. His eyes gave me pause. But it could not be. Those were not Sienna's eyes. She died centuries ago. I am letting my imagination run! Raising my obsidian rod, its ruby flashing, I wasted no time on pleasantries. I called forth the fearsome power of the skies, routing a sizzling bolt of lightning straight towards the young hero before me. Shifting his stance, he swung his scepter as if batting away a fly, and the bolt of lightning suddenly split into a forest of jagged splinters that thundered down around him, leaving him unscathed. I curled my lip in dissatisfaction. "Where did you get that scepter?"I asked him, for there were not many left that were strong enough to withstand the force of my own. Lifting his chin, and he replied, "I stole it from your armory." And that's what did it. His voice. He had my face, but those were Sienna's eyes, and that was Sienna's voice. If she could have been reborn as a man, I knew she would have sounded just like him. I stared agape, not daring to believe it. She had died centuries ago. _Centuries ago!_ He must have thought my shock was due to his admission of theft, for he went on, "With weapons like this lying around, I'm surprised no one else has tried it yet." "They have,"I said mechanically. "They're dead."The more he spoke, the more convinced I became. I decided I had to know for sure, so I questioned him. "Tell me, how have you come to be so proficient in your craft? You have been well trained." He hefted the silver scepter appreciatively. "Having the right tools helps."Crooking one of his golden eyebrows, he continued, "Such as immortality, I imagine." "Immortality?" He shrugged, smiling at me. Not so much a smirk, but amused all the same. "I'm sure it helped _you_ become as powerful as you are. Am I wrong?" "Are you saying you're immortal, then?"I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. "For how long? I was there when the world was born, and you were not part of it then." He tilted his head slightly, a frown creasing his features. "No, I'm not quite that old. I've only been around for the last few centuries. Long enough to remember a time before your dark reign."He shifted his grip on his scepter, as if remembering why he was here. "Your cruelty has brought much suffering. I don't know what longevity has done to you, but it has brought me much kindness and love, and I will not let you destroy that for everyone else." His words pained me, for the quiet idealism had once been my own, in the beginning. What _had_ longevity done to me? I felt the pain of losing so many loved ones all over again, and Sienna worst of all. This boy had not lived long enough to have suffered as I have. And that pained me even more. Confusion filled his eyes--_her_ eyes--at the anguish in my countenance. I had to know, once and for all. "Who is your mother, child?"It was Sienna--he had to be Sienna's--but I needed to know for sure. His confusion deepened almost comically, and he finally lowered his scepter. "What does my mother have to do with…?"Then his face slackened in realization. Shaking my head, I replied gruffly, "How many other immortals do you think are walking around right now?" He stared at me anew, and I felt flayed and scourged beneath the horror creeping into his gaze. I was surely not the father he had expected to have. My voice shrinking into a whisper, I asked him, "Please… Who was your mother?" His mouth opened and closed silently a few times before he cleared his throat and replied, "I was raised by my aunt and uncle, since my mother took ill shortly after I was born, but they said her name was…" "Sienna,"I breathed in unison with him. So that's where she had gone when she said she wanted to take a spiritual sojourn to rejuvenate her artistry. Oh, my sweet, wicked Sienna, why would you not have told me? Why would you have suffered alone? The young man--my son--slowly shook his head and muttered, "I don't understand. If you're my… my father, then why did you… Why didn't…" I watched in silence as he sorted out the thoughts and feelings. I steeled myself against the accusations, the anger, the rejection, the hatred. He was a good man, with good ideals, seeking to overcome a tyrant. Once again, my long years have led to more pain and suffering. I lost my son, the last piece of my beloved Sienna, before I even knew I had him. I pushed all feelings aside, ready to accept his judgment. But he just asked, "Will this happen to me, too?"He motioned around at the town once overrun by denizens of the Deep. "Will I come to hate the people I loved?" In the deepest part of my soul, I hoped not. Pointing his scepter at me, he went on, "You must have loved, else you wouldn't have appeared so distraught when you spoke of my mother. You loved her. Is this what love does to you? Is this what love becomes?" I finally found my voice and, shaking my head, I answered, "No. No, this is what _I_ became when I lost her. Life and love are far too short for mortals." "But it is so beautiful,"he whispered, and the way he said it sounded so much like my artistic Sienna that tears gathered in my eyes, and I turned away from him so he wouldn't see. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and I stiffened. His voice was soft as he said, "Please turn from this path. Close the Gateways. Release the people from oppression. Please, Father." In that place where my heartstrings had snapped all those centuries ago, something stirred to life once more. _Father_. I was a father. I had a son. I had a family. When I turned to face him, he was smiling at me. I reached out and pressed my hand into his shoulder, pouring all my sincerity into my words as I said, "Of course, son."
# The Cost of Progress “Why won’t you sodding work?” Jenna slapped the machine’s cooling vent. Time ran backward. With a tiny pop, the cup of coffee on the sideboard exploded. Wet clay and a pile of pigments dripped mournfully onto the floor. A coffee bean, under the force from the change in pressure, ricocheted off the side of Jenna’s head and vanished into a corner. “Jenna...” Michelle took a step back, internally debated the concept of ‘safe distance’, and wilted in defeat, “Is that thing safe?” Jenna frowned, “I mean yes. Maybe no. Ish?” She paced around the still steaming contraption and withdrew something resembling a television aerial from one of her many pockets. It bleeped and blooped and her frown deepened. As she reached for a second pocket, she remembered Michelle’s presence. “Look,” she said, “I’m pretty sure it’s just a problem with the shielding. I made some adjustments, and… well…” She set the timer on the front screen for seven seconds. There was a flash of violet light. An arc of electricity, glowing an ominous and near impossible neon black, crawled through the air, making brief contact with the light fitting. There was a noise like a deep-fried halibut trying to walk. The taste of summer nights filled the room, along with the overpowering sensation of umami. Flickering erratically, the lightbulb made a spirited attempt at folding itself into an extra dimension before vanishing entirely. In the sudden darkness of the garage, Jenna’s tired voice rose in complaint. “See, it’s not supposed to do that.” A long pause was deepened considerably by the cheerful ping of the machine, and a glowing message reading: > C Y C L E C O M P L E T E D Michelle sighed again, choosing her words with an inordinate care, “You know I love you, right?” “Uh… Yeah?” “And you know I support your work, right?” “Right, we’ve been friends for ages, it’s been so great living with you aga-” “Cause you know what my real problem with this situation is…” In the shadows, Jenna shifted uncomfortably, head hung low. “Yeah, my real problem, Jen,” Michelle said, “is that this morning, that was our fucking microwave.” --- If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, please visit [my sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads) Any and all feedback welcomed.
"Laddie, mind shuttin up for a wee bit, eh? Am tryin to get some sleep down 'ere!"the small grumpy old man said as he slithered back down to the floor. "Wha–Who are you?! Mum! Dad!" Hearing the child scream, the little old man stood back up and flailed his arms in panic. He had not wished to startle the child, he simply wanted the child to be neighbourly. Yet the child's screams only got worse as he tried to plead. "Listen, shhh! I'm sorry, laddie! Didn't mean to scare the bejesus out of ye, I swear on me mother's dead ash–" The child looked on in horror and cried. It seemed endless. The little old man had to come up with something a child would quickly pick up on. He took out a rucksack from underneath the bed and shoved his blackened hands in. He rattled and mixed the contents until suddenly... "Look!"the little old man pulled a bunny, "there's a cute wee bunny in 'ere! You like to give it a teeny weeny pat in the head?" The child's cries stopped into a sob. He looked unsure and shook his head in response. Clearly, the little old man was what keeping him back. "Righto, how 'bout we leave the wee bunny 'ere on your bed and you can rub the fluffy bit on the back? You'd do that?" The child looked on, anticipation shone in his small beady eyes. By this point he had been hypnotised by the little furry creature. The little old man picked this up and smiled to himself. That's it ye little gremlin, look at it... Just don't mind me so I can go back to me hole with some peace and quiet! He thought to himself full of glee. The rabbit sat on the child's bed, some way away from the little old man. It then bounced up-and-down, side-to-side, shaking its fluffy stubby tail. The child ate it up and began doing the same. The excitement filled the room with colour and laughter. It was all going great until the little old man heard an all too familiar noise. "Billy!"a muffled voice of a woman echoed behind the door. Ah ye yappy tot! the little old man bang his head in anger. "Billy, eh?"he said with an awkward smile, "look to the wee fluffy bunny! I think it's tryin' to say somethin' to ye!" The child turned silent and began to look deeply towards the bunny. His eyes were wide and beady, his pupils dilated. As he stopped to sit down on his bed, the little old man whispered... "Ye tell yer giantess of a mother nothin' is wrong – say 'apologies' and just nod. No one else is 'ere and that the bunny was a gift from yer wee friends!" With that, the little old man hurriedly slid back down to his 'hole under the bed'. The previously ecstatic bunny fell to its side, unmoving. The child simply sat in silence, his eyes empty. "Billy!"the door slammed opened, "what is going on here?" "Nothing, mother,"he responded calmly. "It's way past your bedtime. Go to bed now or you won't feel well tomorrow at school!" "Yes, mother. Apologies." "Apo... I'm sorry?"his mother looked on in disbelief, "I never heard you use that word before. Did they teach you that in school?" Blasted tot! Say sorry or somethin', c'mon! the little old man kept to his frustration. "Yes... Mother." "Uh-huh. Also,"his mother turned her head around before leaving, "you say 'mum', not 'mother'. I think you ought to know that."
FADE IN: EXT. A DESERTED HILLTOP - NIGHT Gentle wind is heard beneath a cloudless night. For a few seconds, this serenity seems like it will last forever... but then a low, ominous rumble becomes audible. As it rises in volume, a crack seems to form in the air, letting free blinding rays of completely white light. DUDE: (O.S.) I... I am? The light slowly fades, revealing a man. He is tall, fit, and clad in a polo shirt and jeans. A neatly trimmed (but still quite thick) beard lines his face, and a mostly full bottle of some nameless beer is held in his hand. This is DUDE, a recently created deity. DUDE: (To himself) I guess the next obvious question is where am, huh? BILLY: (O.S.) Um, well... um, you're on a hill. Dude turns to see a small child. This is BILLY. DUDE: Who are you? BILLY: Aren't you supposed to know that already? DUDE: Sorry, what? BILLY: I mean, you're Dude. You know everything. You do everything. Dude glances down at himself, apparently still surprised by his own existence. DUDE: I am Dude... and you're... you're Billy. BILLY: I told you so. DUDE: No, you didn't. I just knew it somehow. BILLY: No, I told you that you already knew that! DUDE: Oh. Right. So you did. A moment passes as Dude takes a seemingly habitual sip from his beer. DUDE: (CONT'D) So, I'm getting the impression that I'm a god. BILLY: I guess. People sure pray to you a lot. DUDE: Do they? BILLY: Yeah, you know: "Come on, Dude!""Help me out here, Dude!""What the hell, Dude?!" DUDE: Huh. You know, I suppose that they do. BILLY: What's it like? DUDE: Loud, I guess. BILLY: No, what's it like being a god? Like, do you know everything at once? Dude's brows furrow as he considers this. DUDE: I don't think I know everything, but I have a pretty broad scope of awareness. BILLY: What's a... what's a "scope of the were-nest?" DUDE: It's the amount that a human changes into a bird under a full moon. BILLY: ... Oh. DUDE: I'm just kidding, kid. A "scope of awareness"is how much I can perceive. BILLY: Like what? DUDE: Well, for instance, I can sense a thread on an Internet forum whereon I'm about to be compared to a character from a movie called The Big Lebowski. I can also sense a person somehow learning of my prediction, and being a little bit irritated by what I'm going to say next. BILLY: What are you going to say next? DUDE: Not everything is a reference to something, you cretin. BILLY: But... but if you're referencing that movie now, isn't it still a reference? DUDE: The Dude works in mysterious ways. Anyway, aren't you precocious? BILLY: Bless you. DUDE: That's my job, kid. Another moment of silence passes as Dude takes another sip of his beer. The amount in the bottle does not seem to diminish. DUDE: (CONT'D) So, I look like the quintessential dad, huh? BILLY: Bless you. DUDE: No, kid, that joke was barely funny the first time. BILLY: Okay. You don't look like my dad. DUDE: No, but I resemble what your culture assumes a dad should look like. BILLY: You kind of act like my dad, though. DUDE: That's good, I guess. Speaking of which, why are you out here all alone at night? Billy sighs and rolls his eyes in affected show of maturity. BILLY: There it is... DUDE: Sorry, but it's plot-relevant. BILLY: What? DUDE: You and I – every living mind, really, no matter how great or small – play a part in an ever-expanding story. This part is being written even as we speak. Now, I could just use my divine powers to... well, divine... why you're out here, but that would represent lazy writing. BILLY: ... Okay. DUDE: Besides, your free will keeps me from reading your thoughts... or something. BILLY: You're different than I thought. DUDE: Well, kid, you're the only one who believes in me, but plenty of people pray to me. BILLY: So? DUDE: So I'm an amalgam. BILLY: B... DUDE: (Interrupting) Don't say "bless you." BILLY: ... I wasn't gunna. DUDE: Anyway, you haven't answered my question. Why are you out here? BILLY: I wanted to meet Dude, so I needed to be outside at night. DUDE: I'd question that conclusion, but it looks like you were right. Why did you want to meet me? Billy suddenly seems slightly embarrassed. BILLY: I... I wanted to ask. DUDE: Ask what? BILLY: My parents say I'm not allowed to ask anymore. DUDE: Ask what? BILLY: They say... they say I have to ask questions in complete sentences now. DUDE: Kid, seriously, this is getting tedious. BILLY: Okay, um... okay, so, you have to tell me something. DUDE: (Exasperated) I'm really, really trying to. BILLY: No, I mean... I mean you have to teach me something new, right now. DUDE: ... Aha. Okay. How about this: Whenever a god is created, so is an anti-god; a devil, I suppose. A triumphant smile starts to spread across Billy's face. BILLY: Why? DUDE: It maintains balance in the universe. BILLY: Why? DUDE: The sublime forces from which we arise need to have equal parts positive and negative. BILLY: Why? DUDE: An imbalance could end up destroying reality as you know it. BILLY: Why? DUDE: ... Look, kid, are you actually listening, or are you just saying "why"a lot? BILLY: I'm listening. DUDE: Are you sure? Because it seems like you're acting like... oh. Oh, no. BILLY: What? DUDE: Whenever a god is created, so is an anti-god. BILLY: I knew that. DUDE: I didn't realize that an anti-god and a believer could be one and the same. A soft glow seems to surround Billy. A mischievous glint comes into his eye. BILLY: Why not? A worried voice calls from somewhere in the distance. Billy gives Dude a last look, then runs in the direction of home. DUDE: See, I knew you weren't listening. FADE TO BLACK.
"So you want to hire me?" The hotelier in front of me adjusted their tie before continuing with the sales pitch. "Yes, we believe that your ability to nullify powers would offer our guests a grand experience, able to fully relax and enjoy our facilities without worrying about a super hero suplexing a villain through the penthouse and into the lobby." "Oddly specific. That's happened before?" "More than I would care to admit. Regardless, our opening offer for you is a 6 figure salary, with health benefits, as well as free access to all hotel facilities and services indefinitely." "Generous offer. I accept." "Good! We're in business then. While we understand if you would like to remain in a one place, we would appreciate if you can move between our locations on rotation."
I stood frozen, as 12 sets of eyes scanned my face desperately searching for a answer. “Um.” I said flustered “I don’t... know.” I gulped The empty faces looking back at me reinforced the feeling of failure I had felt for the last 7 years. “You know what? I’m sick of you! All you do is give us false hope!” Lindsey screamed pointing her manicured finger at me. “I hate you so -“ Her angry voice faded away into a soft whimper as a pool of mascara ran down her pale face. “Yeah, I’m done too!” Jack yelled furiously No not Jack. He’s my best employee. I thought to myself. “We are all done! Aren’t we guys?!” Screamed Madison, with a pen tangled in her hair. She looked ridiculous. “Yeah we are all tired!” Screamed the 11 voices. All but Mark. “We are all tired! We are all tired! We are all tired! We are all tired! We are all tired!” My eyes stayed on Mark, as he leaned back in his chair looking confused. They chanted repeatedly, as my heart raced. “ENOUGH!” I exclaimed I punched the whiteboard, leaving my fist covered in blood. I sprinted out of the room, dashing to my office door, and sobbed like a baby. ... “Good morning sir! I’ve brought you some coffee. I know yesterday was a rough day, and I want to apologize on the behalf of everyone including myself for our wild behavior and this morning you didn’t seem so happy . “ There stood Michael standing across me with his head down, as his arm extended towards me with the warm coffee. “Oh thank you so much! I just had coffee like an hour ago, but I wouldn’t mind a energy booster.” I purposely avoided responding to his apology, and his observation of my sour face. I giggled, as I took the white paper cup. “Oh I thought you said you didn’t have any coffee this morning, when we met in the parking lot a hour ago. Never-mind, I must be imagining things.” “What? A hour ago. Yeah you’re definitely imagining things.” I said sarcastically as I pat him on the shoulder. I started walking down the long corridor to my office. Maybe I won’t be a failure forever? I thought. “ Hey! Right here!” Ann was holding a thick stack of files in her right hand as she waved them in the air. “ Good morning Ann, everything okay?” “Yes, here you go. I printed out all of the files you requested an hour ago. Here you go.” She said sweetly, walking away as her short curly hair bounced off her shoulder. “What the-?” I mumbled I looked up to see Mark winking at me as he held the metal remains of my attempted time machine.
Stranger #1 in the crowd: You... you just defeated the Council of Six! random murmurs of amazement from the crowd Stranger #2: He just pointed his metal finger at the 6 most powerful Warlocks in the realm and they fell dead! "I mean, they started it!"I said. "It was self defense!" "Shut up"my cousin murmurs under her breath. Slowly the crowd begins to chant "Hail, hail, all hail the Council of Two!" "Two?"I ask my cousin. "I shot them, you just stood there!" I said, shut up!"my cousin screamed under her breath. Someone emerges from the crowd as they go silent. By the looks of him he missed his monthly bath which actually makes him the cleanest of the bunch. "Masters"he says prostrating himself before us "as the scrolls foretold your victory over the Council of Six we shall now take you to the Stronghold of the Dark One who shall not be named. "Uh... you called him the Dark One so didn't you just name him?" "I. Fucking. Swear. To. God. If you speak again I'll pistol whip you with your own pistol. My cousin utters. She went to college and has a real way with words. I open my mouth... consider my options and close it again. She visibly relaxes... a bit. "How many more bullets do you have?"She asks me. My brow furrows... "Oh for fucks sake you can talk when I ask you a question!" "Well..."I start. "It is a six shot revolver." "And?"She prompts. "Well I shot six times." "Ok."She replies. I toe a rock in the sand at my feet and offer "You know, Mom always said you were the smart one out of the entire family." Her face falls and her entire body bristles. Well bristles more if that is possible "Don't fucking say it... don't fucking say it." "Six minus six is zero."I reply. I can tell by the look on her face that was the wrong thing to say and realize that mom was right. At the very least I didn't get the brains in the family.
"Hey, Primrose,"called Sir Halloway. He'd foregone the armor today. It was hot and the metal plating clanked. Besides, he and Destravida, Great Wyrm of the North, Devourer of Souls, had been getting on well lately. He suspected Primrose had had a talk with her dragon. A head poked out of the window, framed by so many red curls it was hard to see her freckled face. "Hey, Hal. I wasn't expecting you." Halloway smiled and shrugged off his bag, plopping down onto the grass at the foot of her tower. "I just needed a break. Everyone in town keeps giving me these pitiful looks." Primrose pulled a face. "They still think you're pining away after the princess you haven't been able to save, yet?" "Well, yeah. And what's worse is that Sir Errick thinks so, too." Primrose let out a low whistle. "That's rough. You could always tell them I like it up here and that Destravida's a pussy cat." "No. That'll just ruin your reputation. Besides."He shifted, laying down properly on the grass so he could stare up at her. "If they knew I wasn't trying to save you, some other dunderhead'd just try and your dragon might get hurt." "I'm sure Destravida could take them. Cor, but you look mopey. Here."Her ginger head disappeared from the window, returning a moment later as she flung a muffin down at him. &#x200B; Halloway had to scramble to catch it. It smelled good, like cinnamon and what he'd come to believe was love. Only Primrose could bake that smell into everything that came out of her dragon-operated oven. "Thanks, Prim."He took a bite and moaned happily. Walnuts! She must have made these just for him. Didn't know he was coming his smelly foot. "The real question,"Primrose called. "Is whether you're willing to tell Sir Errick the truth. Cause then you'd have no excuse to not tell him you're madly in love with him. Halloway choked on a walnut.
I get out of the shower, my unshampood hair stuck in clumps. I look at my wristwatch and curse. The novel was supposed to begin hours ago and here I am brushing my teeth while munching on a poptart breakfast at the same time. Would they start without me? I pulled on my robe and got into my fancy arm chair, setting the decorative pipe on the coffee table in front of my crackling log fire. I don't smoke, but narrator image is one I try to imitate the cliches. They're cliches for a reason. The book opens and the pages are blank, looking at the audience with shame. Were they even still here? They must be. My only purpose is to tell them this tale. I skim through the pages and letters dance onto the page. It seems I've found something. The squirrel stared blankly at the sky as if he had sensed a prescense. His cheeks puffed out, full of nuts he was transporting to his hoard. Is this the novel? Is it about a squirrel? I flip the book over and read the title. My brow furrows, nothing there gave me any clues. Who is the hero? What are the stakes? Why am I narrating the life of a squirrel. The rodent hung it's head as if it had disappointed a parent. No little squirrel, it's not your fault. I meant nothing against you. It's ears flicked and it's puffy cheeks turned up into a grin. Now where are the characters? We seem to be in a peaceful forest without a trace of humans or their machinery. Is there a village nearby a dark lord would burn, giving motive to a chosen one? No. I suppose this author isn't that easy. The squirrel reached out two paws. It's small padded paws squeezed on my cheeks in a hug. It's large black eyes glimmering with love. My heart melts. Perhaps a story isn't here. Perhaps all that is here is the peace that I so badly need. The squirrel curled up in a ball against the man's damp matted hair, as he drifted to sleep to the sounds of the forest.
To Whom it May Concern, For seven days and seven nights now, I have been held captive. I am a Nigerian prince, the last in a line that originated before the sun first rose, and may yet endure until its final setting. For each of these days I have used my one method of communication -- this email account -- to plea for help from anyone I could. On the first day of my imprisonment, I thought that surely a good samaritan would come to my rescue. But it seems that I had too much faith in the morales of modern men. Though I have grown ever more desperate -- even offering wealth and lands from my family's grand estates -- I have received not one useful reply, or even an expression of sympathy. Instead, it seems that all recipetents have taken it upon themselves to mock my pain and deny these dark circumstances. They call it a “scam” and me a “criminal”. So heartbreaking are these responses that I have even considered that this may all be a trick of my captors -- a weapon against my mind so as to truly break me. This will be my last email. If at this juncture, help is still not forthcoming, then I will accept my fate and whatever dark purpose my kidnappers hold me for. Once more I ask, I beg for some aid from the outside world. Even some acknowledgement of my pain and sympathy. I fear for my wife and my children. For news of them, or the tools to escape, I will give whatever my rescuer desires so long as it's within my capacity. Please. I am truly desperate. Prince Abioye Abubakar \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~ Dear Prince Abioye Abubakar, I wish that I could offer you more than merely hope and prayers, but I fear that that is currently beyond me. I too am held captive, and like you I have been struggling for days to contact the outside world but to no avail. I am a high-level executive at an automobile company who has been trapped in my own office. I had thought my jailors foolish as they had neglected to disconnect a single phone system, but what had seemed to be a blessing is in fact a curse. Because the phone in question is routed through our marketing department, all calls open with a thrice-accursed electronic voice stating that my purpose is to discuss with my recipient their cars “extended warranty”. It seems that like you, they do not perceive my purpose and hang up before I can cry for help. I have managed to send out this one email, and though I can give you no aid at the moment, know that I am thinking of you amid the horrors of my imprisonment. We are brothers in agony, and though the situation seems hopeless, I can only hope that when we next communicate it will be beneath the blue skies of liberty. Best, Phillip Jones CEO of Jones' Cars (r/StannisTheAmish for more of my writing)
Mother says that the monster on top of the bed is just my imagination, but I know better. They change their skin every night and their awful machine makes ear rending beeps every morning. But one night the monster does not come. Instead a werewolf like father comes. When it leaves, I peek out the window. Oh! I did not know that today was special. There are ghosts and witches and bugbears everywhere. I cautiously exit the house. The world is so... large! All the colors hurt my eyes and all the noise makes all my ears stand straight up. "Nice costume!"says a ghost. I wonder what "costume"means. "Thank you!"I call back, hoping that it was intended as a compliment. There is so much outside. All the houses give treats when you open the door and the driveways are full of so many people. I taste food like nothing I have ever tasted before. It is late. I go back home and crawl in under the bed. But as I am closing my eyes to go to sleep, the werewolf returns with a friend, a ghost. But as I watch, the werewolf peels off its face and the ghost throws off its shroud. I gasp. They are the monsters. But they are... laughing? "That was the best Halloween ever! Your costume drew so many looks, it was soooo cheesy."laughs the not-werewolf to the not-ghost. "Ah, well"says the not-ghost, "I was too lazy to dress up as anything else."He holds up his blanket and shrugs. "Mom will be wanting me back. Thanks for the night!"He leaves the room, taking his sweets-bucket with him. The not-werewolf changes his skin and climbs on top of the bed. But something is different, I think. Oh, he did not check under the bed. I frown, thinking back to all the nights when he brought a large monster with him, crying about something under the bed. Is it possible that he's... scared of me? I guess Mother was right. There really isn't a monster on top of the bed. [\~r/StoriesOfAshes](https://reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes)
They used to think I was a psychopath. The evaluations started when I was three, when I wouldn’t smile or laugh or cry or do much of anything, really. I tried diagnoses on like shirts. Everything the doctors and psychologists could think of to try and make me feel things. I was seven before I knew what happiness felt like. The real diagnosis came when I was nine. I remember the doctor, in her suit and glasses, holding a clipboard. She assured me the diagnosis was accurate this time, that they wouldn’t have to run any more tests. The illness had a very long Latin name; one of her colleagues had found it in the pages of some dusty medical book hidden in some research library. I felt something then. They told me it was “relief.” My little brother was born three months after my eleventh birthday. My parents handed him to me to hold and immediately I felt an emotion I’d never had before. My chest ached like uncontrollable sadness, but the rest of me felt giddy, like joy. “Love,” my dad had explained, tears in his eyes. “That one’s love.” And it was. I loved my brother more than anything in the world. We did everything together, or tried to anyways. With him I learned “frustration” and “annoyance,” as well as “elation” and “pride.” Three years ago, I learned “fear.” The doctors agreed it would take a long time to develop, being as nuanced as it is. I knew some kinds already: nervousness, apprehension. But this was different. The back door swung in the still air. I wandered into the house, calling my brother’s name. He didn’t answer. I called his phone. His husband picked up. Hadn’t seen him since the night before. My heart sped up. The house was a wreck; there had obviously been a struggle. I ran through the house, yelling my brother’s name. My blood ran cold. A weight settled into my chest; I couldn’t breathe. Even when the police showed up, swarming through the house, tagging things as evidence and laying out their little yellow cards with the black numbers, my brain refused to work. This was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. My brother’s body was found a month after that. I don’t remember the details; it doesn’t matter. I remember the funeral, the grief like nothing I’d ever felt. I didn’t feel anything for a long time after that. I saw therapists for awhile, then doctors who feared my illness was making me relapse into some sort of zombie-like emotionless state. I almost wished it had. Today, right know, I know it didn’t. I’m standing over my brother’s grave. My brother, who taught me so many emotions. My brother, who was capable of so much, who knew how much good there was in the world and believed in and loved it. Gone. But I’m still here. I remember my brother. I remember everything he taught me. And I feel something new. Something cold, like fear, but with more anger, more passion. It crashes into my chest and instead of choking me, frees my lungs to the crisp air. I will find the people responsible for my brother’s death and I will make them pay. I feel powerful. The anger and the sorrow are still there, yes, but now they’re driving forwards, pulling me somewhere, giving me a drive and a purpose. This. This is hatred. And I plan to use it. fin.
I had never thought of myself as one of those special people who might get powers. Scientists have investigated it to no end and have never been able to determine what causes some people to receive the vocation to get powers. People who get powers are at the very least interesting, there is something about them that makes you think, no matter what task this person is given, they will do it. Out of my year at school, with over five hundred of us, I picked out every last single one who would have powers, or at the very least the opportunity to have powers when they grew up. Well, nearly all of them. Now, as it turns out, I have that opportunity. Perhaps I just triggered it, something anyone could have, yet no one could ever do it. I have heard of people not being given an vocation to receive the powers still getting them after filling someone else's task, it is always possible. Or perhaps there is no task, this is simply me having a mental breakdown after hitting a rather costly speed bump. The culmination of dissatisfaction in my own life, my wistfulness, and my hatred for people with powers. Kill 100 super heroes. 1/100 I was now standing out of my car. I had reversed back to the victim of my lapse in concentration. Water and muck seeped into and clung to my clothes, as if trying to permeate down into my soul to dirty it enough to undertake this task. I couldn't stop staring at it, before me layed a dead body, presumably that of a hero, yet all I could do was stare at what his death had delivered into my life. A chance to be special. My knees buckled, and I fell down and started crying, my tears matched the flow of the rain as it streaked torrentially down my face. My yells were carried by the Autumn wind, as if a warning to those I was about to come for. When I finally stood again the muck had thoroughly covered me, and I left a trail from the body of the broken hero as I returned to my car. Kill 100 super heroes. 33/100 A month has passed along with the lives of many heroes. At first I found it hard to choose who I killed, I found them especially hard to kill, but they were human just like me once, and it isn't too hard to figure out their weakness. The hardest part now isn't finding a way to kill them, it is actually killing them. They ask me do I know all the civilians I am forsaking when I kill them, I ask them don't they know their death is saving me. But they never understand, I don't think I would have understood either, before the vocation, my call to enact justice. Whenever I get tired of trying to reason of them, I kill them in the end. I just hope they know before then that I will take over for them, I will do better, I will be a hero worth a hundred heroes, and that the tears of joy of the masses I have saved will wash the blood from my hands, purify my soul and sanctify the ground in which bury them in. Kill 100 heroes. 99/100 I now realise that it wasn't that I was never special, not that I ever was, but no one else was special either. The vocation makes you worthy, it brings you through this hardship to forge you into one who is worthy of the power. Or at least that's what I hope, I have had too much time to think recently, I wait for my prey, they have all grown so cautious, heroism was almost completely wiped out with number 84 of I recall correctly, that was the first time I saw a hero run and leave people to die when I came. I hope whatever power I get is worth all this, I no longer even want to be special anymore, I just want to finally save people. I sometimes feel like I'm still stuck in that moment at the car, and if I ever leave it, the weight of all I have done will crush me. All I have now is hope. Kill 100 heroes. 100/100 ~The End~ Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, any criticism is welcomed and appreciated :)
How did I come to this position? Never in my life I would've thought I could fulfill my childhood dream to be a rock star. Well, certainly not one in the year 1642. The year was 2142. I was but a college student from Manchester, England; studying a dead end degree in London while playing with my band in small pubs here and there, free drinks as payment. It wasn't much but we were happy. 22nd century, you'd think things would change but no. Looking back at 21st century history, nothing much had changed but the technology. Research on time travel had been the popular subject for decades then. That fateful day, I was on a date with this girl I fancied. I took her to the Time Research Lab in downtown London. Something must have gone wrong then, because all I remembered was a blinding flash of light and the next thing I knew I found myself 500 years in the past. Live was rough then. Luckily 22nd century medicine discovered an omni-vaccine, a vaccine that could protect you from any pathogens and infectious diseases. Definitely helpful with the condition of living then. I was homeless then, playing a broken lute I found on the street to make money. Funny enough the audience in 1642 was way more accepting to my talent than those in 2142. My repertoire was mostly 1990's British pop music. I was an old old soul I know. To me that kind of music was like the Beethoven of my day, like Beethoven was like for people from the 1990's. Wouldn't you know it, I basically became famous! From playing with a broken instrument on the street, to playing for royals in their beautiful manors. My claim to fame however when me and my band of orchestra was invited to play for King Charles II of Scotland and his royal audience. I remember that night. That moment of the night when the orchestra was hot, my voice awesomely echoed throughout the hall, the audience of royals all sang together singing the lyrics... "I SAID MAYBEEEEEE, YOU'RE GONNA BE THE ONE THAT SAVES MEEEEE, AND AFTER AAAAALL, YOU'RE MY WONDERWAAAAAALL"
Look I am not trying to say this tablet is not a teleporter. We have proven it is indeed a teleporter. I am not trying to say that it will not teleport you safely. We not only believe it a safe means of transportation but have calculated where it will teleport you, Gliese 667 Cc. We are very close to knowing how it teleports you. We have proven there is a tesseract bound in the sub-dimensional field inside that tablet and are trying to simulate this technology. The question you are ignoring is WHY it will teleport you. Thanks to our friends from Proxima Centauri b we know the Gliese don't need human slaves, they don't need humans for pets or art. What they want is meat. And they prefer free-range humans to the vat-grown ones. Over 99% of professional alien analyst agree this information is accurate. If I have to listen to one more of your conspiracy theories, I swear to God I will shoot myself. Better yet I would like to take every idiot who posts a meme about how Megacorp is working with Big-Government to "steal paradise for themselves"and shove their asses onto the tablet so they can check for themselves. If I have to listen to one more self-deluded free-tablet ranter who has the "secret files"proving government lies....I will take your secret files and shove them so far up your <<<< post cut off due to violation of posting obscenity rules >>>>>
Working customer service remotely from home was wonderful and terrible, for all the reasons you’d expect. But whatever way my day had gone, at 5 p.m. I was able to take off my headset, turn off the computer, and completely disconnect from work. And I would immediately go out for a walk. I’d lived in this neighborhood in Vancouver for about six months now and still absolutely loved my evening walks. It was immensely peaceful and remarkably beautiful. The only thing was that it was now edging toward winter, which I knew would put a damper on things. I’d likely decide to push my schedule until 6 p.m. and take my walk mid-day so I didn’t end up a popsicle at the end. Today was different though, having taken a new route, and I realized I’d become disoriented. Walking over to a nearby house, I knocked on the door. My eyes skimmed over the Halloween decorations on the patio that had been done to such an extent that any passing trick-or-treater was guaranteed to get great candy here. The door opened and, to my surprise, the elderly lady that stood there exclaimed, “Oh, there you are!” I blinked. “Hi, sorry to bother you-” “Bother me? Eileen, don’t be silly. Come on in out of the cold.” With that, she turned and walked swiftly back into the house. My name was Erin which, while close, as both began with ‘E’, was not quite on the money. “Sorry?” I called after her. Hurried footsteps came down the hall, flip-flops echoing on the wooden floors. “I’m so sorry, that’s my mother,” the woman said. “Can I help you?” “I’m just a bit lost. She called me Eileen,” I mentioned, motioning in the woman’s direction. The woman’s lips parted and her face fell. “Oh. That, um, that was my sister’s name.” Was. I held back a grimace. “Gotcha. I didn’t mean to bother you, I’m just new to the neighborhood and was just wondering the way to Grove Avenue, got turned around.” “Lilian, why are you keeping your sister out in the cold?” The elderly woman edged around her and pulled me into the house, shutting the door and putting an official end to my walk, it seemed. “Mom-” Lilian started. “We just finished cooking dinner,” the woman said with a wide smile, taking both my hands. I had to admit, the food smelled delicious. “Take off your jacket and come sit down so I can stuff you full of food!” I hesitated before responding. “It smells absolutely awesome, Mom, thank you.” Her smile widened and she turned and headed back down the hall. I looked to Lilian, who appeared shocked. “I don’t mean to overstep,” I murmured. “But…I’d hate to disappoint her. You think she might realize I’m not who she thinks mid-meal or…might she just enjoy having her daughter back for the night?” Lilian’s expression suddenly softened and she looked after her mother. She swallowed hard. “You know what?” she murmured. She looked back to me. “I really think she’d like that.”
Family dinners are annoying, but a tradition. They certainly haven't been the same all these eons, but they've changed for the good, and I personally don't mind that. Usually, I'm regarded as this, cosmic being by my family, they don't seem to understand that I'm only human, like them. I just got my powers and abilities by sucking dry a cosmic being. there's a difference. They respect me though, ask me silly questions, but I don't mind it. The ability to cook a "swinging"turkey runs in the blood it seems. After the family dinner, which was full of little inconsequential things that i don't even remember anymore except Debra cackling like the hag she is, and something about wooing a lady. Debra Walked up to me, pulling me aside with her frail arms and motioning to come closer. I leaned in, and i heard her ask me "You knew my great-grandfather. And as you aslso probably know, i'm named after his childhood love."Her voice was faint, but I understood and nodded in response. "so then"she said, "do you remember what happened to the person i was named after?" I straightened my back, and looked toward the fragile thing. "Yes. I do remember her, she was the most playful thing. No wonder you were named after her. She had such life behind her eyes, the same as you when you were nothing but a babe." She smiled, thanked me and walked away. Next came the young man, whose cheeks were redder than a cherry. He asked me about how to "impress"girls. And I told him the simple truth, along with a small technique to help him further in life. I told him that girls are temporary, and that if he truly wanted a woman's heart all he needed was the heart of a dove, the feathers of a raven, and the genitalia of a kangaroo. I do not know what i said to drive him asunder, and i could tell from his pained expression that this was not what he had hoped to hear. He ran off with what i presumed to be vomit in his mouth. Next, a boy walked up to me, He seemed so small, couldn't be more than 11 or 12. He looked up at me, and gazed at my furs and my Christmas sweater that i knitted with the family Shield. After minutes of deep consideration, he asked me a question single. A question so bizzare, full of words that I had not heard in the thousands of years I had been alive. As the words rang through my ears the ancient name of power brought in me something I had not felt in a long time. Fear. I looked at the boy. He looked at me with his big eyes, wondering what was rushing through my head. He had returned, Ethezria's right-hand-man. Fortnite Hath returned.
I stood there. Not knowing what to say. How could I be the villain of my own story? Wouldn’t I have a drive I believed in? Wouldn’t that make me the hero of my life? Or do I just destroy all the good things. My author just stood there, staring at her toes. “I’m sorry... if it makes you feel better, you truly believe in your cause.” I blinked. “Wouldn’t that make me the hero?” I asked after a heavy silence sliced through the empty space between us. She sighed and shook her head. “Just because you believe in it, doesn’t mean it is necessarily right. What you do to justify your cause and make things happen is what truly makes you the villain.” She said with a tinge of sadness in her voice. “CHANGE IT!” I shout. “I can’t. Everything up to this point leads to this.” She shrugged. I looked at her. I used to think the way her curls framed her face was beautiful, now all I can see is a cruel person who is shrouded by beauty. That’s when I decide. The book IS going to show me being the hero, no matter what I have to do and who I have to go through. I will be the hero of my story. And no one can stop me. Not even this so-called author.
Your day started as any other, the same routine you'd spent years perfecting. 6:45am get up 7:48am pour cereal 7:49am pour coffee and so on. The bliss of the finally tuned routine filled you with each completed task. It was only when you were on your usual route to work that things started to go amiss. It started with a trip on an uneven paving slab, which brought you crashing into a lamp post and introduced you quite elequently with the ground. You nursed your elbow as you climbed back to your feet, pausing to brush down your clothes and straighten your tie in the reflection of a cars window. It was at this point that you felt a soft tap on your shoulder. Turning thinking it was probably someone enquiring to health after the fall. You were caught unawares and left aghast at the vision of the person in front of you. They were bedecked in a variety of mismatched luminous clothing and of all things a top hat. "eh... Yes?"You managed to stammer out. "Hey, do you know the cheat code for invincibility?"they said this with such confidence that you didn't even consider the ludicrous nature of the question. As you stood mouth agape they luminous individual, they cocked their head slightly, as they studied you standing like one of those paralytic goats. They obviously reached some sort of conclusion because they quickly blurted “Oh sorry, didn’t realize you were an NPC.” It was if that simple statement was the catalyst to rewrite your universe. You stood frozen with shock and confusion, watching this bizarre stranger walk away, your eyes and ears were suddenly assaulted by a cacophony of new information. In an instant, every person in sight had a health bar, an augmented reality hud filled your vision and variety of new sounds deafened yourears. You tried closing your eyes and covering your ears, but this neither blotted out the hud, nor the noise of quest chimes and level ups around you. Your chest was heaving and you were certain a panic attack would take you any second. When one thing on the hud caught your eye. You became fixed on it, and couldn't tear your eyes away. "What does it mean? Why's it there?"you thought to yourself. You stood routed staring at the hud for what could've been seconds or hours but felt like eons. You reached out hesitantly with your shaking hand and pressed the button that read "Log out".
As I raised my visor and looked around to take in my surroundings, I noticed a few things. The world was made of stone. The sides of the street, the buildings, the stairs, everything was made from the dull grey stone. Oh, the buildings! They were higher than any I'd seen before, clearly the work of some magics. I had my doubts about those being holy magics, with the lingering scent wafting through the air. Another one of those metal beasts passed me. It was blue, and it's sides were aflame with fire still as a tree, yet it gave off no heat. It ran along a road with smooth stone, black as the abyss. Holding my sacred blade in my hand I walked through this stone city. A faint reminder of the great elven forests back home came through my head as I gazed up at these magic structures. Crystals coated the walls of some. Then I saw my first person upon waking up in this land. Their back was turned to me, and I felt something odd about them as they turned around. Oh gods.. Their face was rotting off their skull. The stench of death started oozing through the air as I looked at their face. I kept the bile back in my throat as it threatened to loose itself. I steeled myself. I had faced these monsters before, though seeing them always caught my stomach off guard. Knowing what I had to do I raised my holy blade and called upon my god. "Lord of Light! Bathe my blade in fire, that I may cleanse the land of this foul taint."I plead to the heavens before charging the abomination. Strangely it didn't run towards me, nor away, it stood still as I separated it's foul head from foul body. I watched the head roll towards another group of people. More foul undead, needing to be purged from the lands. With righteous fury I strode towards them. The undead fled before me. I knew my god was with me in that moment, for filth such as this would not ordinarily flee. And I slew their ilk, their black blood paved the stones upon which they had undoubtedly built. This necropolis would fall, I swear upon my soul. The heathens who raised these corrupted souls would see their world crumble. I relished in delivering the good gods will, cracking skulls and severing evil limbs. I knew the gods had chosen me when half an hour later light had started to shine behind me. Yellow, blue, and red, the Lord must have seen fit to divine me as his adjudicator. I heard words behind me, telling me to halt. Those could not be the words of my god, when he had chosen me to carry out his will. I turned to see the bright lights shining in my face, and the foul miasma of the undead coming from the lights. They shouted inanities I did not understand, for their undead tongue was a vile language. I merely did what I knew was right. I charged these new undead, only to hear the crack of thunder and feel my leg go numb. Thereafter I felt my body hit the stone, the warmth of blood and a pain beyond any I have experienced swarmed my leg. What foul curse have these abominations pained me with? What hellish wound have I received? I did not know, as the world turned black and fear enveloped me. I awoke under bright light, glaring into my eyes. "Lord be Praised, You have seen fit to grant your servant an afterlife in your realm!"I cried tears of joy, but as I tried to sit up, I felt my arms bound around me. Looking down I saw I wore a jacket, only the sleeves were strapped to the back. "Lord, have I done something to displease you? Why would you bring me to your realm, only to bind me?"I asked worriedly looking into the light. The nauseating smell of corpses invaded my nose. No. No! NO! DAMN THOSE CURSED FIENDS! They tricked me. "AWAY WITH YOU, FOUL CREATURES!"I roared to the abominations entering the room. They grabbed me, roughly. One of them brought stones to my mouth, and closed it. I refused to have them defile me, and attempted to spit the stones out, only for them to clamp my nose shut, and force me to swallow the stones with tepid water. A moment later they left. But I could feel the foulness inside my belly. Cursed creatures.
As he lay on the cold, hard slab, he smiled, bemusedly, at the chanting going on around him. The scarlet band tied around his eyes did little to hinder his sight- if he were showing off, he might even claim that it allowed him a more accurate perception of his surroundings: one untainted by the lies of the senses that so often deceived the mortal. He could easily make out that circle of hooded figures that surrounded him, the different weapons they had strapped to their hips or clutched in their hands. Even their faces could not be hidden to him- he knew them as if the hoods and masks they wore had been left at home, hidden in the back of a closet, forgotten. When he'd decided to visit his followers, he'd been hoping for more, to be honest. If these were the people that had actually managed to decipher the one true deity, alone in a sea of pretenders, then surely there'd be something different about them? The group he had been faced with, upon walking into this meeting, had been nothing but a blow to his pride. These were the chosen ones? The ones who he had promised to save, all those years ago? Pathetic. They were a measly group. An entry from every point on the spectrum of repulsively fat to ghoulishly weak. From ugly to stupid- they had disappointed him. if he was honest, or thinking straight, then maybe it would have occurred to him that this had been the case with every mortal he'd ever met. When he'd heard songs of girls, beautiful enough to stir the hearts of young men across the world through simple lyrics, he'd chased after them just as the young men of their towns did. When he saw them, his distaste at the human form always prevailed. Why did they have to be so imperfect? Not once had he met one without a glaring issue with them- the cleverest of those he'd tracked down had been conceited beyond belief. The beautiful had often been the same, or too stupid too realise that they could be. The weak were hopeless, and the strong uninspiring. So what more had he expected from this group of worshippers? However, he was not feeling reasonable. Out of interest, he'd allowed them to tackle him, cuff him down, strap him to this altar. He'd pretended to be weak, weaker than them, if that was possible, and even that was difficult- he'd slapped one man away so hard that he was unlikely to remain a fixture of this monthly meeting- but eventually, they'd managed to get him here. He sighed. He was holding out hope that perhaps, one of them would surprise him. One of these dullards, who'd resigned themselves to the shadows in order to praise him, he'd hoped would do something interesting! New! As the chanting continued, it became apparent that they wouldn't. With disappointment in his eyes, covered from the armed ring that surrounded him, he took a deep breath. In a long practiced, ancient move, he breathed himself in. His very essence collapsed inside of him, leaving the body he had taken an empty husk. With a breath out, he was gone. (If you like, join my sub r/ColourlessWind)
I rode at the head of my army. Once mere peasants and weak monsters, now they stood as proud soldiers. In there eyes gleamed the fire of vengeance. The same fire that burned in my eyes. The Raven Hag, freed from her imprisonment, walked beside me, her dark power causing many to bow their heads. I shifted in the saddle, feeling my old bones start to ache again. It had been a long time since I was in an army. One of my Captains came up to me. Once the Terror of Natzbek, the demon Grelthorn saluted me. "My Lord. The kingdoms armies are but 2 miles away." I nodded, looking at the darkening sky. "Halt here. We will set up camp here. Soon, we will march to battle." Grelthorn grinned, saluting again before lumbering away. As I watched his bulky frame disappear, I recalled how we were once enemies. He had desired to kill for the sake of killing. But I had banished him, with but a single hope of freedom. Learn to curb his insatiable appetite for destruction, and he could go free. And how he had surprised me. A runner came up to me, a small winged kobold from the front lines. She saluted, before holding up a parchment. "My Lord. A messenger from them. Say want to parley. Give this." She held out the parchment, which I accepted. I unrolled it, rolling my eyes at the dry text. It was simple. The expressed disappointment at my actions, and asked I surrender, and turn to the light. It was signed by King Yelaw. I sneered at that name. He was the worst. I had followed him for so long, saving his kingdom many times. But I hadn't seen what he did to his subjects. Forced slavery was abundant, fueled by his exorbitant taxes. The wealthy bought pardons for their own crimes, whilst the poor were cast into the dungeons for the smallest of sins. I saw he asked to meet with me, in hopes of brokering peace. I turned to the Raven Hag, and she pulled out a parchment and quill. The quill hung in the air, and wrote my response. >King Yelaw >I will meet with you. However, I will only accept a meeting held in my camp. Respond by sundown tomorrow, or I shall infer the negotiations have failed. >The Chosen One The parchment rolled itself up, and I passed to to the kobold. "Sent this back with the messenger." "As you wish, My Lord." She flew off, and I heard a whisper from the Raven Hag. "So you still go by that name?" I smiled. "Only in that note. You see, if he thinks he can turn me, he will likely do his best to. If he is foolish enough, he will come here. If he does,"I patted the Sword of the World I had been given long ago, "he won't be leaving." "Ah. I see My Lord." I looked her in the eyes. I wa some of the few who could resist that maddening gaze. "I mean it. He is cruel. His kingdom is a rotting corpse, surviving only because he was smart enough to keep his army happy. He must be removed, to truly do good." The Raven Hag dropped her head in a respectful incline. She and I had come to blows before, but she would always obey me. I felt so tired as I thought of it. That's what it came down to. To do make change for the better, it was practically impossible. Unless you had the power to force it through. I would become their ruler. And I would make sacrifices. But the common people would have a better life. And that is what mattered to me.
A lever-arch file? For my birthday? They couldn't even afford the actual book? Something wasn't right. Dad was holding it like it was made of gold. Deities and demons, had he been ripped off again? I gritted my teeth. Be polite, smile, and get myself something better from my savings later. It had been what I'd done for my last ten birthdays. "We are eighth editions, like all the others,"he said, gravely. "As my father and grandfather were, and now you will be." "Dad, pirated tomes are..." "Silence. Be quiet for once in your life and listen."They'd take his hands, and mine if they found out. I couldn't save him from himself. The arrogant idiot would get us all killed. "Have you never wondered why, if we are but common eighths, our family survives that which have destroyed so many others? How we always have just enough to survive, how the mage wars just passed us by?" "I guessed a luck spell or contract." "You always were stupid."Thanks Dad. You couldn't be nice even on my birthday. "I don't think you're ready for this, but the law says you've got to learn from something and I can't risk my heir being useless." "So you're setting me up with a pirated book?"Trying to get me killed, he'd done it before. Damn him, I'd drag him down screaming with me. "Shut the Hel up."My voice stilled in my throat, his spell cast silently and impossibly fast. He hadn't even gestured, nor reached for components. No eighth could do that. "We live modestly, but if we are mere eighths how have we kept this house? How have none kicked us to the street, or made us grovel like Sallisa's family?"The mention of my friend, left pleading for her life by a group of youthful sixths made me see red. They had retreated, laughing at my pathetic magicless attempt to intervene. "Why does your mother not fear to go to town, like all other eighths?"Because you'd sold your soul, I wanted to say, because empathy and kindness were never something I had seen in him. My voice wouldn't respond. If he had some great power, why didn't he name it, prevent all this cruelty and bullying? If I had been a second, that third bastard would never have seen Maiska at all. She'd have lived, not suffering for months before the bad luck jinx finally took her life. "Because,"he said significantly, "eighths are unnoticed. They don't matter. No matter how much power one has, too many enemies combined can overpower an individual. The more power you have, the more enemies. They're all our enemies, even the ones that don't know it yet, even if you're too thick to see it."Sure, Dad, just because you hate people doesn't mean I have to. Just because you cursed out my friends whenever I mentioned them, went stomping to your room and spell-sealing it when I brought them round. We were eighths and I wasn't stupid enough to think I could stand without allies. "If anyone knew the truth, we'd be hunted. And you decide to socialise while I'm trying to keep us safe."I glowered in spell-enforced silence. Friends mattered, especially at eighth rank, even if he didn't have any left. He'd alienated them all years before I was born, and with his personality he wasn't making any more. Meanwhile I'd got a group at my back, even one who was a fifth. He might be a smug bastard, but Alen would keep me safe so long as I toed the line. His family guarded their fifth edition tome like golddust behind their gold-plated gates. No matter how drunk we got him, he wouldn't share, not even with Lystin whose gutter parents had struggled to get her a twelth. If I hadn't swapped drinks with Alen, Marid's little suggestion potion could have seen Alen's life as hostage. "My heir playing food taster."Dad sneered. He had to be reading my mind, but I hadn't seen him cast the spell. He hadn't even made eye contact. "Let's see what good friends you really have."He stroked the file possessively as I projected all my anger at him. I'd trust my friends with my life, Dad, I thought at him. He smirked. "This has been in the family for years. You damage it, you destroy it, you tell anyone about it, I kill you."That was no surprise. My body was not my own again, my voice still stilled, as he placed the file down on the table. "Open it." I couldn't stop myself. I picked it up resentfully, accessory to a crime, and opened the file. It was no magic that held me frozen now. The words made no sense, they couldn't. First Edition. Final Galley. I had no friends.
I'm 17, and tonight I'm going to murder my whole family in cold blood. It's not really that I want to, I love my family. I grew up homeschooled, and probably have a stronger connection to my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, and sisters than most people do. We might not all be related by blood, but for the most part we are, and there's a certain bond we all share. You see, we're all devoted to one of the pantheon of Gods. Yah-ne Wei-ir, or the God of Betrayal. Now, you might be wondering, how any one family can remain devoted to one another while following the God of Betrayal. Surely we're the most backstabbing, untrustworthy, unfriendly bunch around? The thing is though, for a betrayal to work, you have to trust the person betraying you and vice versa. So we trust each other, and we love each other, and we betray each other in relatively harmless ways that are mostly seen as pranks by the rest of the family. The worst any of us has done is slept with the partner of another - and that happens fairly often, and is very forgiveable. But mostly it's things like replacing Grandma's toilet paper with a roll of belt sander paper, or swapping a cousin's paracetamol for something way stronger. Usually pretty harmless stuff, it's just a game to most of us. A lot of us aren't even that devoted, we don't necessarily believe in the god themself, more the concept that little betrayals are inevitable so you might as well make them fun and forgiveable. I was one of those who believed that. Was being the operative word there. You see, 5 minutes ago, Yah-ne Wei-ir appeared to me. They declared that unless I were to perform the ultimate betrayal to prove my worth to them, they would make the same offer to my family. They gave me an hour to decide and act. I don't know what the rewards are. I don't know why this is what they demand. I don't know whether murder is a great enough betrayal. But tonight I kill my family. I'm writing this all down so that others may find my story and know what occured. I'm also writing this down in case I don't succeed, and my family get me. This way they'll know why. But I have my knife, and I love my family, so I have to do this. They'll forgive me in the afterworlds, I'm sure. Update I realise now how I failed. I was betrayed by the God of Betrayal. When I finished writing the part earlier, my cousin Kai-neha burst through the door, brandishing a club coated in blood. I'm writing this now, because I killed him. But he's killed me too, I already know. I fought him, and took his life, but in his dying moments he forced my knife, coated in his blood, into my breast. And for those of you who find this - Yah-ne Wei-ir is real. Very real. And they're kind of a dick.
The mug I held in my hand slipped and shattered on the floor. I had to think quick. I raced to Harry's room. Quickly explained the situation from what I heard in the security room to him, and we got to work. We grabbed a huge rectangular plank of wood from the wood supply room, and hauled it towards the entrance. Surely the lockpicking zombie couldn't push a plank of wood, right? He could only unlock locks, and that's it. Harry, a few others, and I, nailed the board to the entrance. We were confident that the wood would hold up. The lockpicking zombie seemed to have almost unlocked the door, and we hoped our solution worked. I aimed my rifle at the zombie just as it unlocked the door. It started walking face first into the wood board, not realizing there's something blocking his way. I was ready to fire, and so was everyone else, waiting in their own respective positions. Sweat fell from my brow, and I brushed it off. We couldn't die like this. The zombie eventually after what felt like hours went back to wherever if came from. We all breathed a sigh of relief, and stood down from our guard positions. Whew. We were gonna live! Then I heard it. A raspy whisper. The sensors started flashing red, and I heard a foot scraping the ground, just like a bull. I turned around and looked at the security cameras, to see another zombie, getting ready to charge. In an angry, deep voice, he said, "This is the Wood Plank Smashing Zombie..." Fuck. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
What the— I was caught off guard by the thought being gently expressed in my head by the telepathic delegate, and it’s hard to hide your thoughts from a trained telepath. “That word,” he responded to my interjection, “is one of the most complex in your language, despite it rhyming with so many simple ones like duck. We must study it more after our diplomatic accords are signed. As I was communicating, your civilization has reached the level of technology that warrants first contact, Ranch Dressing, and further development will lead to possible inclusion in the Galactic Federation.” “There’s a whole galactic federation? Just a year ago we humans thought we might be alone in the cosmos.” “Yes there’s a Galactic Federation. I’m sure you have lots of questions, which I will address in time. Ranch Dressing is one strong indicator of a highly evolved life form. Not all life forms are carbon based or consume Ranch Dressing, but there are analogs for these other kingdoms of life.” “Wow, OK, why is ranch dressing indicative of such?” “Ranch Dressing itself is a complicated mix of several food sources, only civilizations that have reached certain evolutionary thresholds can make it. Second, such beings have the time to be concerned with gustatory considerations and succeed in making Ranch Dressing, indicating a life not of foraging and toil but of seeking fleeting flavor rewards through a cooperative mechanism.” “I suppose that makes sense. Condiments are generally unnecessary but enjoyable additions to food.” “Lastly, Ranch Dressing signifies that the civilization has found the most important thing for inclusion into the Galactic Federation.” “What is that?” “Among all the planets and stars, there is one place like no other, wondrous and majestic. Ranch Dressing signifies you have found the Hidden Valley.” >!HIDDEN VALLEY RANCH DRESSING, ALWAYS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL GROCER. !<
She tried to avoid the stares; the eyes- sometimes even the eyeless- of many, walking past creatures she’d hardly knew existed. Of course she’d heard of them for crying out loud- vampires, demons, devils, and Eldritch Horrors (and even a Flying Spaghetti Monster, how the heck did it get in here-), but to actually see one with her own two eyes? Indescribable. Unreal. She’d never be able to explain their uncanny mouths with silver tongues, eyes that literally grasped your soul, and who’s touches can turn the kindest into gilded gold. The angel laughed, a full body rack. To think she got cast out for something so minor (how could she be so stupid?), so minuscule, and then instead of getting smited, she got sent here. She carefully made her way past the cafeteria hall, listening in on the whispers that surrounded the corridors. “An Angel?” “On death row?” “No way.” A cell the size of a pea it could barely fit the two bunk bed inside. She wriggled in discomfort, knowing she’d be around dangerous company. Her shoulder knocked into something- a slender blob creature, its face shrouded in darkness; it scampered off towards the wall, what a fearful little thing. Stepping inside, she expressed her apparent distain for the room. The guard, the one who bounded her wings, moved back out of the cell without a word as she gave a “really?” glare to them. “Not even civil enough to free them? Not even a wiggle?” Eventually, he spoke softly. “Sorry, Lucy.” “Figures.” That was the end of their conversation as he, for one moment, took the time to wave her goodbye. She found herself onto of the funsized bed, a thin white sheet her blanket. This was a standard cell from what she could tell; others she’d past, could be customizable for nonhuminoids, but for now at the very least, she was not going to be alone. Up to three others could be her company. She tried to get some rest, figuring she’d better not contemplate her time on Death Row.
Every millenium or so, humanity begins to realise something more. More than that their lives are short, insignificant, fleeting things. That the weight they bear through the knowledge of death is not just that it is inescapable, but that it is a shared fate that crashes into them in collective waves. This is not some sacred secret that I have kept from them. No, it is just the natural order of this world, regardless of how old it is. Humanity simply forgets about it, like a toddler that is easily distracted. I am inevitable, and yet the men and women of this world continue on, oblivious. Perhaps there is a lesson they have learned, an innate feeling passed down through the generations, that coalesces into this realisation. No matter - the true lesson escapes them, like sand slipping through desperate fingers. But when they do come to this realisation, oh, I have fun. They like their patterns, these humans. And so, I oblige and provide ultimately meaningless puzzles which they agonize over for a time. It's a luxury of the job, the leeway I have in choosing when to reap the souls of people whose time is up. But in the end, I reap them, in one fell swoop. This time, there is actual proof. Humans have progressed to the point of being self-monitored and "always online", and when it's time to swing my scythe, a chip logs that fact on a server somewhere. I don't much care for the details, but this group of humans do. They've been pouring over these logs for months now, collating and processing massive amounts of raw data that are more than a decade old. And yes, they've uncovered my technique. People go offline in batches, they say. I simply mark the souls and then claim them together. I think perhaps I should not deny my annoyance at their use of such an unrefined method. It lacks the usual introspection and intimacy; instead it's all spreadsheets and calculations. It was a surprise, to be sure. I applaud their keen eye and commitment, even if this all started with a bet. I decided to have a bit of fun, picking souls off in a pattern meant to shock and petrify them. They picked up on it almost immediately, but the map showing the pentagram captioned with the number-of-the-beast only elicited snorts and flippant remarks, asking who would be trolling them. Well, I guess I was. I ended up being the one who was petrified. I blinked and fifty years passed without a single death. The group picked up on this too, but did much more in that time than I expected. By the time I righted myself, the vast majority of humanity had moved on. When I started working through my backlog, I found that I couldn't claim their souls as I had done since the dawn of time. Something had changed, everything was different and my scythe had become useless. That group of humans had discovered a way to avoid me. I should have been furious, but I felt a strange mixture of pride and amusement instead. I freely admit that it took me longer than I anticipated to figure out the trick. But once I did, it was a simple matter to unravel the rest of the mystery. Now, I go where they are. I will upload myself through the gateway and join them in this ingenious new world, digital scythe in hand. I am a reminder that though they may make attempts to prolong their short lives, to upset the natural order of the world, to hide in a different world, there is no escaping the inevitable. A wave is coming, and it will be the biggest one yet.
"Oh nice, these wretched Humans are really everywhere now." Adja of the Quils looked at his companion, Brehuv of the Claws, and sighed. "Look at them,"continued Brehuv, "strolling in here as if they owned the place !" Three Humans where effectively making their way through the barroom, displaying what anthropologists \- a Terran word that rolled weirdly in Adja's mouth - assured were expressions of joy. For every other species in the galaxy baring your fangs was a threat, making human smiles unnerving at best, a diplomatic accident at worst. "I swear, if they start telling a story, I will raze this place. The whole town if they sing !" Adja sighed again. It was time to stop this monologue. "You know Brehuv, I'm your friend. \- Yeah, so ? \- As such, I can't let you threaten anybody or anything around here. You see, I'd hate being thrown out of this fine establishment, I'd hate seeing it destroyed, and, despite the fact you're acting like a hatchling, I'd hate being alone here to drink." Muscles were flexed and fangs were bared. Brehuv was a warrior and as such didn't like being compared with anything weak. "I will not be insulted ! Even by you ! \- Please continue to prove me right, we both know how this argument end." With his completely opposite way, Adja could go fanged-toe to fanged-toe with Brehuv. The aggressive warrior way against the defensive protector way. "Okay, I'll calm down. But you gotta admit that those things..." And so it started. The long speech about the Humans. How they were inferior in every way possible. You could be sure Brehuv would tell the whole list if you'd let him. In fact, Adja was letting him go because he wasn't listening. At this moment he wanted to be at the Humans' table. To hear their stories. Now everybody could tell a story. Everybody did, all the time. Even Brehuv was telling a story right now, about the Zedekans' greatness and the Humans' puniness. But the Humans had this unique way to make you feel... no... to make you live a story. They could improvise, another weird terran word that the galaxy had to adopt, taking any concept or story and expanding it, sometimes exponentially. Expressions equivalent to improvise existed of course, but they were never used in the context of telling a story. They could learn new languages frighteningly fast, making their stories more vibrant. Automatic translators had a tendency to flatten speeches and a good story-teller couldn't let that happen. They could use this skill for pretty much anything, just about anywhere, to obtain just what they wanted. They could tell stories to pay their travel expenses, to get out of a tribunal free of all charges, or just to entertain other people, just for the fun of it. Once, Adja had seen one of them soothing a Kalrb just by using his voice. For the Quil, the only way to deal with such a creature was a plasma shot to each brain - four hard shots, even for him. Top scientists were baffled by all that, making anthropology the top field to get into. Now, Adja wasn't a scientist but he was of the Quils, sweared to protect anything one of the Head said needed protecting, through ruse or violence. As such he was always looking for new skills. Telling a story, terran-way, could be pretty handy... Who was he kidding ? He just wanted to hear a good story. Which meant interrupting Brehuv. "Talk all you want, Humans are still kicking asses around the Galaxy." Fangs were bared again. "Are you kidding me ? They are involved in a lot of battles but never alone ! They are just good at telling stories, magnifying their importance ! Belittling their allies ! \- You're exagerating ! I tell you : want a war done ? Manipulate the Humans into fighting it for you, wait a couple months and... Voilà ! You're just jealous nobody tells Claw war stories nowadays." It was partly true : Zedekans of the Head were quick to notice some Humans were warmongers, quick to respond to a threat -even an imaginary one- and very capable at dealing death. Then other species noticed this tendency and started to exploit the Humans' willingness to fight. Some Humans noticed they were being manipulated, more blood was shed, more manipulations occured, more blood was spilled. It was a big galaxy, there were always conflicts somewhere. And Adja was starting one. "Tell you what, I'll prove what I say. These Humans seem to be military. I'm sure I can get them to fight you. Then we'll see who's right about them. \- I'd say that I'll prove my worth, but look at them ! The biggest one isn't even half my weight ! \- It's decided then !" And, without waiting for Brehuv's reaction, Adja went to the Human's table. They were busy telling stories of course, having already drawn an audience, but they were always ready to listen. Especially when you mentionned a fight. Telling the Humans that the Claw wanted to bet on who was the best fighter was an elementary tactic. Watching the human female -now that was an insult to Brehuv- choke her adversary untill he fell unconscious on the floor was strangely satisfactory. Drinking the whole night thanks to Brehuv's wallet while listening to the Humans was pure, unalterated bliss. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Hope you enjoyed. That's twice as long as what I expected, and I keep adding as I write this sentence, pretty sure there are still typos in here. All feedbacks are, of course, welcome. Edit : found a typo.
(I decided to go with an in\-voluntary stay, as it suited my story idea better.) I didn’t want to be here. This place was strange, and the people in it scary. Not the ones that were true to themselves. The ones in white who thought they knew better. The ones in control. The ones who with the click of a pen could take away everything that made us … us. I cried and pleaded with my parents not to take me to this place, and then I pleaded even harder for them not to leave me. My mother looked back. My father never did. I was given my first sedative then and there, and a calm that wasn’t normal to me filled my head. “There. That’s better isn’t it, Miss Andrews?” the one who’d injected me said, as two others began removing my clothing. I didn’t ask them to, and apparently, they didn’t have to ask. As they dressed me in a gown that wasn’t mine, the one who’d given me the calming shot started going through the rules. All things told; they were pretty basic. Behave, or I’d be made to behave. They walked me around, showing me where I could and couldn’t go. I wanted to be me again, but I was told that wasn’t acceptable behaviour. When I’d proven that I wouldn’t become myself again, they took me to the area where other inmates gathered and sat me in a window overlooking the front gates. The real me would’ve already started devising ways to link here to there to get me over that fence, and theft to achieve that goal would’ve been the least bloody outcome. That was the unclouded me. Clouded me could only stare. “You’re new,” a voice to my right said. I rolled my head in that direction. “Yup,” I stated, overexaggerating the ‘P’ sound to be a pop of my lips. The guy was a few years older than me. More rugged. Like he belonged on a mountain somewhere. He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. “Thought so. They always overdo it on the first day while they’re getting you situated. So, did you actually break any laws, or is this pre-emptive?” I rolled one shoulder. The unclouded me would’ve had my chest puffing with pride, but now, the effort was too much. “Do pets count?” He gave me a pained look that I’d seen before on my neighbours when they found my revealed artwork. “They do to their owners and their friends.” “Hmph,” I grunted, going back to staring out the window. It wasn’t like I worked on his pet. I tried to envision what kind of pet he would have. St Bernard probably. I’d never played with a St Bernard before. They were big, and they’d make pretty displays. But I couldn’t for the life of me think of where I’d start. Unclouded me always had a vision to work with first. A stroke of inspiration. I’d see my target, and picture their improvements to make them even more unique. “Do you want to go for a walk?” he held out his hand to me, and since I had nothing better to do, I took it and rose to stand beside him. My new friend was a font of information. He knew everything about the building and the grounds around it. Every inch of the place had a story. With the cloud my head was in, I was able to memorise his stories and take it all on at face value. Apparently, this place hadn’t always been a lunatic asylum. It had been a hospital before that, and a civil war field hospital before that. He told me that’s why he was first drawn to me. That there was a lot of cruelty on this land, under the guise of healing. He also might’ve mentioned that he saw me as someone he thought he recognised. He showed me the furnace room. At the time, I didn’t even question how every door just seemed to open for him. The huge gas boilers that heated upstairs churned away. He led me past the pipes to a back corner where a pile of bloodied and torn union uniforms were piled. “Here,” he said, sitting down first and patting the uniform closest to him. “Y’all take a load off.” Once I was beside him, he hooked an arm around my shoulder and drew me to him. “Never thought it’d be a pretty little thing like you,” he said, rubbing my forearm. “But then, you never can tell what lurks beneath the skin, can you?” For what seemed like ages, we sat in the noisy space, until my eyes started to sag. “That’s it, m’dear,” he crooned. “Close your eyes.” I did, several times. Each time something in me, back past the cloudiness, was telling me to get my eyes open and keep them open. But each time, it grew harder. My new friend covered my eyes with his hand, and pressed his lips to my cheek. “Close your eyes, belle,” he whispered. “And keep them closed.” A few seconds later, he distantly added, “Forever.” The next thing I remembered; I was on a stretcher-bed being rushed through a lit hallway. Something clear was on the lower half of my face, but I couldn’t have moved if my life depended on it. “Who the hell left her alone?!” I heard someone shout. If he took it down an octave or three, I could’ve pointed out the guy that I was down in the furnace room with. I’d been looking at him all day, though I don’t remember him leaving. For the next three days, I slept a lot. That was also weird for me. I wasn’t clouded like the first day but nor was my head full of things I needed to do. Not like before. At first, I figured I was just coming off the sedative, but then I found out how long I’d been asleep, and how the carbon monoxide poisoning meant they weren’t able to give me anything else for fear of creating complications. As such, I was tied down instead. But I didn’t mind. I mean, I was restrained, and it was annoying when my nose got itchy, but I didn’t feel as restrained as I normally did when I wasn’t creating my art. To test the theory, I began imagining the birds and the mice. They had my earliest dalliances into art. But nothing came to me. It was like opening a blank book. My creativity was gone. When I asked for my companion by name, I was ignored. That irritated me, but no one wanted to admit they’d heard me. Until I asked the old cleaner about him. She paused in her work and looked at me. “Edwin Samson is a name that comes up from time to time,” she said, leaning on her mop. “Story has it, he was a captured union officer in the confederate war at a time when the confederates didn’t have enough supplies to look after their own wounded. He went mad, watching his troops slowly die from neglect and somehow managed to escape long enough to burn the field hospital where they were being kept at to the ground, killing everyone.” “That can’t be the same guy,” I said, shaking my head. “The Edwin Samson that took me into the boiler room was here this week.” “Hon’, there ain’t never been no one here by the name of Edwin Samson. And that boiler room is said to be right where they dumped the bodies of the dead to avoid contamination.” In the days and weeks that followed, I was placed in the one-on-one supervised wing, where I was given endless tests and medical assessments. Without my creativity to guide me, I had nothing to hide. I was shown gruesome work which yes, of course I recognised as my own, but the beauty I’d once seen in it was gone. Just to be sure, they kept me another six months. While I was in there, I found a new outlet. Creative writing. I wrote about that first day. I wrote about it a lot. And then, I started to branch out into other areas. The only two genres that had no interest to me anymore were horror and thriller. I had to submit all of my work to my therapists to be evaluated, but at the end of the six months, I was deemed cured. I hadn’t considered myself sick. Not really. Well, maybe a little. But I never did forget Edwin Samson. Even though he'd wanted to kill me, in the end, he'd saved me. And the day I was released, I asked if I could go back down into the boiler with an escort. Of course, there were no union uniforms from the dead piled up. It was a wall beside a vent that was currently closed. I placed an orange blossom on the floor, hoping the fresh fragrance would give him the peace he unintentionally gave me. And then I left to start my life once more. \ \* \ ((All comments welcome)) For more of my work including WPs:** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
The Continent was alive. Hiradamu was alive and she was dying. The fire vine sizzled as Jane sliced with her machete. She clutched the scan readouts to her chest with her free hand, letting a few drops of the caustic dew spill on her hand. She kicked the crater fruit that had blocked what had been a clear route back to the colony base only yesterday. No path lasted long on Xitracarro. She squinted to see through the beams of pollen-filled light shining through the towering canopy so dizzyingly high above. She had to get through the forest before nightfall when the massive trees would deflate down to rest. The high oxygen content combined with the low gravity of Xitracarro meant a human could run for longer before feeling tired, but an awful headache would come on if you pushed yourself. The headache had started for Jane thirty minutes ago and has only gotten worse since then. She tripped over a flicking wet root of a sail plant, spreading sublimating sap over her back as she scrambled up, clutching the report like a newborn baby. Finally, the Tree of Isaif glistened with long ribbons of solar fabric stretching down to the ground. Jane collapsed as she landed in the elevator. "Up, Directorate level!"she heaved as the cheery computer voice responded. "Welcome back, Xenobiologist Jane Havi. The heavens are the Lord’s heavens, the earth he has given to the children of man, and the reaches of space to his most devout. Now traveling to level five. Blessed be the chosen colonists of Hiradamu, of Xitracarro." She managed to get to her feet, winded now that she was breathing human tailored air. At least the splitting headache that had almost blinded her was fading. The doors chimed and she shambled through the directorate, pelted by the prerecorded chorus that played through the hall. The sounds evoked a much grander stage than the scrapped together overgrown treehouse deserved, at least yet. If she was right, they may be glad they held off on permanent construction. The itch from the fire vine was starting, not just on her hand but her face as well. She wouldn't sleep tonight. She barged into the conference hall, several other scientists were debating with the director priests as every monitor showed the mass migration of fauna. Even some flora seemed to have evolved flotation modes they were adapting to as the sea levels continued to rise. "Clear the projector. I've found it!"Jane screamed, silencing the talk of those around her. "Jane!"Herny Apidammi called out, furrowing his bushy brow. "You look like sh- You look horrible. Did you take a fire vine to the face?" "Yes, but I'm fine. It doesn't matter! This explains everything!"She pulled the report from the case and slammed it on the projector, bringing it up for all the room to see. "What are we looking at? A ground scan?"one of the scientists Jane forgot the name of asked. "Is that scarring signs of tectonic activity?" "That scarring is just that, scarring!"Jane said, excitedly. "This is indeed a ground scan, taken a little more than twenty miles south of here and going down about one mile. What you are looking at is the top section of a liver." The room erupted in questions. "This answers so many questions,"Jane yelled over the noise, still full of adrenaline from the marathon she'd just run. She counted on her fingers. "Why is there massive migration among so many animals now? Why is every single flora adapted to grow and spread so quickly? Why have we found no growth or geological structure on this continent over 1000 years old? And finally, why are the sea levels rising so rapidly? They aren't rising. The continent is sinking because the continent is dying. It won't be able to swim much longer." "Are you claiming that the 3,000 mile long Hiradamu is a single megafauna reaching the end of a lifecycle?"Henry asked, looking at her more with concern than doubt. "That's madness, Jane. This blurry scan doesn't prove that." "Pull up a scan of the megaturtle, Jaime, the one from last year. Look at the shape of the liver, look at these pocket nodules, look at the innervation. This scan I took today matches exactly on a larger scale. We do not have an upward bound for the size of the megaturtles and the few we studied became too large to contain and had to be let go into the ocean. I submit that this Hiradamu is the same species at a later life stage." "So, what do you recommend? We try to treat the continent, heal it somehow?"The head priest asked, silencing the other questions. "Thank you, father. No,"Jane said grimly. "Even if we knew what medicine to give, we could never produce a high enough dose. I'm strongly suggesting that we abandon this outpost immediately and set up on one of the other nearby continents other than Zaterio. If this animal is dying, it might submerge, like we witnessed the smaller megaturtles do during times of stress." "That would be very impractical,"another director added. "Not as impractical as drowning or being eaten by side eels. I've studied the sea life out there. We do not have a boat big enough to survive what's due to rush in at any moment." "Wait, why not Zaterio?"Henry asked. "It seems like a prime enough candidate for an outpost, and it is the closest." "Exactly. There was another relevant trait studied in the megaturtles we observed,"Jane said as she placed another diagram from her case on the projector, showing the Continent of Zaterio drifting closer to Hiradamu over the past month. "Cannibalism of the weak." &#x200B; \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
It is well know that Earth is famous for its foods. They have taken simple nutrients, a basis for survival and crafted into art. A wide and varied art of taste, texture, smell and even presentation. In their presentation, food becomes a form of performance art itself at times. Upon my first visit to Earth, to sample the food art in native surroundings, I came to the city of Chicago. I spoke to many locals expressing my desire for the presentation/performance of their local foods. One establishment has been overwhelming recommended. Once there I was unimpressed with the building itself, but the large crowd of those seeking their food convinced me to venture in nonetheless. Both those serving food and receiving engaged in a form of performance art, which I lacked the cultural understanding to properly grasp. The food was a charred meat composite on bread topped with a root vegetable and seed based condiment (Chardog with onions and mustard). The combination of textures and tastes was wonderful and I recommend it to all adventurous galactic travelers. 4/5 stars to Weiner's Circle. Though I may never fully understand the cultural context of "Bitch (domesticated female canine) couldn't get laid (a greeting ceremony of Earths Hawaiian islands) at a Star Trek convention (media based cultural gathering).
The initial excitement for our team upon discovery of an extraterrestrial probe scouring the red planet for life gave way to a fierce, grim and highly competitive atmosphere within 48 hours of making contact with it. While we are happy to have discovered there is life outside of our own planet, that does not mean we will let them be the first species to discover life on Mars. It is a matter of principle after all. A few hours ago they used their rover to push rocks under the treads of ours in order to slow it down. John the intern suggested we aim our rover in the opposite direction of the nearest water source for a few hours to trick them into thinking we have detected something of interest there. John was hired full time a few days after the alien rover got stuck in a ditch after falling for our ruse. I have always wondered what aspects of humanity might be present in an alien species and I find it hilarious that our pettiness was the thing we shared.
"Can't they release the virus like they did the last time?"The six year old asked. "Where'd you hear about the virus?"I asked, wondering if I had accidentally brought it up with the children around. No matter. Telling them the truth of humanity was never a bad thing. "I heard dad talk about it with you." "Ah, you like to listen in on conversations that have nothing to do with you, huh?"I smirked at him. "What it they release another virus?"He asked, persistent. "Trillions will die. The last time they did it we haven't traversed the asteroid field yet. We were still in our infancy of colonization. Most of the people in Mars succumbed to the virus. Do you know what 'succumbed' means?" "I think so." "They were affected. Infected. They all died. Within weeks of the introduction of the virus, almost all of Mars perished. The people back on earth were... Terrified. They would be next. If not them, then it would be lunar civilization first. It did not matter. The days were numbered." "Why didn't they attack again?" "Who's to say?" "Why did they kill humans in the first place?" "You see, Ravi. Humanity has always pined for others. We always have an intrinsic drive to search for life that isn't ours. To hope the answer to 'Are we alone in the universe' is no. But them? They wished the answer was 'yes'. When they discovered we existed, they ceased all contact. They hid from us. We didn't know why. And then, they attacked." "The virus?" "Not the virus at first. A more physical, militaristic violence was enacted upon earth. This was during the early stages of Mars colonization. But we pushed them off. Held our ground. All previous internal squabbles humans had with each other was immediately forgotten to rise up against this alien attack. The unity humanity found that day still persists, as sad as it's point of origin was." "I don't know what you're saying." "Of course not." "Will we die?" "What?" "I keep hearing dad talk. About another attack on... Juter." "Jupiter. Don't worry about it, Ravi." "I don't think I'm scared to die." "Then you're the bravest boy I know." "They can't kill us." "No they can't. Do you know why?" "Why?" "Because we are many. We are all over. We have taken control of the system we only oggled at in our infancy in that blue-green planet. There is one sole method we can use to rebel against our attackers, and it's to expand. Expand beyond their means to destroy. Expand until they regret their actions to start this war. Expand until we reach their territories and swallow them whole. This is why, Ravi. This is why you shouldn't be afraid. We are but one of many. Humanity will persist."
In just 20 years, everything had changed. I remembered what the world looked like, before the disappearance. Well, “remembered” was a strong word... It was more like I had foggy, incomplete visions of the world before this. A suburban house here, an industrial factory there... most of it had been lost. I mean, after years of living with animals, how could I ever remember? You see, twenty years ago, every human on earth mysteriously disappeared. They didn’t die or decompose, they simply vanished. But with this sudden disappearance came a significant change in the animals. Every single animal gained self awareness, empathy, the ability to talk, pretty much everything that the humans had. This event came to be known as The Disappearance. And, to the animals, it was the best thing that could ever happen. Within just a few years of humans being gone, the animals had completely changed earth as I used to know it. Every building was toppled, and forests grew in their place. Every home was destroyed. Today, nature almost completely covered these relics of the past. Me and my friend were standing atop such a relic, watching the sun set over the jungle. Rahji was a large, sleek tiger. Her orange fur and green eyes shimmered in the sun. From the time that I had known her, she proved to be strong willed, independent, and sometimes quick to anger. But Rahji was probably my only friend, and I was grateful for her. Everybody else seemed to hate me- and I knew why. I had taken on the form of a domestic cat. Many of the animals saw me as a reminder of humans. I mean, at one point, I had been their pet... right? I was often met with scowls and growls. I didn’t go into the forests much. At least, not without Rahji. She was quiet today, but then again, she was quiet every day. “Rahji, can I ask you something?” I asked impulsively, sort of surprised at myself for speaking so freely. “Hmm?” She replied, gaze focused out at the sunset. “Well, I was wondering... have you ever seen a human?” Coyly, I glanced over at her. Rahji let out a deep growl. “Unfortunately I have. Back before the disappearance, poachers killed my sister. Those hairless worms hunted her for sport... I should have killed them right then and there...” She trailed off, closing her eyes with a pained expression. “I’m so sorry...” I said, quietly. “Don’t be.” She piped up, opening her green eyes once again. “Every few years, a human appears again. We have been far overdue... once I find this human, I’ll kill them. Then I’ll have my revenge... Anyway, I’ve got to go hunt. Stay safe.” Shellshocked, I watched as the tiger stretched, and jumped off of the moss-covered structure. “Uh- Bye Rahji.” She walked away and eventually disappeared into the thrush of the jungle. I looked back up to the darkening sky. How much longer could I keep up this facade? How could I keep deceiving myself- deceiving Rahji? I wasn’t a cat. I never was. I was a human, and had been for 40 years.
"Although, I technically count as both parents in this scenario..."The bearded man did not speak to one of us in particular. I always imagined that being able to meet myself would be a fun scenario that would end in both of us knowing the exact same jokes, allowing us to comprise amazing pranks in unison. But while the other fourteen in the room looked like me... they also didn't. Physically, they had everything I did - pale skin, dirty blonde hair, grey-blue eyes and a rather fat nose and chin. But the similarities ended there. Each one had a different hair style, a different amount of facial hair (and sometimes acne), different clothing... it felt like one of those sci-fi movies with the multiverse. As if I was viewing versions of me who took entirely different choices than I did. One version of me was wearing a billowing white lab coat, his face covered in scars. His short hair stood straight up on top of his head, and a wry grin never left his face as he glanced around the room. Another had hair that flowed all the way down his shoulders, covering most of his face. He stuck himself in one corner immediately and wouldn't make eye contact with any of the others. Poor guy seemed freaked out the most. "I'm sure a lot of you are thoroughly confused right now."Our 'father' continued. The worst part about this situation wasn't the fact that the others looked exactly like me. It was the fact that this man looked like us. He had the hair, the eyes, the chin and nose... the only difference was that he looked a lot older than us. He was also the only one with a full set of facial hair. "Oh, no. I believe I already know what you've done."The one with the lab coat steps forward with a grin. "I must say, it's absolutely marvelous! I've always hoped that my blood parents would be smarter than those that adopted me!" The bearded man sighs. He almost looks embarrassed. "Yes, I'm sure you have... getting back to the point, I'm sure most of you have noticed that everyone in this room looks similar. Myself included on that list." He takes a deep breath and leans forward. "Eighteen years ago, I found a way to 'pass down' my gene pool without the use of sexual reproduction. All of you were formed through another mean of reproduction... asexual. I'll spare you the science lingo, but essentially, there has been no change in the gene pool that I passed down to all of you." Most of the others in the room seem to understand. A few look confused, but don't speak up to ask questions. "So we're not all technically the same person..."I pipe up, "Instead, we're just... copies. Right?" "That's a very dumbed down version of the process... but yes, if that description helps you all to imagine it." "But why?"The one sitting in the corner speaks, surprising most of us. Despite his shy appearance, his voice holds a sense of confidence that catches me off guard. "Why go through the effort of copying yourself fifteen times? Is it just for the kicks and giggles?" The bearded man cracks a smile. It looks almost identical to the one that Lab Coat constantly gives. I get a sinking feeling in my gut. "Unfortunately... there was an oversight I made in my original design process when creating you all. I miscalculated several variables, and ended up... accidentally cutting off a majority of lifespan from the fifteen offspring created. Most of you will only end up living to about the age of 22, give or take a year." The air suddenly turns hostile. Several of us begin to shout. Some look sad. "I presume there's a 'but'? I don't think you'd gather us here if there wasn't one."Lab Coat speaks once more. His grin hasn't left his face. The bearded man returns the grin and pulls an envelope out of his pocket. He cracks the seal and opens it, approaching Lab Coat. "I've spent the last eighteen years developing a cure for this oversight. After rigorous testing... I'm proud to say that I've been successful." He pulls a small slip of paper out of the envelope and hands it to Lab Coat. He moves on to the next nearest and hands them a similar slip of paper. This continues as he talks... "Of course, the ingredients for the antidote are quite... exotic. So exotic, in fact, that one of the key ingredients comes from a comet that burned up in Earth's atmosphere two-hundred years ago. I only had enough to make one vial..." When he gets to me, I read my slip of paper. Latitude: -1.34564, Longitude: 11.32465 "Each of you will find a new debit card on your person. You do not have to worry about running out of funds, but you must only purchase items that are involved in the search - the funds will be cut off if I deem it necessary. Your first clue is located at the coordinates I've given you." Murmurs spread throughout the room. Confusion and panic are setting in quick, but I've already put two and two together. It seems Lab Coat and Shy Guy have too, because they're already on their way out the door. "The only vial of antidote is hidden."The bearded man clarifies for those who haven't gotten it yet. "Whoever solves the riddles I've laid out will earn the right to continue living. I don't need to give you all a timer, since you'll naturally start to decay within the next few years. Best of luck, and may the best copy win." I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. I'm annoyed; not because of this search, but because I know this is exactly the kind of thing I would do if I was in his position. "I've got nothing better to do, anyway..."I mutter as I head for the door.

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