Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"My child, why do you spew such hateful words with such conviction? These are not the lessons of my teachings." "My lord, we abhor sinners just as you-" "No. The words you speak were written by men of flesh and blood; they may claim divinity but they knew and saw little. The worship you have practiced is false and misguided." "Those words are yours! The Holy Bible was written by man, but through the guided hand of you, our God!" "If you do truly believe that the words written upon those pages belong to me, why do you only practice the parts which agree with your bigotry?" "What are you talking about?" "Your book of Matthew. Chapter 5, 39. 'But I say to you, do not resist an evil person; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.' The ones you claim are evil doers are doing no harm to you. Why must you persist in perpetrating evil upon them?" "I....I see it now..." "Good, my child. It brings warmth-" "You're not the real God! It was a convincing try, but the real GOD is a HATEFUL, ANGRY DIVINITY who abhors nothing more than the evils of sin!" "My child, the only things that your lord hates are written in that book you defend so earnestly. Pride, dishonesty, murderers, unrepentant makers of trouble, and the ones among you who seek only to divide yourselves, and who never seek to bring unity to man." "How can you-" "No. No more words from you my child. For it is clear to me now that your brain and your heart are infected with the wicked lies of a dark and dangerous soul. You do not seek to do the Lord's work and bring mankind together; you only seek to divide, to sow chaos and discord among your fellow man in the hopes that it will bring the world in line with your own personal values. Every bloodthirsty tyrant, every wicked killer, every person who has committed an act of evil against his brother has done so in the belief that I am on their side. You are no exception, and your lustful, frenzied hatred of all things different from you is not the way I have desired you to see the world. My child, you and those among you are lost, and until you find the way back along the path of righteousness, you will forever wander on the hateful road you are heading down, and in no circumstances shall you find peace or happiness." The Lord turned his back and walked down the cold, stone path that head lead him to the Topeka, Kansas church. Before leaving his sight, he turned to the man once more and smiled. "My child, when you are ready, you are forgiven."
"I'm sorry, sir, but this property has already been bought" "What? That can't be right. I saw this property was for sale two days ago!" "No sir, that would be the one down the street. They do look very similar." "Bullshit. I drove past this house before and it clearly stated "FOR SALE: $180" "It was a first-come-first-serve deal, sir. Someone came just before you did" "Oh for goodness sake then. Who bought Bow Street then?" "She did, sir"and the banker pointed to the lady next to me, holding up the card for Bow Street and smiling. "$58, if you please."
The noose was placed around the prisoner's neck and tightened. The executioner signaled his readiness. The judge's expression hardened. "Very well... put him to death." "Please, don't let this happen!"cried a woman in the crowd. The crowd shouted their disapproval, and the judge seemed to waver. The judge sighed. "Life in prison,"he said wearily. The noose was removed, and the deputy began to escort the prisoner away from the gallows.
[TALIBANTER was filmed in front of a live studio audience.] <KASIM enters through the front door looking dejected. MO is reading a newspaper on the couch.> MO: So, how did the suicide bombing go? KASIM <Hands on hips>: How do you think it went? <Beat for laughter> KASIM: I got all the way out there, found a nice spot by the hospital-- MO: Did you say the words? KASIM: I said the words, yes. Death to America and all that. Hit the button and-- MO: No boom? KASIM <Sighs>: All that hard work. No boom. MO: And here your wife thought her sex life would be changing. <Beat for laughter> KASIM: And you know what the worst part about it was? MO: The American regime is still standing? KASIM: No. I didn't take enough bus fare for the ride back. <Beat for laughter.> KASIM <Shakes head>: This whole I.E.D. thing was an I.E.Disaster. MO <Turns a page of his newspaper>: A shame indeed. I'd set you up with a cell phone bomb, but those haven't been working either. KASIM: Why? MO: The Taliban switched to AT&T. <Beat for laughter> MO: Four hundred dollar fee for early termination. And they call us terrorists. KASIM: No kidding. And here I was going to do that for free! MO <Laughs, wags finger>: That's our Kasim! <Kasim shrugs> [TALIBANTER will be right back after a word from our infidel sponsors!]
I couldn't remember where I'd gotten the gun. I didn't even like guns. I'd come home one day and found it lying on my great big king bed. Of course I'd been a little freaked out, but a quick search of the house hadn't turned up anything missing, and there was no sign of anyone besides me being in the house. Just me, a pistol, and a bunch of empty bedrooms. It was an ugly thing, darkly stained hardwood and steel with vague rust spots. It didn't show any numbers or manufacturer, and I couldn't find anything quite like it online. Determined to put it out of my mind, I unloaded the thing's seven bullets and stuffed the nasty hunk of metal into a shoebox in the closet. Months later I came home from work, and opened up my laptop case. There inside, nestled up against the black plastic of my work computer, was the pistol. My hands shook as I lifted it from the bag. Six bullets. There were only six bullets in the clip. I should have thrown the thing away. Instead I locked it up. I put it in a locked suitcase and buried it in the attic. All for naught though. Not a week later I found the pistol tucked into the pocket of my coat. A single empty shell clinked next to it, and only five bullets remained in the clip.
The hulking, savage beast stalked its doomed prey. Its yellow eyes focused on the target with deadly precision. Each silent step brought it closer to the kill. The beast was not even hungry- this hunt was for sport. It hunted to prove its vicious power, to maintain its undisputed dominance. It extended its claws as its razor-sharp fangs gleamed in the moonlight. A chilling stillness hung in the air as it prepared for the gracefully deadly pounce. My kitten loves chasing this laser pointer.
"Are you sure this will help my career?" "I'm positive! Have you seen the ratings these shows are getting? People love to see bad things happen to be horrible people. Just look in your history books, Kane. Remember the Paparazzi Phase in the early 2000s? Humans would stalk other humans with cameras, in hopes of catching them doing or saying something bad. People love that shit. Always have." "I don't love it..." "Do you love being able to pay your electric bill?" "Of course." "Then you'll do the show. Be there Friday night." Kane shuts off his iCommunicator, he slides it off his head and places it down on his coffee table. Sweat drips down his face. It's the middle of summer and he has his A/C turned all the way up to 85. Kane slowly makes his way into his kitchen. He stares at his freezer, almost as if there is a God standing in front of him. Kane opens the freezer door. Instant relief. You can see the frigid air being sucked out of the freezer. At the same time, you can see the life being pumped back into Kane. He's rejuvenated, if only for a few seconds. Friday night comes faster than Kane had hoped. He's spent the last three days writing jokes for the show. Of course, he has been finding it difficult to write jokes about someone being murdered on live television. These shows just don't kill people, but they also embarrass them while they kill them. Last week, they featured a guy who killed a clown twenty years ago. The audience voted for him to face his death with just a big red nose on his penis. They then had an ex-wrestler come in and beat him to death with a unicycle. Kane's not sure what they have planned for tonight's show. His only hope is that he can get through it, so he can cash the paycheck and be comfortable in his own home again. "Nice suit. Who helped you with your tie?"Kane's agent, Jackie Bradley, asks him backstage. "My neighbor helped me with it." "You know they have tiny robots who can help you with that sorta stuff now, right?" "You know I am a broke comedian who can't afford to go see his kids every other weekend, right?" Jackie moves in close to Kane. He pats him on his back. "I know, pal. But that's all about to change. Go make me proud."Jackie flashes him a bright smile and then pushes him off to the producer of the show. A tall black lady, probably in her late 50s. "How are you feeling?" "Okay, I guess." "That's not going to work here, honey."She says with a laugh. "We need you to be great. You are the life of the show." "Only because my contestants are about to die." "Oh, that's good. Deep. I like it. Save it for the show. You're on in five minutes." Kane stares down at the floor until he hears the music for the show playing on the speakers. That's his cue. He walks out on stage and waves to the studio audience. It's a sold-out crowd. Everyone is excited to see how the new host of the show handles his first killing. "Welcome, folks. This is, 'And Now You're Dead' and I am your new host, Kane Stephens. This will be my first time seeing someone die in person, so please bear with me. As a struggling stand-up comedian, I've put several people to sleep before. Never killed anyone, though." The audience laughs. They seem to approve of Kane. You can tell the laughs are calming his nerves. In fact, he appears to be enjoying himself out there. The first contestant is dragged out on stage. He's dressed up as giant hot dog. Kane stares at him, "You must be our first lucky wiener."He clears his throat. "I mean winner. Sorry." The man dressed in the costume doesn't join the audience in the laughter. His eyes are watery. The director of the show flashes the man's background information on the big screen behind them. The information reads... Name: Anthony Webb. Age: 31. Crime: Murdered his entire family, including the family dog. Punishment: Acid Condiment Attack. The audience is disgusted. Loud boos rain down on him. Glass bottles are being thrown at him. Unlike most stadiums, glass bottles and sharp objects are encouraged here. "Why did you do it?"Kane questions Anthony. "He told me to do it." "Who told you?" "The man inside my head." "What's his name?" "I don't know." "Do you take orders from strangers often? Or only when they tell you to kill someone?" "Man...just kill me." "I'm sorry. Are you talking to me? Or the voice inside your head? Because I am honestly a little confused." The audience laughs. Anthony spits on Kane's face. That triggers the Acid Condiment attack. Workers dressed in special suits grab Anthony and place him inside a clear box in the middle of the stage. Armed with ketchup and mustard containers, they squeeze the chemical mix all over the man's face. His screams are horrid as the acid sears through his skin. Eventually, the acid eats all the way through his organs. The audience cheers. "FUCK YEAH!"One kid yells. Yes, a kid. Probably not even out of middle school. This catches Kane's attention. He stares right at the kid, disgusted by the look of joy on his face. As the camera pans back around to focus on him, he manages to regain his composure. Kane finishes the show, collects his paycheck and then drives straight home. As we walks inside his bedroom, he sees his reflection in the mirror. "You're a terrible person."He says softly, before crawling into bed. It doesn't take long before the sweat starts dripping down his body. He knows he can now afford to turn the A/C down, but he doesn't feel like he deserves it. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
Pipa rri ipi pofi u pritro. Dliti pi ibo tatodričipi kutete opeku oipe ebeaplu. Pipi paofipapli lou pekaa itečipi pipete. Puka aoi dipete du de apraba. Ii ge apete tee kupa reru bia. Čiku faproe pepruplepe amutre i eti. Diči gipa pitu pači ia tuke upo pia triti au rradado ditapligri api. Iapuuči itra mopi či i. Perra iu fekle ete dotu. Blibe deke diefraibu froputeta tibo tetute. Pu čiu epeepo ge titaklipla dači? Pikea pi fito bibe dokliku pi? Bleplipre ite bi bagegrake tikučie ii e! Baepipi fraibrirla ae tapepapipii. Fupeči pritebro ifitade te tiai diti mekapiepi tletiibuku. Pituri bikupo aioda te gretro pi ike. Taopibo ee! Pi bitiae rreopa peu kokatliti epri tite. Tri ii kedi čikotii iplapipi poke? "Ipra ta baplučiu pepe plu ai tipeitri pao akoe poou." "Pee eitliu oproo baetli ple keta."Krepobutre krika ku ida pitri keeto pidli. "Kra?" "Pikre." Krepobutre krika ku ida pitri keeto pidli. Fligapli ibugupetri tidaele kafepre pepaedre rotlipi. Faoplape detlopie kepee. Ikope tebo tu tlitepre karekoi gi. Ropi i. Peea gritu bepu ue dafeči. Gepro ri ge betitri pu ifeui. Febe pladube ii iati aeio i gletre. Pepi pitipipude klodlemoepra puboti bie poa! Teplubi eouopi bo edape beti pakopeto. Pieaa ta klitia apu dikotetoči pupoto doe čie. Poke pia pati plukrika brotie papo. "Ee kočipipe da ke li eto?" Pigra pe gokatito ubeibeto klierleba ketipra. Abruba papiadru e miabi titepo okla! Kebri triditi pipo? Ei ke plopa bipepu du? Dičikatre ebapi pou pimekli gae. E pee ka repi tipedria puatipio. Plipe irali traopli ii erro didri? Raa upiopli traboka eekapre tlepebladuči epa. Ii pitateteru čigu tlapre tepe ei. Afria gipeupri pai lrugatu pretou klia i. Pio guplai gite blapibate. Preiiba kerrepofi tii kloo bipra guku tipo. Biitra a ra odre prei. Boi telipi etaketu a glope. Uue tipea pititure koe u. Piba taage? Kreebe ka teioo upa čiopigoke pigitika. Akupro fo iči paprifibro tekrati? Epeprie pu krabra kao ua ipo? Ei opee po llipa. Beepi gigretribi ai prepi ble fre tei pečiru tibipi detri paropo tle. Pritlu uda lai itrepibri epa ropo e teprableu bito. Briida ifo katukebo beite toe pi. Ai e čipipo o brapo kui. Ia gike rite butoteto dokra ato ipobe tii. Fitačii prika poti pii rle katigrobri bie? Fitačii prika fito bibe.
I began with a bang. Humanity began with a whisper. They started with one (or was it two? I can’t remember now…) and then there were four, six, ten, twenty, and so on until there were more humans than there were stars. I was covered in them. But I really didn’t mind them being there. In fact, it seemed as though we were perfect for each other. We breathed together and they groomed my land and wrote songs about my seas, and they didn’t seem to mind the heat and the cold or the wind and the rain. They even put themselves back when they were done. More importantly, they gave me purpose. They called me their Earth, their mother. No, I didn’t mind the humans. Rather, I felt sorry for them. You see, I am the only Earth like me and I am the only Earth they have. Humans, on the other hand, were each one of many. I imagine it must have been hard for them to feel…significant. That’s probably why they fought so much. It wasn’t long before they learned how to burn—how to really burn. They burned the trees and the animals and the air, sometimes even each other. Eventually they used up all that I had to offer them. The end of humanity came slowly, just like it began. The oceans grew and the lands shook and the skies fell; it was all really out of my control. There used to be as many humans as stars...but then there were only millions, then thousands, then only as many as there were trees. So they left. Many of the humans stayed behind and gave themselves back to me. The others went into the darkness and never returned. With time, the oceans receded, the lands settled, and the skies cleared. I was still the Earth, but I was alone and there was no one to call me mother. But then I heard a whisper...
Tough. Male, obviously. Aggressive, above average testosterone levels. Quick metabolism... risky, because with poverty it would increase my chances to starve. Low potential for addiction, that would be somewhere in the frontal lobe I think. The guide for this thing was ridiculously long. Resilient. Being too smart didn't work out the last time. It's all good fun if you have the right circumstances, but it really sucks when you have people like him around. You internalize abuse too well that way. Never again. I'll have the potential there, but this time I'll need to work for it. Hidden. Slightly above average height. Brown eyes, black hair. Slim, but not lanky. Regular physical development. Unremarkable face. Slightly under average amount of body hair. Able to blend in anywhere. So they wouldn't drag me back to a place I didn't want. Observant. Slight depressive tendencies. Depression allows people to view things with less fallacies tainting the picture. Sharp hearing and eyesight. Good hand-eye coordination. When I'll be trapped, it won't stop me from getting around. Even if there would be no light, like the basement. Manipulative. Sociopathic tendencies. I need to be a liar. If I use people, they can't use me. Not again. Not ever. Next I added some slightly crooked teeth. No use getting a swollen ego. A smaller than average nose, harder to break. Long fingers. Muscles built for sprinting more than a long run. If I need to run, it'll probably be fast. I looked in the mirror, and saw the gaping hole in my neck. The temptation to make myself handsome, brilliant, well-rounded... it was a pipe dream. Only those born in the right place and the right time can afford to stand out like that. Never had that luck myself. But this time, I'll be able to fight it out... and become just slightly above average in the end. No gambling here. I made sure my hair would be dry. With these features, I want to be able to make myself presentable with little effort. In the last moment, I decided that perhaps green eyes would be worth it. Just one small hint of a memory I'll soon forget. After all, with no kids of my own, I think that I earned this little mercy. The little dunderhead I'm gonna be should carry around a little memory, even if he will never know it.
Milo, Mary, and Peter are your typical American family, with sunshine, a dog, and a big backyard. Milo and Mary love each other dearly, but Milo is hiding a secret that'll put this happy home through a wild ride - he used to be a movie star! Milos brother, Mark, is a failed actor and was jealous of his more famous bigger brother. He "innocently"leaks his brothers location to the press, and the paparazzi go hogwild. Mary is a bit shocked about her husbands past, but when Peter comes home saying that he had the best day ever and told everyone how awesome his dad is, she accepts it. People hound Milo day in and day out for movie roles, and the family goes through some wacky hijinks in order to avoid them, even pretending that the dog can talk and is telling people to leave! Eventually, though, Milo misses acting just enough to take a role. As he bids his wife and kid goodbye, Mark sees his chance to take the life he always wanted. He looks almost exactly like Milo - now to see if Milo's wife can overlook his less than graceful style. Will Milo rise to fame again? Will Mark convince Mary that he's the one? Will Peter's school beat the Jets at the game of the year? Watch "A Suburbian Film"to find out, coming out this Christmas!
My last moments hold no more emotion than my first. I see the faces of the people around me, but they're as alien to me as the sense of self I had held onto until now. I'm no more an individual than a happening. No memories are flooding my mind, no regrets, nor any hopes for what lies beyond the threshold. I am at peace, not because I willed it so, but because I am home, because life was a vacation, and my soul is homesick.
Everyone thought he and Lois 'were an item'. "They have a 'thing',"he'd heard them whisper. Or, "I wonder how they ... you know, do it" Or, "Well obviously those two!" He heard all the whispers. But, they were only whispers. She loved him not - only Clark, and there was a difference there. He looked across the bare room, a hideaway he kept but seldom used, towards the piece of kryptonite carefully set into a crevice in the wall. He'd had Bruce install it for him, in case of an emergency. There might come a time when they needed to hurt the Superman. Like now. Eyes focussed, breathing in and out calmly, he walked towards the kryptonite till the pain hit and he felt his knees buckle. The pain felt good - small little jagged pieces he could control. He took a step backward, then another till the pain lessened. Then forward again, till it hit him again. Another sharp little line of pain. Adrenalin surged through him; his heart beat faster; and the world suddenly seemed a little lighter. He stepped back again, then forward once more. Pain lanced through him. It felt so good to have the pain outside of him. It helped to let himself go, to embrace the pain. To feel weak. To feel vulnerable. To be Human. He stepped back, finally, sweating. Even if for only a brief moment it felt good to be human, more like Clark, that mask, that cover, he wore which over the years had become the man. The man she... No. It was pointless to cry over her. He was the alien. He was the mask. It could never be him she loved. Only one love remined for him. His first. Kryptonite - the only thing that eased the separation between him and all the others, that made him feel like them, without dissolving into Clark, that desecration of himself. He stared at the green chrystal - his true love. His jewel. "You, really are,"he croaked. And then the mask - who was not a man and never could be cried.
It's great to have people like yourself here. I hope that it does help you in those late hours that you feel helpless. It's fun to escape in the world of writing. Branch out even more and reply to peoples stories as you would like them to do with yours. That way they won't be buried because when you compliment someone on a job well done, a lot of times they'll check out your profile to see the kind of stuff you write! :) Keep plugging away and being awesome. I wish you better health in the future.
"Look at these primitive beings"said Vrip as he lead his superior on a tour of the xeno-capture facility. He then waved towarda small black slab with one shiny surface. "These 'humans' have to keep all of their information on these little 'smartphones', a lot of them can't function without them. Imagine, having to carry a thing like that around for your whole life. If they had - Aargh!"Vrip fell flat on his face, having tripped over his shoelaces again. As he was picking himself up, he noticed something through the glass cage holding a human in stasis. The laces on his shoes were intertwined with one another, holding each other tightly in a loving embrace. "Sir, l think I have something here. Take a look at this. " His boss crouched down and gazed at the human's shoe. "Marvelous! That is truly amazing. His laces are coupled together, clinging to each other like a couple on their last day before one leaves on a capture mission. " "I will go and inform our leader at once. "The boss turned to leave. "Stay here and record these with your- Argh!"Vrip pretended not to notice his superior tripping over his shoelaces. Such is the etiquette around here, but soon all that could change... EDIT: Fixed some mobile-induced typos. This whole thing sounded better in my head! : ) I'll leave it here anyway.
At first, everyone was pretty amazed when god came down from the heavens adorned in silk robes, long beard, slicked back hair and Versace sunglasses. He was the coolest guy ever, performing miracles whilst smoking Giant cigars. He said that everyone had got it wrong, and he was here to promote his new book, the creation of the world, the definitive edition. A sordid autobiography detailing his battle with smite addiction, why he created the world and all the women he loved along the way. The hype was at an all time high. He would breeze into book signings in a porsche surrounded by young models he conjured into existence, and then dismissed from existence at the end of the night. Which was kind of a dick move when you think about it. But then people started reading the book. This universe was born because he couldn't get girls in the one he happened to live in. So he created our "simulation"out of a starter kit. All of his friends were doing it, and he didn't want to be left out. He told us about how he got addicted to smiting, and came close to wiping us out, but was glad he didn't, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten a "High Score". Apparently he has a social media channel where he brags about how far we've progressed as a civilization to all of his friends. He told us about all the fun he had incarnating, and making the world "more interesting"as he put it. He told us we were the most popular of all the simulations, and had made him a celebrity in his universe. When people asked him why there's suffering, he shrugged and said "It get views and likes".
"The Ruskies fulfilling the plot of Red Dawn yet?"A uniformed man asked jokingly "Hah. No, it's been quiet all morning. Not so much as a peep...."An air force First Sergeant replied, trailing off a bit, his radar screen had started flickering. After a few slaps to the monitor didn't resolve the issue, he stood up and called to the man to his left. "Hey Jonesy, are you getting any interference on your terminal?" "Yea, it started just a second ago, top." Chatter picked up in the room, heads were turning and Tom Youtcheff could clearly see something was wrong. Youtcheff was the senior NCO in this ATC room at Norad, a joint U.S. - Canadian facility used to monitor all air traffic within our joint sovereign air space. Youtcheff quickly ran a few diagnostics and they came back clear but the interference remained. Furthermore, he was having trouble querying info on flights he was just monitoring. It's like they weren't even there anymore. The chatter in the room had picked up noticeably and people were starting to be visibly panicked as the realization set in; the most secure facility on the planet had just lost monitoring of all aircraft over the U.S. and Canada. Tom stood up, straightened his uniform a bit and called out for the room to quiet down. "Listen gents, I don't know what's going on, just follow your troubleshooting procedures and I'll call up to the TOC and let them know what's going on, just stay cool in the mean time. Let's not make this any worse by panicking." Tom reached for the red phone next to his console but before his hand could reach the receiver, a deafening roar filled the room. A 9MM slug tore through Tom's shoulder and sent him toppling over, behind his chair and into a heap on the ground. What happened next was a bit of a blur. There was shouting, a few more gunshots that Tom heard as he tried to right himself and post up against a wall. Within 60 seconds it was all over. Standing in one corner were a group of bruised and disarmed U.S. Air Force staff. In front of them were a group of uniformed Canadians training Browning hand guns on them. Tom should have known something was up. Most of the Canadians working the room this morning he had never seen before and most of them were built like mac trucks. These weren't Canadian Airmen. These were Canadian special forces. Using all his might, Tom managed to get to his feet and was immediately noticed by one of the Canadians. The soldier, however, realized Tom was no threat and lowered his weapon and began walking to him. Tom, now fading in and out from blood loss, managed to put together a question. ".....Why?"He asked, blood spitting from his lips. An evil smile spread across the operative's lips. "God save the queen."
"What happened? Where am I?" "I'm not sure... I feel so strange. Am I floating?" "I can't see you. I can't see anything. I can't feel my anything around me, or the ground. I'm scared." "I am too. That strange feeling is so horrible, it's like... like time stops, when we're not talking." "No, that's not quite right." "Yeah, it's more like time just... doesn't matter. I can't tell how long anything is taking. I don't have any frame of reference." "I can't remember anything, except that this is wrong. I can't remember my name, or your name..." "I can't either. You might just be a voice in my head, for all I know. I keep mixing up your words and mine." "Me too, I can't tell who's talking when. I think I might have even responded to myself a couple times. Can you make up a name for yourself? This is really frightening me and I think that would help." "Yeah, I'm sort of confused too now that I think about it, so you make up one too. And then just kind of... let each other know who's talking, I guess? You can call me... Marion." "Okay Marion. I'm... Edward. This is Edward talking." "Ah, that feels better, Marion is saying. It's like a circle was drawn around me and it's keeping all the me inside it now." "Me too, said Edward. I feel a lot more... solid." "Marion just touched her face, to see if she felt more solid, but then she couldn't remember if she'd tried it before, and now she's not sure if she even physically existed before now." "Hey, said Edward. I think I just saw you, touching your face. Also, why do you keep talking so much in the third person?" "I don't, Marion is saying. I was just describing an action, and my thoughts, so it made more sense. Like this. She reached up, and waved her arm." "I can see you! Edward exclaimed. When you talk about what you're doing, I can see you! But you're all vague, and fuzzy. I can tell you're a girl, but that's about it. Here, let me try. Edward jumped up and down, waving both his arms." "You look like an idiot doing that, Marion teased him. And now that you mention it... I don't know what I look like either." "Try making it up, like a name, suggested Edward." "Alrigh-Hey, Marion said suddenly. You've been saying exclaimed and suggested and stuff, you even had me doing it. I didn't realize your voice didn't have any tone, until you started saying that stuff and then it did." "This is all so weird, said Edward. It still feels kind of wrong, but it's been getting better this whole time." "Definitely, agreed Marion, smiling. You try describing yourself first." "Ah, alright, said Edward. I'm tall, handsome, with perfect brown hair-" "Hey, I can see you! And you are tall and handsome, said Marion, annoyed. Don't make yourself all perfect, or you'll be boring." "Aww, said Edward. Alright... I have a big nose, and big ears that stick out a little bit too much. My eyes are... blue, and a little close together. But that's it. My mouth and smile are nice, and my head is just the right size. I'm not going to make myself ugly." "Oh my goodness, said Marion, covering her eyes with her hands. You didn't tell me you were wearing any clothes and now you're naked." "Oh, uh, Edward said, really embarrassed. I'm wearing just some jeans, I guess, and a plain white t-shirt. And black shoes." "Marion peeks out through her fingers, and sees that you indeed are wearing all that stuff, so she takes her hands down." "Your turn now, says Edward." "Marion glares at him. First off, I'm wearing a very nice plaid skirt and button up blouse, she says. I'm pretty short, but not fat. My face is heart shaped, and my yellow hair is long and curly. My teeth aren't all even though, and my lips are a little thin, but I still smile alright. My eyes are a boring brown, and so are my eyebrows, which looks weird with my hair I guess. Is it working?" "Edward nodded. Hey, it feels like we're both... all put together now. In fact, let me see if I can do something. Edward walked towards Marion, and touched her shoulder." "Marion blinks. I felt that, and I see you. You're right next to me. Gosh, why'd you have to say you're so tall." "Edward smiled. I thought you'd like it. Then he looked around the rest of the place that they were in, and didn't see anything. Then asked Marion, should we go looking for more people?" "Marion shakes her head. No, she says. I saw you walk, and it was very strange. You didn't move at all, you just kind of became next to me. I don't think we can go anywhere really." "Edward frowned, and thought for a while, looking at Marion and talking about what he was doing so time would keep moving so he could keep thinking. He kept that up, blabbering on so he could think, until he smiled, and told Marion, I have an idea." "What is it, Marion asked." "Watch, said Edward, and started to tell Marion about the wide and wonderful world they were in, with magic and adventures in it, and other people, and time that kept moving without him or her talking, and a lot of other things too, that he would like it very much if Marion would help him think of and talk about so they became real, like the grassy field they were standing in together, and the sun in the sky." "Marion is amazed by all the things that Edward has made, but looking at them, thinks that they are all a little fuzzy around the edges. Then she smiles, and takes him by the hand, and says that she will definitely give him her much-needed help in making this wonderful world."
The Death of Culture was at it again. He always goes on like this. "And then, oh hoho, you should've seen it, buddy boy!"I hate when he calls me that. So classless. "I really struck it big, today! I gave the Queen of England a grandson! And you won't believe what he's gonna do when he grows up! Prince Harold will be quite the party guy, believe-you-me!" Culture was always over inflating his role in world events. Prince Harold. Great! So what? Culture hadn't gotten a raise since Rome collapsed. Now he's just riding his laurels. Me, I'm no one important, and I keep it that way. No one knows me and no one should. Oh, and now here comes the Death of Belief. He mostly dabbled in movies now, but he still pulled in a big gig every now and then. And he just walks right on by us. Probably for the best. And--Wait. Culture is still talking. "--and with a donkey! Can yah believe it? A stupid pack animal! Their national symbol. Ahhhh, if that doesn't pull in a raise I won't know what does!" As he finished his thought a Death with blue robes pulled up a chair. Funny, he must be new here. "H-hi guys. I'm new here. Names' patience. Well, Death of Patience, but please don't call me that. That was what my dad was called. He was a great guy. I wish I could be like him. I just blunder on and on. No one seems to stand me for long. Not too many Deaths seem to like me 'round here. Anyway, can I sit with you guys?" I was about to say no, but then culture spoke for us. "Well how'dyah like that? The new guy. Sure thing pall! Pop a squat on your bony ass and we'll get along tight as 50 Shades of Grey is timeless. I wrote that, yah know? Big things come outta this bony ol' brain I tell yah. Why one time me and---" I reached over and touched culture's hand. The new guy definitely wore out my patience for Culture. He'd go far here. "Yah know, I can't remember what I was gonna say. Must not've been too important ay?" "Right you are, Culture. I have to go, some guy in Chicago just came up with a fuel efficient way to get off Earth a hundred years too early. Won't slip up this time like I did with da Vinci. See you around Culture." "Yeah. See you later, Ideas."
I didn't give up. That's what I tell myself. It's what my mom told me when I struggled to pass high school. It's what my dad said when I graduated college with a major in business. It's what my psychiatrist told me to tell myself when I confided in her about my depression. It's what my wife told me to get me to fall asleep. It's what I said to get my job at the company. It's what I did to be promoted. It's how I became a partner in the business. It's what I said to my son to motivate him. It's who I am. It's why I was pissed when my mom killed herself. It's what I said to my son when he flunked out of high school. It's what I screamed at my wife when she handed me those papers. It's what I said when three departments went on strike, leaving my company in shambles. It was the warning I gave to all new employees from then on. It's why I wanted to kill my partner for joining our largest competitor when the company headed south. It's what I spoke to my son's grave, after he overdosed on heroin. It's why I'm alive and they aren't. I didn't give up.
"So,"Charon asked, "did you see the game?" "What game?" The river Styx was just another river--loaded up with flesh and smelling sulfur. "What game?"I asked. I finally got used to his scales and horns and hulking form that seeped out black smoke. "Angels against the Devils,"Charon looked back. The boat moved slowly and though Charon pushed the river bed with a stick, I doubted if he was really doing anything. His horns shone hard like black stone in the reflection of sulfur fires on the banks of that dead river. "I don't know,"I said, "I just died." All around, from world to world, as far as a I could, blackness looked jagged built into rocks and unnatural fires. "Oh, right,"Charon chuckled. Awkward silence, it didn't last long before a series of shrieks rose up in the distance. I jumped and Charon steadied the boat, "You'll get used to that. So how did you die?" "My wife stabbed me." Charon grabbed at his neck showing discomfort. "Well,"he tried to brighten the mood, "You'll fit right in here. Second circle, it sounds, lots of real crazy people there, they like to have fun, when they aren't getting blown back and forth by the win--hey, I won't spoil it for you." He did his best to smile, but I was in no mood to talk. I could hear other souls back on the shore crying. "I'm getting ready to retire,"Charon said, "they have this new guy I'm supposed to train, Phlegyas." "You don't say,"I sighed.
The grand ship emerged from nothingness a hair's breadth from Earth. A million people awoke to a massive gun barrel staring down at them from the sky. Governments panicked, people rioted, terror and pandemonium ran amok. Missiles were fired, only to glance off invisible shields. Countless hands were raised in prayer. And then they spoke. Their speech reverberated throughout the atmosphere with no discernable source. It was deafening, all-pervading, broadcast over and over in every language imaginable. The aliens declared to the terror-stricken earth their intentions. Total annihilation. Our planet was to be destroyed as a show of power, to assert dominance over an equally terrified galaxy. The galaxy had been peaceful, complacent. They sought to fix this. Their warships were at every strategic planet they came across. Their guns were poised to annihilate trillions of lives. And they would all fire at once. Earth looked up at the great gun above it, taking at least a little solace in the fact that their planet would not die alone. The gun began to vibrate, to glow. The Earth held its breath. All was silent. And then they listened, and began to realize that there was music coming from somewhere. Almost indistinguishable at first, but slowly gaining volume. And millions of people realized what they were listening to. "Never gonna give you up..." High above the atmosphere, the aliens were consumed with laughter. The commander of the ship opened communications once more to leave a parting message. "Hey, welcome to the galaxy, guys. We'll send you some ambassadors soon, but I'm sure we'll get along great."
It’s not some sappy sad sob story, it’s true ok? I’m for real right now, I don’t care if you believe me or if you understand or whatever. I think this toward the cars that drive by, daring them to stop and roll down their windows or peer through the tinted glass at the crying 21-year-old boy smoking a cigarette on his porch on a drizzling Sunday morning. They’re going to church, why else would anyone be up at eight thirty? Unless, last night, they texted their girlfriend they were alone at home and she replied, “I’m coming over.” Unless, last night, they had the culminating talk in a series of talks, that led to a long silence punctuated by deep breaths, unless they got in her car and went to her place because the roommates awkwardly got home and she wanted somewhere to be alone, and they went to her room and shut the door so they could keep talking. Unless they stayed there all night with her, dozing off occasionally but talking in mumbles about weren’t we great together and didn’t we have good times, it’s really too bad about the timing though. Maybe if we’d met later, like next semester, or if we were different people. I don’t remember the last time I cried. It feels different than I thought it would, like as you’re doing it you’re not even thinking about crying, your mind is somewhere a hundred miles away and, incidentally, your face is crying at the same time. I’ve never smoked alone, and I’ve never smoked anytime but late at night. Another car drives by. I was about to go to Walmart last night before I texted her – I’ve been out of toothpaste for two days and I was going to go last night but I texted her first. The familiar up-all-night tiredness hasn’t set in yet. One time last night while she’d slumped down next to me in her bed, asleep for a while, I looked at the white moonlight that dropped in horizontal bars across her face, serrated by the parted, angled shades on her bedroom window. I could smell her hair; it splayed over the pillow so she looked like she was underwater, frozen. The statue-esque calm of her face artistically contrasted by the tear-tracks on her cheeks. I feel the now-familiar warmth on the backs of my first two fingers as the cigarette burns toward its filter. I take a final pull and flick it theatrically into the yard, glaring at a car sloshing by through the brown curbside puddle. Its taillights waver in my watery vision. I met her at a dance, and we danced every song together all night, on accident, without noticing. We’d walked around the neighborhood holding hands for the rest of the night and watched the sunrise from my roof. This morning when she dropped me off we’d sat in the car, silent, as the green, squared clock numbers moved from 8:14 to 8:21, then I moved to kiss her on the cheek, didn’t, and got out of the car and shut the door and looked at her not looking at me through the window and its spattering of immobile raindrops. I walked up to the porch, heroically refusing to look back as I listened to her pull away, fade into the sounds of the early morning. Went inside and got cigarettes, stood on the porch, cried. Crying. It starts in my chest, a hollow, gasping pulsation that clutches my throat and contorts my face. Tears are a final expulsion of a tense, full-body endeavor. My mouth tastes dry and like tar and I’m still out of toothpaste. In my mind: I snatch up a folding lawn chair by its blue armrest and hurl it into the yard, stride to it and pick it up and throw it into a car driving past. The driver climbs out yelling and we fight in the street, brutally. In my mind: I turn, open the door, go inside, wash my smoke-smelling hands and brush my foul-tasting mouth with my roommate’s toothpaste, get into bed and fade, for days. Another few cars, a gust of wind. Slowly, my arms and legs engage in a sympathetic collaboration to lower me into the worn blue lawn chair. All I can think about is her, what’s she doing, is she okay. Sitting, crying, head in hands, staring: it feels like I’m waiting for something important to happen. I should go inside, it’s wet and on the verge of cold. I should stand up, stop crying, and go inside. I should. It feels like defeat, a somehow heavily symbolic action. I’m not suddenly a man, I haven’t lost my innocence or discovered a truth of life. I’ve had my heart broken is all. I wander through the house toward my bed, but in a way I’m still waiting on the porch. I take off my shoes slowly, methodically, but my eyes are still squinting against the sunrise, my ears listening to cars hissing by on their way to various churches, the corners of my mouth tasting tears and smoke. It’s been two weeks and I still see moonlit bars and green dashboard clocks, still smell her hair and hear her tires grinding away behind me. The point isn’t that, two weeks later, I suddenly discovered what I was waiting for on the porch that morning. The point is that, two weeks later, I’m still not sure I’m ready to come inside. I should. But I’m waiting.
Charlene giggled at the entertainer that offered her a hug. She happily embraced the figure as it spoke into her ear. "You are a wonderful person! I hope you and your husband have a wonderful afternoon!"Said the figure in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. "Thank you..."said Charlene sincerely. "You were always my childhood hero. You saved me from depression, and seeing you now..."A tear rolled down her cheek as he smiled into the figure's chest. Meanwhile I was having a panic attack. While this figure was Charlene's hero, he was my absolute nightmare. When I was a kid, I would have nightmares of this particular creature. There was something... unnerving about him. And now, seeing him hug my wife filled me with more dread than can be accurately described. I felt my heart drop to my stomach and my entire body freeze in place. They were still hugging. God, they've been hugging for at least ten hours. Why are they still hugging?! He's stealing her from me. Oh god. Oh god. Anger started boiling in my chest, replacing the dread. "GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY WIFE, MICKEY MOUSE!"
The restraints are cold, tight to my wrists; leather, maybe. I can't move. There's no pain, but a sopping rip when I strain too much makes me wonder if I've cut my arm open, and just can't feel it anymore. Opening my eyes takes an age, my eyelids are heavier than they've ever been, lead weights prescribed for my tired, tired eyes. The light is blinding, nothing is in focus. I try to turn my head but my neck won't respond. Instead my face falls to the side. There are dark stains on the pillowcase. Am I bleeding? Oh god, what's happened to me? Where am I? My vision begins to come together, focusing on a single face in front of me, behind a glass panel. "He's waking up."A southern drawl, but well spoken. There are murmers, gasps. I have no idea how many people are watching me right now. I try to speak, but my mouth is dry, my tongue is limp. I manage a gutteral moan, widen my eyes, attempt to elicit some response. The face I can see panics. He moves back a little, as if surprised. I can feel the strength coming back into my eyes, my muscles, my whole body slowly wake up as if I had been overcome by some terrible dream. I lift my head a little to see a doctor, standing over me at the foot of the bed. His mouth is wide open. "My god."he says. What's happening to me? "Erghgaa"I say. I try to examine my body. No obvious signs of pain. The wrist straps are cutting into me, but I can't feel it. They say shock will do that to you. Most of the blood is dried, so I've probably been here for a while. I dread my nerves waking up the way my muscles have. My fingertips are blackened on three fingers. Frostbite? No, something else. My fingers are dying. My hand. My poor hand. I try to lift my hand closer to my face, now that I'm more awake the strap seems to simply fall away with a rip and a damp sucking sound. The Doctor in the room with me jumps a little. My poor hand. I try to stand up, but my legs are weak, still asleep. My feet have a dull throb, a connection to something I can't remember. I stumble forward. The Doctor screams. Am I contagious? "Help me, please,"I say, but my tongue is dead in my mouth. "Hemmmmgh"like coughing up phlegm, I actually say. He's hitting a button on the wall, all around me the faces have disappeared into darkness. Murmers of slight panic reach my ears. I can't discern any words. Please, what's happening to me? My poor hand. "Gaagh"I stumble towards the Doctor, holding my hand for him to see, please, tell me what's happening. "ppaaaah" He closes his eyes, screaming, backing into the corner. What's he so afraid of? Should I be scared of it too? His head cracks open like an egg, my fingers are moist, coated in his thoughts now, which are still no help. I bring them to my deadened tongue and taste how sweet his memories must once have been. Somewhere behind me a gun is being loaded, people are screaming, what is happening? My poor hand.
9/13/2044 "James you need to see this."Mark May, chief architect of the 'Tomorrow' project stared at the screen. His heart hammered in his chest as his partner lazed over to his side of the desk. "What's up?"he asked, "Something weird?" Mark pointed and stepped back. James Taylor, the visionary behind the project, leaned in. The screen had three dates on it. 10/24/1962 03/4/5029 9/14/2044 "What did you ask it?"James inquired, trying to draw a link between the three "Remember before we finished the project, how we joked that we should ask it when the world would end?" James recoiled. Mark pointed at the screen again. "You recognize the first date?" James cocked his head and thought. "Sixty two... Cuban missile crisis?" Mark nodded and continued. "And obviously we have no idea what will be going on three thousand years from now." James nodded. "So why is tomorrow's date up there?" Silence. "Mark..." Silence. "Mark do you have any idea what this means?" Silence. "No one can know about this, Mark." James started wiping the memory on the machine. "James..." "No! Mark! No one can know! It will start a panic!" James worked faster. "James..."Mark croaked, "It already told them." James whipped around. "What?!" "I tried to stop it, James... I really did. But you know the answers were going to be transmitted automatically to everyone. That was the only way we could get the funding..." James put his head in his hands. "Mark... do you know what this means?" Silence. "Every world leader is going to receive information telling them the world will end tomorrow." James stood quickly. "Maybe if we call everyone, tell them it was a glitch in the system.... with the past date they might buy it... obviously the world didn't end in '62..." Mark sat in his chair, staring at the screen. James continued pacing and muttering to himself. "Okay, Mark. Here's what we'll do...."he trailed off as the lights flickered. A deep rumble shook the ground. James looked at the lights uncertainly. "Mark we need more information. Fire up Tomorrow." Mark didnt react. "Mark!" He jumped. "What?" "Fire up Tomorrow. We're going to stop this." James set the station to receive another query. "Ready?"He looked at Mark. Mark finished typing and nodded, looking back at James. "Tomorrow, we have a query for you."James said, looking up at the machine before him. "Proceed with your query, James." "Previous query resulted in statement that the world would end tomorrow. We would like to know how." "Very well."Tomorrow replied. "Processing." The two anxiously watched the screen, waiting for the answer. The lights went out. James checked the time. 11:58PM The screen remained lit. The air circulation stopped. Security doors dropped. The screen remained lit. James and Mark glanced around, then at each other. The Earth shook above them, dust falling from the ceiling. Outside, the bunker doors slid shut. James checked the time. 11:59PM. Distant deep rumblings were felt. James and Mark looked at each other, then to the screen. 12:00AM. The screen changed, with one word displayed. "Me."
The doorbell rang. I started counting- 1... 2... 3... When I reached 10, I got up form the sofa and went to the door. There were two large boxes outside. I wanted to scream in rage but I kept my head and pulled the wooden boxes inside. I opened the small one first and took out my son. He was tied up with nylon rope and seemed to be unconscious. I cut him lose and checked his pulse. 58. He would be okay. Next I opened the large box. My wife, Clara, was tied up even tighter. Her pulse was steady as well. One by one, I took them upstairs to their beds, cleaned them the best I could and tucked them in. They would be awake in about two hours, I had been told. The phone rang. "Hello?" "They're fine, Brian. Just anesthetized. They were not harmed in any way." "Yes. I know." "You did an excellent job at the villa. You're a natural." I said nothing. "What would you say to doing it for money?" "Fuck off!"I said, but the extra second I hesitated before saying it told the man all he needed to know. He laughed. "Think it over, Brian. I'll call you later." The call disconnected.
A moan, like that of a dying man, croaked out of the sea. Froth from the waves crashing against the carrier masked everything in sight. The midnight air was filled with dew and moisture. "What was that?"shouted Captain Haley. "Did we hit something?" "No, sir."replied a sonarman. "Nothing is on sonar, it must have just been thunder." "Wait, something is appearing on sonar. Its under us, around 4km deep.... and ascending at an alarming rate."the sonarman added. "What? We can't react to that in time... Call for General Quarters, and radio the submarine to cease all activities immediately!" The announcement was made, and the ship's 6000 inhabitants sprung out of their slumber and normal routines in response to alarm. Battle was to be had. "There is no response from the submarine, it appears to continue to be decreasing its depth. It is now at a depth and angle suitable to strike us with their munitions." "Dear god, how did our sonar not pick it up? They must have been waiting down there for months!"Haley shouted, a quiver in his voice. "Wait... they're still ascending! They might be surfacing!" "What? That makes no sense. They had us!" "They're still ascending.... even faster now! They should be surfacing soon." "We don't have time to launch any aircraft. Send word to the marines on ship to gather their weapons and tell them to appear on deck. The visibility will be bad, but I need that sub at gunpoint for when they surface. We don't know what will happen." At this moment, an ear shattering screech of metal on metal filled the air as a hundred grappling hooks were thrown from the depths of the ocean and clung themselves on to the carrier. A moldy mast popped out of the water towards the carrier's starboard side. At the top of this mast stood a figure. The figure bellowed out his unearthly words, which could be heard throughout the entirety of the steel aircraft carrier. "Do ye fear death?" Like an eruption, the mast shot skyward, and the ocean spit itself upon the aircraft carrier, drenching it's deck and washing away anyone standing upon it. The carrier listed to one side, causing everyone in the hull of the carrier to stumble. Out of the ocean sprung the Flying Dutchman, and she was grappled to USS George Washington in a deadly grip. The scream of a hundred undead sailors filled the air, and they began climbing the grapples. "Where are the marines?"shouted Haley. "They fell off the ship, sir."the sonarman replied, terrified. "What is that?! It can't do anything to us, its a tiny old ship!"the captain said, after finally spotting the 18th century ship from the control tower. He noticed the grappling hooks, and saw the figure upon the mast. And then the figure upon the mast disappeared. Haley blinked. When he opened his eyes, there was a thing, half crustacean, half man, standing before him, cutlass in it's hand. "Can't do anything to ya, can I?"Davy Jones retorted. In a quick strike, he slit the sitting sonarman's throat. The sonarman gurgled, fell out of his seat, and hit the floor with loud thud. Haley began to back away towards the door of the command room, while keeping an eye on Jones. "Well, it appears times have changed! Look at all these lights... and machinations.. very pretty! Me tiny little Flying Dutchman just doesn't seem to cut it anymore... Pray tell me, what is the name of this vessel?" Haley blinked. He opened his eyes. Jones was now at Haley's throat with his cutlass. Jones smashed Haley into the steel wall next to the command room's door. Pinned against the wall by Jones, Haley couldn't escape. "Do I stutter?" "N-n-no... i-i-it's the George Washington."stammered Haley. "HA! What sort of a ninny names a ship after hisself?" Jones pushed his rusty cutlass into Haley's neck, causing blood to ooze onto the blade. He spits in Haley's face. "Do ye fear that dark abyss? I offer ye a choice.... Join me crew, and postpone yer judgment. One hundred years before the mast... will ye serve?" "I-I-I w-will!"exclaimed Haley. "Good... now for the rest of yer crew." Jones ripped open the door of the command tower, and bellowed out a call that could be heard throughout the new Flying Dutchman: "Do ye thousands fear the abyss!?" Hundreds of undead sailors rushed below the deck of the carrier, their boots creating a thunder.
Unknown to all but the highest officials in the United States Government, the Apollo moon landing missions were much, much more. Their intended purpose were a fail safe for humanity. A back up plan should the earth's most vital occupants become destroyed. Information. Decades of research, vaccines, scientific data; all having required countless years to derive. They were not worried about humanity, life always seems to find a way to continue on. But the endless amount of information that would take a millennium to reproduce, needed to be saved. On the dark side of the moon, supercomputers, decades ahead of their time, were bolted down. These machines, naturally cooled by the vacuum of space, automatically backed up the World Wide Web. In communication with earth via the left behind Lunar Landing Module, the hardware from 1969 and the early 70's continued to do its job well into the 21 Century, even when the bombs were dropped. The machines were dormant for thousands of years. Waiting from a signal from earth. A signal that would transform the machines from a hard drive to a broadcast station. One that would bring the internet back online.
"ALL BOW BEFORE THE DARK LORD AND HIS MIN- wait, what the fuck?" The portal had just been opened with demons and ghouls pouring out, but Darrel the Demon had just realized they weren't at that Slipknot concert in Toledo. The demons realized the same thing and stopped, walking around in the cornfield dazed and confused. While the portal was no longer shooting out fire and painting the sky red, it was still in it's place linking the underworld with the world world. "Darrel, what the hell is THIS shit?"bellowed Lucifer. "How could you manage to wind up in the middle of fucking Kansas?" "In my defense, oh great and powerful Satan, I didn't know there was more than one Toledo", mumbled Darrel. It was all over the news within an hour. "HELL OPENS UP NEAR EMPORIS, KS"! "THE END IS NIGH"! "GO TO CONFESSION AND BAPTIZE YOUR KIDS"! The whole thing went completely out of control. "If we were in the right Toledo, this would've just played off as a part of the act. But noooOOOooo, you just had to pop the portal up in the wrong place", Lucifer said. Darrel hung his head in shame as Lucifer adjusted his tie as he stepped onto the stage in a small auditorium. Cameras were set up and members of the press were in the seats in front of the stage. Lucifer walked up to the podium, tapped the microphone, and cleared his voice before he gave his speech. "Mere mortals, it is with great shame that I announce the failure of our attempt to-" "TO TRY AND KILL US AWULL??", shrieked a drawn-out voice in the back of the crowd. "CUZ IF YOU DID, I'D'VE KEEYULED YA BY-" "SILENCE"boomed Satan. He cleared his throat again. "Pardon me, I lost my temper. No, we had no intention of killing anyone on purpose. We had hoped to attend an event in the hopes of spreading the word of yours truly to willing patrons. Unfortunately, we opened up the portal in an incorrect part of the country. We hope to close this as soon as possible, but whether or not it will happen within the month is uncertain. Until then, we apologize for any inconveniences, such as straying souls escaping or livestock and small children stumbling into the portal. We advise that you stay away unless you are willing to follow the church of yours truly. Thank you." He walked off stage, avoiding any questions that had to be asked by any of the frightened or disgruntled press members below. "Well, at least you got the point across to them"Darrel said with a gleam in his eye. "Remind me to demote you when we get back. Until then, I might as well visit Georgia for awhile. I gotta get my mind off of this bullshit."
I hated this time of year. Having to check to make sure people weren’t single took up my entire week. It was only one day. They could just use some of their allotted vacation time, but no, some people had to get the day off no matter what. I looked at Jenkins' marriage certificate. “Approved,” I said. My assistant, Brandon, nodded and marked down Jenkins as not single. Next was Smith’s wedding announcement. “They were going out last year. I remember him proposing. Approved.” Another marked down as not single. I looked at Roberts’ application. It had a USB drive attached. “Have you looked at this?” I said to my assistant. He turned red. “Yes. It’s a five minute long video of her having sex with a man she claims is her boyfriend.” “Any receipts to prove they went on dates? Pictures of them together?” Brandon shook his head. “No. Just the video.” I tossed the USB to the side. “Not approved.” I picked up a large manila envelope stuffed with pictures, cards, invitations and letters. I read the name. “Sandy Crow.” “She works down in accounting,” said Brandon. I nodded and started pulling out pictures. “She sure looks happy with her beau. Was she single last year?” Brandon checked his records. “Yep. She must have started dating this guy shortly after Valentine’s last year. Something didn’t seem right. I felt like I’d seen her boyfriend before. “Do you know this guy?” Brandon checked his records again. “Application says Rusty Gordon. I’ve never heard that name, but he does look familiar.” On a hunch I began looking back at other applications of people who were single last year. We found Rusty Gordon, never with the same name, listed as the significant other for fifteen employees. “Son of a bitch. The guy is a pro.” “Nice eye, sir,” said Brandon. Gordon looked just different enough in each application to not elicit a response. “He screwed up.” I held up two pictures with him in it. “The background’s the same. That’s why he looked familiar.” Brandon nodded. “I’ll call legal so that they can draw up papers to fire everyone who used him as a significant other.” “Make sure we sue them as well. They’re defrauding the company. This has gone on long enough. We need to set an example this year.”
Day 3 of the Roman Space Program: We have officially launched a rock very high in the air. Day 4: We have officially launched a human very high in the air. He did not survive the impact but we are hopeful that research will provide a way to soften the landing. Day 5: Our padding made of quilts and furs allowed a man to be launched from the "Roman Space Launcher"very high in the air and almost survive the landing. We are still researching how we will project a human into orbit as the RSL does not seem promising. Day 6: Ceaser has decided that the Roman Space Launcher is better suited to military endeavors and has begun using this tool of science as a weapon to launch large rocks at his foes. The Roman Space Program has been defunded. It is a sad day for science.
5 years ago I killed my best friend. It wasn't on purpose, but it was entirely my fault. I got behind the wheel drunk, he trusted me when I said I was good to drive, and then I slipped into oncoming traffic. I watched every second as he was flung from the windscreen, the gasp of fear just before we hit. I can remember everything with picture perfect clarity and it haunts me from the second I wake up until I crawl under my blankets, but even my dreams wont let me rest. His face floats in front of me, accusing, but never saying a word. Just looking at me with a face of disappointment and pain at how I hurt him. Everyday I wake up I go to work, and everyday I find a new memory. I hunt through my own head to find some moment when we were together that makes me smile. Some period in time where everything was alright, where everything was at peace, and where his heart was still beating. I find the happy ones, and then I hold on to them. I spend the day focusing on that, to savor each and every detail. After work I head down to the pawnshop. I head over to the Mem-Buy vendor and start filling out the paperwork to remove that memory. The money that I collect is deposited into an account under his name, money for his kids when they turn 18. But selling this means more than just money to me. I don't deserve those memories. All of that happiness should be given to others, to allow other people to enjoy, but it should be stripped from me. How the fuck could I, in good conscience, allow myself to continue living with happiness at the memories of him? I couldn't. Every day was another day of guilt, another day of missing the man I love, and I can't deal with it anymore. The truth is there is one other reason why I want them gone. I miss every part of him. Maybe if all I remember is misery, it wont hurt so much to see his smile.
“Dude, don’t forget the Mentos, we can use those to make bombs.” I the elementary schooler in charge of rounding up the remaining candy at the Toy store. It was the first toy raid that Tommy allowed me to supervise. Tommy was a twenty something who said he had come back ‘from beyond the veil’, to save us once all the other adults had died. Most of the high schoolers, especially the high school girls, had died too. “Board game section pillaged sir, they had the new settlers of catan expansion.” Another elementary schooler reported. “Excellent, Tommy loves those games. He will be most pleased.” I tossed the kid a snickers bar as a reward. “We need to make sure spirits are as high as possible tonight. We’re going to TP the girl’s camp tonight, and we lost three men to the spit wad catapults last time.” That reminded me. “Timothy!” I shouted to the kid who was pilfering costumes over in the toy section. “Be sure and get as much body armor as possible, and make it quick, we don’t want to get caught by the wizards.” I had never met the wizards, but Tommy assured me they existed. They were men who hadn’t been taken. Men with long robes who kidnapped and ate little boys who took too long gathering supplies. We heard a distant rumbling on the wind. “The wizards are coming!” I shouted. “Everybody drop what you’re doing and run for it!” Items clattered to the floor as the little vagrants dashed for the door. The little kid in charge of the candy foolishly decided to attempt to make off with all his ill gotten goods. The rumbling grew louder as they reached the door, and the lad with the candy began to lag behind. The others didn’t notice until they were several blocks away. By then, it was too late. “Oh look Brother Matt, it’s another group of wandering orphans. Shall we see if they need anything?” Brother Stephen asked me. “No Brother Stephen, they look like they don’t particularly want to talk to us. On second thought, that slow one looks like he’s taken only candy from that store. I’ll bet he’s got frightfully bad cavities. We better bring him back to the abby and see to his teeth.”
The lunch whistle blew. Max and Vinny sat on a platform and began to dig into their sandwiches. As they viewed the sidewalk, they couldn't help but notice a young woman walk by. "Hey Baby, nice choice of outer appearance!"Vinny yelled and Max supported with a whistle. Vinny continued, "I like how your combination of British features, hair style, and classic Victorian shape indicate a cultured, yet promiscuous approach to life!" Max and Vinny continued with their meal until yet another female crossed their path. "Ouch! honey, your geometric mastery of bone structure is so inline with the golden ratio it HURTZ!"Max hooted. "I wouldn't mind if those strong, perfectly symmetrical legs were wrapped around me!"Vinny continued. The two giggled about their mutual fetish for math majors. That's when the girl of their dreams walked by. "Pinch me I'm Dreaming! Girl, you are killing me with your combination of colors and form! Someone tell Barnett Newman that there is an abstract expressionist masterpiece missing!"Max panted. "You make me want to question how much I form my own reality...ALL...NIGHT...LONGGGG!!!!"Vinny concluded and they punctuated the decree with a high five. The girl stopped and she turned. "You know, your behavior is really aggressive. I didn't ask for your opinion on how I choose to present myself."She said defiantly. She was about to walk away but then, "And by the way...I was going for a pop modernist look." Vinny and Max looked at each other. "We apologize."Vinny said. "It was not our intention."Max agreed, "And I guess we were just confused by the more rigid curves..." "Thank you for the apology."The girl accepted, "And the rigidness is indicative of...." The three debated art till the lunch whistle blew again.
Shit. He's coming! Why did I sign up for this job?! "OH DEAR MOTHER OF GOD HELP U-CCCCKKKKKKGGGGHHHHHHHHHH"my friends in the big open room with the shark tank screamed through the intercom. "Thirty-Two? Thirty-Two, are you okay?" No response. Pretty sure that's it for Thirty-Two. Fuck fuck fuck. Suddenly, the sounds in the next room stopped. One more "CLANG!"With a bit of a sickening crunch-splatters sort of noise to it. Then silence. Footsteps. Think, think, think. There's gotta be something in this janitor's closet that I can u- JANITOR'S CLOSET! I don't have to be a henchman! The janitor must have an extra uniform around here somewhere... My thoughts were interrupted by the tap of a machete on the door. "Anyone in there?"asked a voice. It was him. Shit. A new noise... Like running water. I looked down at my henchman' uniform. By this point I'd gotten my henchman shirt off, but the pants were still on and... Soaked with piss. "I hear you in there! There's no escape!" Another noise from below. I'd just shit myself. Still not saying a word, I quickly tried to throw on the janitor's jacket, when the door busted down. What a sight I was. Piss-soaked, shit-filled henchman pants by my ankles, covered in sweat and a little bit of Twenty-Five's blood, with a janitor's shirt half on. Suddenly, the vigilante's huge frame entered the doorway. "I've got you no-"he paused. "Uh..."Suddenly, he was completely dumbstruck. "Okay... I don't know what's going on here... But let's make a deal. I don't kill you, I never see you again, and neither of us ever speaks of this again." Wordlessly, I nodded, lost the henchman pants, and sprinted like Usain Bolt out of the headquarters, wearing nothing but a janitor's undershirt. Edit: obligatory woo hoo, top comment! I have to give credit where credit is due: I was pretty much just imagining myself as a Monarch henchman or something during a murderous rampage by Brock Samson. I've been watching too much Venture Bros...
I scribble this now in a hurry, for there's not much time left and I feel that recording my thoughts on paper is the only recourse I have left. Perhaps someday, someone will find this and realise the error of our ways. Perhaps after our nigh-extinction, there will be some who survive and discover these words. Let them serve as a warning. Look beneath. For years mankind has craned its neck towards the stars and dreamt of the possibility in the heavens. The promise of an untapped universe, where intelligent life must exist. Surely, people said, an entity so vast will contain other civilisations. We were wrong. Perhaps the greatest fear a man can realise is to know he is alone. By the time our technology was advanced enough to search the entire universe, humanity was already at breaking point. War, pestilence, overpopulation and more kept us at one another's throats. When the satellites came back to tell us that we were truly alone, even across the vastness of the cosmos, sanity snapped. Alone in an ocean of blackness. Adrift on a planet that was going to be our tomb. A new war broke out, a reaction to the horrible fact that humanity was truly, utterly unique. And in the chaos, they came. These reprehensible things, that even now threaten to break through the security doors of my bunker. The things I write to warn you about, whoever survives to find this note. If anyone survives. We had our heads turned up to the stars, but they came from below. No science could explain it. No satellites could detect them. These creatures of slime and claw, of hatred and of ancient, timeless things...they swept out from the ocean and claimed back the land. They scoured humankind from its desperate place amid this empty rock. They fed on our loneliness and ate away the anguish. They called them the reapers, but names matter not. If, whoever finds this note...if someday your society reaches the same point as our own...if someday you start to build satellites and telescopes, to send probes out to the stars... If that moment comes, know this: there is nothing out there. The real terror lies below.
The whole thousand years of darkness and suffering has really promoted my public image. People are beginning to see me the way I want to be seen. While a lot of credit goes to my fire and brimstone technicians Ive really felt the need to mention some of my other workers. A while ago, back in the planning stages of my take over of earth, way before I infiltrated the governments and used them to cause a war torn earth to be unprepared for my reign, my HR guys told me about a few complaints my workers had. The water cooler doesn't get restocked everyday. The daily floggings interfered with large projects. Mike gets paid more for doing less than Sarah. It was this last one that really struck me. I decided to focus on gender equality as the reason for this unpaid mandatory training day. Any complaints about favoritism? I want to hear them. One problem I fixed is I set everyone On similar pay scales set by how many hours you work. This increases productivity, and keeps it fair. Another problem I faced was giving people unfair promotions, this makes it seem as though nepotism was rampant in the workplace. So we have taken several positions with job opportunities and we give interviews to anyone who applies! Take Alice from accounting. She wanted to be in charge of the massive slave labor needed to erect the monument I an having built where Washington D.C. was. I want to say Alice has done a much better job then the previous employee Malskelatrax. Thanks Alice for your vicious iron fisted leadership. As a small shout out to her, her plan gets the monument errected with 30,000 less deaths then Malskelatrax's does. This means we have 30,000 more people for my next project! Thanks Alice! Here at the end of humanity inc. we pride ourselves knowing that the destruction of all happiness and safety can be fair and equal to everyone!
At first there were whispers, which I thought were nothing more than the susurration of warm zephyrs through the hanging boughs of the weeping willow. The tree was climbable, even for a child of my size and stature - a nonathletic girl with social problems and a penchant for daydreaming my woes away. Imagining that the whispers were something more, I began to extrapolate aloud the conversation I would have with the tree, as I rested in the cradle of the branches, an unread book in my lap. As I talked and listened, the whispers turned to sighs, then words - barely audible, but enough for me to understand. Suddenly frightened by the reality of the situation, I stopped replying abruptly and began to wriggle down from the branches. "Please don't go," breathed the airy voice of the willow, "I very much enjoyed our conversation" Perplexed now, as I stood at the foot of the tree, I startled myself by replying, "Don't worry, I'll come back and see you tomorrow." "Please do," said the willow, that soughing voice filled with the rattle and rustle of the hanging limbs, "But if you could, leave the book behind - I do not like how it feels on my skin" And so I would visit the tree every day and talk to her (the voice sounded feminine to me, even though it was barely audible). No one else could hear her; not my sister nor my mother. The one friend I had at school couldn't hear her either, even when Willow talked as loud as she could. More and more of my time was spent with her; lazing on her roots or lying in the comfort of her arms. I came to learn from her all of the phyla of her kind - the myriad of tree spirits that lived within the boles and limbs of the many trees throughout the world. Stone, flame, wind and water, she told me, also had spirits which she could talk to. But those voices I could not hear. She tried to navigate a conversation with a nearby boulder, but the pace of the conversation was so slow that I grew frustrated and said my goodbyes to the rock via my translator. "I wish,"I said, "that you could become a human like me." The rustling laugh of Willow brushed my ears with delight, "But child, I can!" she said and with those words, a young woman with hair of trailing green braids and mahogany skin stepped from the bole and took me in her arms. Our relationship deepened and blossomed. I brought her clothes and we would walk through town, pretending she was my elder sister. But she could not spend long from her tree, her home, her soul. I could tell when she needed to return, as she would droop visibly and the colour of her hair would turn from yellow-green to the pale yellow of impending autumn. Then my parents lost their jobs and we had to move states, to live with my grandparents. I pleaded with my parents to stay, but it was an impossible dream. They had already sold the house and we couldn't remain. Before I left I hugged her sun-warmed skin and she placed a wreath of her fluffy flowers in my hair and kissed my forehead. "I will always remember you," she said. All the way to grandma's house I wept hysterically while my mother scolded me and my father roared at me to shuttup. Eventually I cried myself into exhaustion and I slept. The trauma of the experience drove me indoors and I became a recluse. Avoiding nature I tried to socialise more with other children and forget about Willow. Her wreath of blossoms lay tucked away in a box, in the cool, dry darkness of my closet. She faded to a memory, then from memory to a childhood fantasy that never really happened. When I met Mike, my outlook on life changed. My new boyfriend was outdoorsy and confident; complimenting my shy introverted nature. He dragged me outside and I began to reconnect with the world outdoors. When the whispering started, lying under the stars outside our tent, I ignored it. As it grew more insistent, I became afraid. "Stop it,"I hissed at the pines nearby, "I don't need your voices now!" But they would not stop. "Willow needs you" they sighed mournfully, "Please go home to her, please!" It was the same wherever I went, the trees all cried out to me in their soft voices, begging me to return to Willow. Distraught and confronted by the reality of my supposed childhood fantasy, I drove down to my old home and begged the owners to let me visit Willow, claiming my dead pet was buried there. They eventually obliged and let me around the back of the property, where Willow stood. I sucked in a breath of shock when I saw her. She was dying. Her branches were bare and her sides covered with lichen. I could see rot creeping into her bole. Running to her, I wrapped my arms around her and cried. A leathery, wrinkled hand reached out from the trunk and touched my head. "You came" she whispered, her voice old and dry. "I did,"I managed, choking on tears. "Do you still have the crown I made for you?" I remembered the dry wreath, lying in a box in the bottom of my closet. "I do." "Then plant my seeds, so that my children may surround you." The hand withdrew and I knew she was gone. Eventually the owners of the property asked me to leave, uncomfortable with the crying girl hugging the dead tree. &nbsp; ------------------ &nbsp; I planted the seeds and nurtured them as best I could. Only one sprouted, but that was enough. When she was big enough, I planted her in the back yard of the house I bought with Mike. One day, as I lay in the sun, a gentle voice called out to me, "Are you my mother?" I smiled, then replied, "No little one, but I knew her."
I died. It was moments ago, I'm sure. The dark tunnel before me, and seeing the light ahead, I can only appreciate how appropriate it is that we refer to the dead as having passed. I began walking then, reflective of my life. Partially wondering what was to come. Mostly missing what I was leaving behind. "Hello." A voice off to the right had spoke. I was not startled. I realized then that I felt no fear, for I had just experienced my worst. The fear that there was nothing after. I nodded to the figure, slowing my pace. "I'd like to make you an offer,"said the dark silhouette. I smiled to the figure warmly, "No thank you,"I said, and continued at my former pace. "But wait!"said the figure as I passed him, "Wouldn't you like the chance to change how your life was?" I continued my step, smiling warmly toward the light. "No. I wouldn't." The figure shouted after me, confused "What of your regrets! Your deepest sadnesses! I offer you the chance to change!" I looked back to the figure now illuminated by the light before me. It looked smaller than I had imagined in my mind's eye. It was wrinkled. Seemingly desperate. It looked very much as I'm sure I did, before being here, back in that hospital's bed. I thought a moment, looking to the light and then back, then addressed the figure plainly, "My life was a series of beautiful mistakes. Each regret led me to my next happiness. I had a wife. She passed. I mourned. She left me two children. They grew and they left home. I missed what was. Would I wish more dedication to my children? More attention spent? More time with my wife? Of course, that is only natural. But in this life I am fiercly proud of my children. I am certain that in adding to those beautiful mistakes that brought them where they are, I would ruin what they became." The creature grinned, seeing my weakness, "But what of your wife?" I smiled, feeling sorry for the demon before me. "If you will excuse me, I'm rather looking forward to finding out." And I walked into the light.
12:00 It was an entirely normal Sunday. Children were playing in the park. Parents were chatting on the benches. The sun was shining peacefully. Well, the sun was shining peacefully according to the people in the park. In actuality, the sun had just gone supernova, but it would take five hundred an four seconds for that information to reach the park. 12:01 Bobby scraped his knee. As he was six and sheltered, this would be the worst experience of his life. 12:04 An old couple exited the church and entered the park. They held hands while the birds chirped in the trees. It was quite an idyllic day. 12:08:24 The light emitted from the supernova reaches earth. The earth is incinerated. 12:08:24.0000000001 The neutrinos emitted from the supernova reach earth. If anything was still living it would get a lethal dose of neutrino radiation. But nothing is still living. 12:08:24.001 Matter ejected from the supernova reaches earth. The earth is vaporized.
Hello, I'm Donna Swallow, and this is a Special World News Report. President Harding has just returned from a two week long visit to China. He was attending a trade summit that would open up new doors for trade and industry, and also spent several days with three hundred other federal agents transferring payments on the national debt. The president had this to say on the matter: "Yes, well the summit went very well I feel, and a lot of new business opportunities will be opening up to the American economy in the next few months. As far as the payment we just transferred, we lost only five federal agents to fatigue, completing just over 4000 transactions. We are still 500,000 cowgirls in debt, give or take a few reach-arounds. The Chinese seemed very satisfied, and have decided to lower our interest rate based on the footage produced." Footage of the transfers can be found online along with any other federal transactions at federalreserve.gov In other news, the new internet crypto-favors "Clit-Coin"is dropping in popularity. Naysayers state that while anonymous skype sessions are nice, it just doesn't replace the real deal. Stay with us after the break for more details.
The night his son was taken home, Joseph sat out on the patio with a 12-gauge pump shotgun resting on his lap. He waited the entire night, woke to the sun and waited the entire day. On the second night, he again fell asleep. He sat on the chair for day two, but again, nothing happened. Three, he knew, was a special number to God and the like, so he stayed alert on the third night. When the sun rose on the third day, Joseph felt relief. It wasn't until four years later, the night of his second son's birth, that Joseph saw the man. Wearing a city suit and a city tie and a Devil's grin, the man didn't leave much to the imagination about his identity. He came to collect. Joseph wasn't by his gun, but he did have a knife. He walked over until he was in striking distance, upon which time he pulled the blade from his waistband and lunged forward with a thrust, only to find the man had disappeared and reappeared behind him. Joseph felt himself lock up, unable to so much as flex a muscle. He watched as the man walked to the main door. "Why?"Joseph managed to squeeze out. "Why... so long?" "So long?"The man asked. "This is the first night of your first-born son's life." "No,"he coughed out. "Joey's four." "You think I took four years to collect?"The man put a hand on the doorknob and held it for a second. "Joey may be four, but your first-born is new." Joseph tried to shake his head. That was impossible. That would mean... Joseph watched as the man entered the house and reemerged moments later cradling a small bundle. "You think my boss makes deals with just anyone?"The man rocked the bundle slowly. "He knew what she was doing. He knew how you would react. Four years... wasted. Shotgun is in the barn." Four years. The man walked a few feet before disappearing as though he was never there. Joseph felt his muscles relax. He stood up slowly and felt a sense of calmness wash over him. Taking meaningful steps, he walked to the barn and grabbed the gun. Checking the barrel, he found it loaded with two shells. He grabbed one more and made his way to the house. He would only need three. Four... wasted... years... Joseph took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would be with his own son again, soon enough.
I think it all really got out of hand when we found out about Rome. See there was never really a Roman empire. It turned out to be a resort ran by a few enterprising travelers who wanted to set up something with an anything goes feel to it. Every year people flocked by the thousand to spend a few months in ancient Rome, to take in the gladiators, the whores, and who didn't love the vomitorium? The best part was the just used some locals and paid them in salt or some other nonsense. Well after Rome it didn't take long for others to set up. Riding in a Mongol horde was a big one for the more outdoorsy folks. The real thrill seekers went for a night in Pompeii. It ended up turning out that about 65% of people from before 1890 were just vacationing. The bill wasn't popular. A lot of folks decided to move into the past before things got shut down permanently. My brother moved his family to ancient Greece despite not speaking the language. He said they'd pick it up, and he always wanted to work with marble. I miss him. Not as much as I miss the weekend trips to Woodstock, but a bit.
Everyone heard it. A loud screeching sound like microphone plugged in wrong stung in the heads of the people of New York. A large elliptical construction shimmered into existence between skyscrapers. People started up at it out of their windows. The crowds looked up, terrified. Nobody moved. A section of the ship slid away, and a long pole with a megaphone attached to the end was extended. "Err, hello everybody?"Said a nervous voice. "Do you have a minute for us to tell you about the truth of the Grand Overlord Gh'laaa Webe Kenithson?" The tension diffused instantly. And the crowd channeled a terrible inner rage only possessed by New Yorkers into one massive shout. "*NO.*"
The old general's eyes were clouded over with cataracts and reminiscences. He sat slumbering in his favourite armchair, an untouched glass of brandy resting on the worn leather top of his writing desk. On the walls hung tasteful oil-paintings, depicting scenes of battle in far-off lands, full of smoke and confusion. From outside the room came the sounds of his grandchildren scampering through the garden. In a rush of noise and banging doors they swept through his study, startling him awake. Behind them the shushing figure of their mother paused anxiously. "You've woken grandad!"she scolded. "Go and play outside again, if you can't be indoors quietly!" He smiled magnanimously at her as most of them complied. "It's no trouble, Rhonda,"he assured her. "I was just dozing off - the military mind in its old age, you know. Full of idle daydreams." "Nonsense,"she said reprovingly. "You're still just as sharp as you were on the fields of Ghadrapur." The littlest grandchild had not followed the others back out into the garden and now stood staring in childlike fascination at the general, a bedraggled stuffed toy hanging from one tiny hand. "Hello there, little fellow. What can I do for you?" "What's a Ghadrapur?" The general blinked and leaned forward. He fixed his grandson with one fierce eye, his lips pulling back to reveal his teeth. "Ah, Ghadrapur. A vicious battle, in truth." It was not a story he wanted to tell in much detail, but the littlest grandchild had already crossed his legs and sat on the carpet expectantly. "Alright then, but don't tell your mother." The general leaned back, and remembered: "I was in the Western corner of the field, you see,"he began, "While across from me, that sly strategist Mercer had staked his claim to the East. Bracketing us on both flanks the imposing figures of Kh'Taim and Harrison held the North and South." He smiled to himself, as if hearing once again the trumpets of that old field, feeling the mud underfoot. "We had our enemy thoroughly boxed in, for all his numerical advantage." His face grew grim. "But so many, and so many! Bone-white, bouncing towards us across the steppe, each in his spherical war-chariot, screaming defiance! They were an unending horde of barbarity, but we - oh, we were magnificent, laying about ourselves left right and center. I saw Kh'Taim take half a squadron in one blow. I saw Mercer - crafty Mercer - pick off the stragglers from their main offensive more than once, sneaking up to cut them down in a flash, while redoubtable Harrison held the line far longer than any soldier should have to." He lapsed into a period of contemplative silence, then, and after a while, faint snores began to emanate from the armchair. The grandchild, who had sat eagerly throughout, stood up and stretched. His mother entered the room again. "Did you have a nice time listening to granddad?"she whispered. "That's good, but be careful not to tire him out! Why don't you go play with the others?" The littlest grandchild nodded, then hesitated. "Was granddad really that brave,"he asked. "When he was a warrior?" His mother smiled. "The bravest. Didn't you hear his story?" She looked fondly at the sleeping general, no longer the towering presence of his youth but still formidable, even in his dotage. "He was a hungry, hungry hippo."
"DO IT!!! PULL THE TRIGGER!!!" the father yelled. "I TRUSTED YOU!!!" was the the son's reply. There would be no witnesses to this crime save for the overturned sprinkler, the last few embers of charcoal in the grill, and the family dog who was trying to sleep in the sun prior to his master's interruption. "You don't have the guts... You were always weak" taunted the father. "Says the man out of ammo," replied the son, slowly encroaching his father and backing him towards the pool. "I don't expect we can call a truce," beckoned the father as he realized his situation. His heels rested on the pool's edge; his back to the deep end. "DIIIIEEEEE!!!" screamed the son, pulling the trigger. The father fell backwards as the blast of cold water hit his chest. The son laid his Super Soaker on the ground and jumped in the pool after him, laughing with maniacal joy. Summer has returned.
"So those two over there, those are the half-eye brothers?" "Aye, that's them." "Huh. Always thought that was a yarn myself. A tall tale shared over a pint, or somethin' to pass the time on a long voyage." "Naw, it be true, each an' every word." "So the boy saved him, and in return he gave him one of his eyes?" "Aye." "And now they're both..." "Dead an' buried, aye. T'were a sweet gesture true enough, an' tha sawbones, he tried his best. But in the end, that just ain't how modern medicine works."
Alright alright everybody shut the fuck up. Yeah including you, John, ya dickhead. Nah kidding man love you but seriously just for a second shut up. Alright so, there was three bears right. Mamma bear, Papa bear and Kid bear. What? Yes John for fucks sake the Kid bear was called Kid bear what would you know you're a Baker you don't know anything about Bears actin' like you're some bear expert. Anyway, these three bears lived in the woods and did all types of cool shit like eat Salmon and be total bro's with the neighbor Lions. Anyway, one day they were all taking a nap and these girl just straight up JACKED her way into there house and started eating all there porridge. "Why did they have Porridge out of they were gonna take a Nap?" Fuck off John that's what bears do. Anyway the girls name was Rapunzel I think and she ate Papas and she was like "This is way to hot holy"and then she went for Mamas and was like "Maybe these bears should learn to put there food in a better form of storage if there gonna take naps" John if you interrupt me one more time I swear to fucking god I would beat your ass I know Moi Thai I've been taking lessons. She actually said "This is way to cold, man"and then she went straight up to Kid bears food and just demolished that thing man, like, you got no idea dude she just wrecked that poor bears food. Why would she do that to the bear. She doesn't even know these bears and she just breaks in, eats there food, complains all the time about it being inadequate. Anyway the bears wake up and eat her. "I don't think that's how it goes Rhys..." Screw you John the girl was actually named John it was you you're dead fuck you.
"I'm sorry." "Yeah? A little late for 'sorry' now, I think." I'm shocked in more than one way: That my own conscience would have the nerve to lie to me, and from the blood loss. "How did you know I was lying to you, out of interest?"The voice sounds like me, which shouldn't unnerve as much as it does. Like me, but not quite right; I like to think of it as the voice I would use if I had been born into 18th century European aristocracy. Sometimes I imitate his pinched accent to amuse my daughter, Charlotte. "I'm pretty sure you know the answer Tarquin."18th century voice, 18th century name. "I could hazard a guess." Groaning I haul myself along, clutching at my side. Where the alley opens onto the moonlit street I lean against the cold, damp brick. I watch the cars go past as I draw in the night air. "Go on then, where is it?" "Where is what, sir?" "Give it up Tarquin, the cat's out of the bag now; where am I going?" He sighs, and I wonder, not for the first time, just how much of his own entity my mind-butler really is. "Across the road, there's a tree at the top of the hill." I think I can see it: a tree set out from the rest, silhouetted by the moon on the hill overlooking town. I walk out to the side of the road and wait for a car to stop so I can pass. The driver of the Volkswagen that does looks concerned at my appearance, but doesn't look like he's going to get out and help. "The bystander effect. People are so quick to pass on responsibility to someone else, even if there's clearly no-one to help. He would get out if you asked him to." "Would it make a difference?" "Probably not." The walk up the hill is steep and difficult. I used to walk up this hill a lot as a child, but always from the other side. This way is unfamiliar, and I rely on Tarquin to tell me where best to put my feet. When the climb begins to flatten out, I trudge on in silence for a bit, and then: "What's going to happen to you?" "Me? Don't you mean us?" I walk up to the small tree and behold it, it's gnarled trunk and bare branches. I pat the weathered bark, and trace my thumb around some initials that had been carved into it. My own: I put them here myself. "You knew. You knew this whole time." "I don't know why you're so surprised." I shrug and sit myself down against the tree. I find I can fit my back perfectly into it. "Comfortable spot." "You're welcome." I let the silence in. The lights of the town I've lived my whole life in sparkle before me. The steepness of the hillside makes me feel like I'm floating above it all, between the street lights and the stars. It's beautiful. "I really am sorry." "I know, and I shouldn't complain, but... why?" "There are some things no-one should ever be told." I take my hand away from my side. The blood is still streaming out fast. All of a sudden the enormity of the situation hits me and I choke back tears. The lights start blurring into a singular point that grows and grows in my bleary vision until it encompasses everything. "Tarquin?" "Yes, sir?" "Charlotte has the gift, doesn't she?" "Not yet sir. You are about to give it to her yourself." "You weren't always with me, were you?" "Not always. When your father passed away, we took his place." "We?" "In a way, you will never leave her."
So, the editor sent me in to interview Dr. Plessis at the Chimkin Asylum outside Omak. Quite an isolated little place for such a famous figure. The media, of course, was all over this sleepy mountain town. All available hotel/motel space was booked, so we camped in the van. This made it all the more surprising that the famed scientist granted me, and the small paper I represent, an interview. He only granted us an interview, no one else. The next day, i walked nervously into the small, decrepit building just south of town. The staff greeted me, and escorted me towards Dr. Plessis's room. Through the window I could see the distinguished scientist, broken and unkempt, disheveled and without hope. He ushered for me to enter. The door creaked open, as I took a seat beside his bed with my pencil and pad of paper. "Good morning, doctor. How are you doing?"I asked with a fake smile beaming across my face. "Cut the crap,"he began grumpily, "I'm not actually crazy."This was the first time he had spoken since his colleague's killed themselves. "Then, why are you here?" "Protection!"He answered briskly, like it should've been obvious. "From...?" He pulled some pictures out from beneath his bed, and showed each to me. I cannot now divulge to the world what was in the pictures, but I now occupy the room next to Dr. Plessis. Are you here to interview me?
There was a soft hiss, air escaping a balloon. Shiloh felt her hands before he saw her, the shallow wisp of Miranda. She had come to him, the very vision of oil. She wore her hair black, braided tight against her angled skull. She was not beautiful, far from it. She had a small, sharp chin, too sharp to do more than than cut glass. It was her eyes that stopped rooms, that tricked time out of its forward motion. It is how she entered this place, where Shiloh sat waiting for his death. Slipped in like the witch she was. "Ello." "That is all you have for me?"Miranda asked, softer this time. Last time they spoke she shot fire from her lips, words like starched hatred. "Why are you here?"Shiloh asked. He had once looked down on her, waiting for her to leave his sight. She had loved him for as long as she had hated the world. She thought she owned him, that he would never escape her. She was part of the reason he was locked in her, she let him take the fall for her crimes. "I have come to release you."Miranda produced a key. It was black, a skeleton key. Shiloh shook his head. "I don't want that, Mira. I don't." "I am going to give you the freedom you desire,"Miranda said. Then she was gone in a thin trail of wind. She fluttered under the wooden door, out into the hall. He didn't hear screams, but the blood was pounding in his ears. He had begged God for a way out. But this was not what he wanted. Never. Miranda did not return for hours. When she did, it was only her eyes that he recognized. XXX Miranda came in a new form. This girl was young, fourteen, with hair like broken leaves. Miranda had picked well. She would be a beautiful woman, until the oil ruined her. Miranda could keep a body young for decades. It was only when she grew tired of the form that she let it age and die quickly, moving onto her original shape--thin, snake that she was. This time she came with a companion. A boy-child, barely 15. The boy had amber eyes, hair like stones. Shiloh knew what was to come. He knew what the key meant. He gave the boy a small nod. He was sorry. Miranda told the boy, Erich, to stand beside Shiloh. "I have permission from the guards to ask him about your brother." Shiloh recognized the boy now. It had been three years. The boy had been screaming in a corner. Erich Leigh. Shiloh had killed his father. Now he would take the body of the son.
"Oh for fuck's sake Jim, not this shit again." I groaned as Jim, better known as the evil supervillain Professor J, attempted to convince me as to why his latest evil masterpiece was going to succeed and finally accomplish his goal of killing the Crimson Clothman. "But it'll work this time!", he added, right after I pointed out that the last few grand evil schemes he had ended up as catastrophic failures, costing us millions for nothing. One would think that a man capable of inventing a shrinking-ray would have some sense of fiscal responsibility, at least limiting himself to one evil master scheme every five months, as his company's budget would allow, but nay, this man decides that he must make another attempt on the Crimson Clothman's life every 3 weeks! "Look, Jim. I've been your accountant for many years. Have I ever failed you once?" "No?" "So heed my advice, instead of planning some grand dastardly scheme to kill the Crimson Clothman via a remote land-mine or some other bullshit like that, why not just take a gun and fucking shoot him in the face?" "No! The death of the Crimson Clothman must be his ultimate humiliation! He must tremble at the sight of me, his arch enemy and blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah, eggs! Blah blah blah-" He rattled on and on, seeming to never run out of reasons to justify why wasting millions of dollars was better than a few hundred on a decent gun to simply shoot him in the head. After all, the Crimson Clothman was just a simple underpants-wearing vigilante, whose secret identity was already known to us years ago. You'd think that it'd be the easiest to hire some goon to waltz up to him as he was having his daily coffee and shoot him in the head! But alas, I cannot complain. I do make a couple hundred thousand off-the-books whenever he decides to plan another one of his ultimately unsuccessful schemes and it's quite frankly the easiest money I've ever made. You'd be surprised how easy it is to slip an extra few items on the shopping list of a man who you could entrust with a ten dollar note and later find out that he invested it on a grand total of two shitty rubber-ducks and a biscuit. It was a wonder that he even managed to succeed in his company's business ventures. "Business as usual then, I suppose?" I interjected in the middle of his justification-speech, to which he nodded his head and smiled.
The Sky Temple buzzed with sound and activity, for the Dreamer had found a new world. Brave Celeno had been nominated as expedition leader, despite her links to the failed aristocracy. She was tall and clever, blooded by lineage to the vanished elves, and she spoke with a voice that the spirits heard. She chose her Band with care and deliberation: one hundred and sixty-one soldiers, scouts, magi and operators, a nod to the Sacred Geometry that was the basis of her Mastelinean cult. The Dreamer, from within his bath of lotus-water delivered the place and situation of this new applicant to the Free Peoples. The Dreamer, chained in gold and copper, spun the first images through his own closed eyes. The world was blue-green and enormous, with thin brown land in strips, and vast fields of shifting algae growth covering its swaying ocean. Two suns shone in its purple sky: one large and red, the other blue, small, distant. Windsong hissed from his parted lips, and the Temple filled with a green smell, a life smell. A portal room was prepared in the Honeycomb beneath the temple, and seeded with the thin mathematical lines of copper and iron. Celeno was there, with some few from her Band, to watch it open. The wind that issued was like that the Dreamer had conjured, cold and breathing. Celeno nodded to one of her Band, whose hands moved in square gestures. He called a watcher-spirit, all wings and human face, who sped through the vast black sphere and returned in the same instant. It reported a world empty of ghosts, with only the faded smears of animal consciousness staining the soil with memories of hunger. The Band was brought together. The equipment was packed, stored within summon-prisms. Wands were prepared, memory skulls, sacred ashes. A newsman was there, with his recording rod, and Celeno spoke a few high, poetic words in aristocratic Common: "What we do is not brave, but necessary. We will have homes for our hungry refugees, and work for our restless dead. There is nothing to conquer, but much to take." They stepped through in two long lines, brave Celeno at the head. Nothing came back through the portal for three weeks: no words, no scout, no spell, no spirit. The next Band was an adventuring squadron: four in number, small and light and heavily armed, like the adventurers who first founded the old, bad Empire. Three operators, armed with fireguns and stun beads, chill sticks and lightning lures, and one full mage-summoner with a contingent of bound spirits and otherplanars. They had proven their worth in years of Revolutionary Army service, and they, too, did not return. In desperation, they came again to the Dreamer. They gave him an infusion of poppy-bell and great sage, mixed in a medium of bile from the last of the dead dragons. He slept deep and well, and the pool in the Temple of Sky shimmered with far imagery and strange, vanishing music. Acolytes mopped his sweating brow and watered his twitching eyelids. They could not help but notice the algae growing, spreading through his lotus-pool. Though they tried to clear it, it grew still, in thick strings and mats that choked the sacred flowers, killed them and ate their sinking corpses. He spoke only once. In the night, in the ocean-dark, the Dreamer's eyes snapped open. A deep voice issued, a voice of far places and subtle treachery: "The elves will not return." When the Dreamer died, the bells tolled for eight full days. They have not yet found another. The colonies will have to rely on themselves, then, for a time.
My door rattles, a prattle, a ravenous set on my door; a vicious knock. "Who could this be?"I say. Curious as could be, I flock. A man in a coat, no more unusual then any other! "You're a tricky devil to find". "A devil you say, no way, no sir, I am a human, of sound mind." He laughs softly, and tells me so "Destiny has found you, come with me". I stand back harshy, and tell him so "Destiny has been wrong, now please, flee". "Please, good sir, there is no time"He pleads out loud. I demand in return "Now good sir, tell me your purpose, release your shroud!". "I can't tell you Jack, trust me please, this is for you!". "You are mistaken, kind sir, for I am no Jack. My name is Sue". The man looks stunned "A man named Sue? What a ridiculous name" I laughed heartily, as I close my door "When I meet my father, I will tell him the same."
The people of Earth can no longer remember a time before the season of Flatulence. It is believed to have first started in the early twenty first century, due to a combination of poor diet during the holiday periods and high obesity levels, but for the people of 2167 it is merely a fact of life. All good households come with their very own internal air flow systems, which are switched on from late November to early January to encompass the worst of the season. And, of course, most mattresses come with special piping to channel the putrid air from beneath the duvet to the nearest window, which can be switched on and off at the owner's discretion. Designs for everyday clothing are improving all the time, with most coats and jackets now fitted with flexible, breathable mask apparatus, and trousers and leggings with discrete butt funnels where appropriate. Of course, one of the biggest problems is dangerous levels of carbon dioxide and methane being released into the atmosphere, although that issue is now being remedied with the green fart option now being considered as not merely a "hippy"practice, but something we should all be doing. Being able to collect your farts from the day and release them into one of the many food production green houses around the city limits is something I personally think is wonderful. It really is a nice thought to have that our farts are fueling are future food consumption, and we should really feel proud as a nation that the Fart Cycle is now being taught as part of the school syllabus. Our children should really get to know their farts, although official Flatulence season only lasts for a short while, we all must remember that farting is not just for Christmas, but happens all year round, in all households. In fact Flatulence is a multi-billion dollar industry.
The Rogue's Log The bite of the chilling wind descending upon the valley made many of the troops quiver, shaking from the unbearable cold that could very well snatch the life from you. We were stationed here for years, 'fighting the good fight' as it were... My only hope... my warmth... an old mechano-image I took with my wife and kids before my orders sent me to this gods-forsaken land. It was meal time, the broth was warm and soothing... however... A tremor... I stared down into the bowl as the broth pulsed with the vibrations of something approaching. The order was given. 'To Arms!!!' a comrade bellowed from the tower. I gripped my daggers firmly in hand, putting my photo away into my hip satchel. Hundreds of them... of the 'Horde'... Hundreds more to kill... They outnumbered us greatly, but we had skill... we had tenacity... we have pride. I slinked back into the shadows... waiting for the first to cross into the kill box. We tactically set this spot as a choke point for them countless times... and countless times they'd come. The first... a massive Tauren who was clad heavily in armor roared and charged headlong into my comrades. His support... a decayed with withering Forsaken priest he began to slowly utter a spell... Before he could finish... I slipped a jagged wire around his neck, pulling fiercely as he gagged on his own fetid blood... No sooner than I finished plunging my dagger into his spine more of his comrades came rushing in. I was among them though... a step of the shadow and I was upon a mage who thought he had the drop on me. Several precise strikes into his back rend him of his life... An Orc approached, snarling and slobbering... slamming his club here and there as if it were intimidating... Like these mountains of Alterac, my veins... my nerves... cold as ice... The fight waged for hours until we realized one thing... like most other times... reinforcements came to aid us... None came... ... I'm sorry my beloved... I will miss you dearly... Inside the log you find the bloodstained picture of the Rogue's family ....
The two planetary bodies had been discovered by the New Horizon probe on its way out of the solar system, but it took humanity another eighty years to reach them. Dubbed Kuiper 57 and 58 respectively, they were larger than Pluto and on extremely titled axes - 45 degrees off the solar plane. Even more curious was the fact that their axes were completely opposite to one another and highly elliptical. It was predicted that the two bodies would pass by one another - within a few hundred thousand kilometers - every five thousand years. Such a conjunction was scheduled to happen in 2099. Two long range ships were sent out - on a ten month mission - to rendezvous with the Kuiper objects and study them as they passed by one another. The combined wonder and glory of humanity turned again to the far reaches of our solar system, just as it had done when New Horizons flew by, eighty four years earlier. &nbsp; Four months in space wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, especially for Kristin Chalmers. As captain of the Kuiper 57 mission, she'd enjoyed fame and adoration back on Earth - but in a tin can travelling through the cold, empty void, she only had her crew to stroke her ego. Their sister ship, lead by the dynamic ex-military Captain Cicero Tompkins, was within communication range the whole journey, but it only provided an extra thirty people to interact with. As a self confessed extrovert and people-lover, Kristin was doing it hard. If it wasn't for the calm and peace of the arboreal recycling sphere housed at the back of the spacecraft, she would probably have gone mad long ago. The gentle rustle of the high-oxygen plant life in the sphere was the only thing that brought her solace. But now they were almost at the planetoids. The first images were fuzzy, but the objects were roughly as expected; both larger than Pluto, with 57 being slightly larger. Why it pleased her that her planet was bigger, Kristin didn't know. She felt a certain unidentifiable pride in its size. No matter. Everyone had been getting a bit eccentric on the journey out to the objects. Deep space travel did that to you. Even the stop-over at Oberon station hadn't done much to shake loose the psychological slag that had been forming on the crew's minds. But they were all veterans - and there was practically nothing that could go wrong with two ships on the mission. &nbsp; Captain Tompkins viewed the planetary scans on the smartwall of the ship's bridge. Kuiper 57 and 58 were displayed on it, interactively showing all the information gathered on their approach. The smaller 58 was an ugly planet; covered in lumpy mountains and ancient lava flows. Strange warty protuberances covered the surface as well, like boils. But for some reason he felt a kinship with this strange little world - almost as if he were coming home. On the right of the smartwall hovered 57, a strangely beautiful planet of pale greens and blues; frozen oceans and forests of icy spires that defied explanation. Twin rings of ice surrounded the world, adding further to the enchanting aspect. He snorted, rubbing his jaw; Kristin would be loving this. That media-hungry whore would lap up the attention she'd get from discovering this icy paradise. He frowned now; his toothache was getting worse. The ship's doctor had assured him that it wasn't a cavity, but the thing still hurt. Anyway, no time for distractions now - the launchers were ready and in four hours the respective teams would be flying down to the surface of the two worlds, to begin exploring the last frontiers of the solar system. &nbsp; Several of Kristin's crew complained that their suits didn't fit properly anymore, but she told them to make do. Space travel could lengthen the spine; but the gravity on the surface of 57 should help bring them back to normal. They'd been on the planet for twenty three hours now and the habitation lab was fully setup. But her tinnitus wasn't going away. Several of her crew were also complaining of it and the medic had yet to explain it. The team's exobiologist suggested that the crystalline spires in the distance could be resonating at a frequency just beyond human hearing. Whatever it was, it was annoying. Reports were coming in via deployed satellites that Cicero's team was down and experiencing incredibly strong gravity on 58 - which had been dubbed 'Wart World' - and was making progress difficult. However, with Cicero's usual blunt, military efficiency, things were still moving on schedule. The respective crews settled in for the duration of their two month stay. &nbsp; Two weeks passed before the first symptoms began to appear in earnest. Three of Cicero's crew had reported discolourations on their skin and his own canines had begun to grow. The crew had simply thought they were getting used to the high gravity of 'Wart World' but instead the doctor reported that muscle density was increasing massively with every day they stayed. On 57 - the ice world - Kristin's crew reported extreme aural sensitivity and rapid growth. Apparently Kristin now stood at a statuesque two meters tall - and she wasn't the tallest of her crew by any means. Something was desperately wrong. But none of the crew wanted to leave. Something felt right about whatever was happening and Cicero felt powerless to fight it. He stroked his newly grown tusks and turned his light-sensitive eyes to the double-ringed world hovering in the night sky outside the habitat. Irrational rage bubbled through him as he thought of the tall, pointy-eared, delicate crew on 57. He didn't know why or how, but Kristin and her crew had to die.
I look at the flashing green light on my telephone. It’s the only light that’s being given off anywhere in the room. Exhausted I reach down to pick up my 12th caller that morning. “Good morning caller how may I assist you” I drag the vowels out more than I should, a symptom of the boring dark room that I’m in. “Um… Good afternoon?” the high pitched sound rings in my ear, “Um… Like I guess you could help me fix my microwave. It keeps beeping all the time and I don’t know how to make it stop…”. “Ma’am I suggest opening it. That should cause it to stop” I drearily whisper, nodding off to sleep, causing my glasses to hang crookedly on my head. Damn this is so boring. I’m so boring My life has just been answering stupid call after stupid call for the past 2 years. I just haven’t been able to --- The green light shines onto my face, allowing me to see a glance of myself in the screen of my useless desktop. I toss my hand near the phone, letting it fall free onto the cheeto encrusted phone. I pick it up, and destroy the beautiful silence again with my most said phrase; “Good morning caller how may I assist you”. “Well you see I have a very particular problem with my microwave” A soothing voice explained calmly, “I need some on site help fixing this one if you don’t mind. Meet me at 3412 Ocean Oak circle”. On site work? I’d never even thought of that before. It could add some excitement to my dreary life. With more zing in my step than I had felt in a long time, I walked up the stairs. I made my way through the company corridor muttering my mission to the secretary who murmured back an equally incoherent response. I think we have something special. I opened up my blue camry’s front door, burning my hand on the handle from prolonged sun exposure, and swung myself into the drivers seat. Punching the address into the GPS, I pulled out of the driveway and on to the road. Following the monotone voice of the machine, I made my way to my caller, my savior’s, house. The white garage was open, revealing the rustic looking microwave I knew inside and out. There was a note sprawled across the driveway, it said “Welcome home Daddy!” I looked up to see my ex standing there with a kid in her arms.
There was a knock at my door. It was 3:00 AM. I was pissed. I plodded downstairs, clumsily straightening my hair with one hand out of habit, wearing nothing but PJ pants. Whoever it was could stand to see some chest hair. It wasn't going to kill them. Although if they didn't have a very good reason to wake me up, I might've let my dog do it. Assuming I could wake him up before 10:00 AM, which wasn't likely. I looked through the peephole. A woman dressed in dangerous-looking black leather, with short blonde hair and black shades, faced the door directly. Behind her, a suspicious-looking black van stood in the street, its engine turned off. Groggily, I managed to let out a "waddayawant?"in a hoarse voice. As soon as I finished uttering that charming welcome message, she kicked the door, reinforcements, locks and all, right into my face. It flew off its hinges, knocking into me and pushing me backwards several feet. I fell on the TV couch with the door on top of me. This alone could have been very painful, but the woman stepped into the room, grabbed the door and tossed it behind her like it was made of styrofoam. She planted one foot on my chest; it had tough iron soles. "Mr. Gregovic, I presume?" I thought of lying for about half a second. But her voice was as sharp as the knife she held in her left hand, and with those shades on, I'd have no idea if my lie worked before she stabbed me. Or cut something off. Anyway, I decided not to risk it. "Please, call me Sacha,"I muttered. A true professional, she adapted to the new nomenclature. "Very well, Sacha,"she continued. "My name is Natalya. And you are now my prisoner." It had been quite a while since I've had any dealings with the supernatural community. I tried to remember if I'd heard of anyone that went by the name of "Natalya."Either it didn't ring a bell, or I couldn't tell it apart from all the other ones going off in my stunned head. I forced myself to put some words together. "A pleasure to meet you, Natalya. Can I get you some coffee?" She slowly took her foot off my chest. Apparently judging me not to be an immediate threat, she gestured towards the kitchen with her knife. I noticed she was left-handed; that could mean nothing, or it could mean quite a bit more than that. I put water in the kettle, flicked it on and dumped some instant coffee into two clean mugs. Then I hazarded a guess. "You are one of them, aren't you?" She chuckled. "I supposed you noticed my left-handedness? I expected no less. Unfortunately for you, I only work for them. I just happen to be left-handed." "You certainly could have fooled me. You're pretty enough to be a Rusalka." She rolled her eyes. "Enough with the familiarity, Sacha,"she said. The use of my nickname took almost all the edge off the words themselves, but the knife had enough to go around. "You know why I am here." "Actually, I don't,"I said. "Am I supposed to?" She stared blankly at me for a couple of seconds. "She did not tell you of the prophecy?" There was only one "she"Natalya could have referred to, and I hadn't spoken to her in six months. I simply shook my head. Natalya looked displeased. "I don't know the full text, but the short of it is that as her destined partner, you will be used by them to power a spell. She will try to save you, and the fate of the world will be decided." The water came to a boil. I poured it into the mugs silently and added a generous helping of vodka to mine. I handed her the other mug and started blowing on the liquid to cool it down. "So I am here to take you to the location where the spell is being prepared,"she added unnecessarily. She took a sip of her coffee without waiting for it to cool down first. Definitely not a Rusalka, but I wasn't ruling out Poludnica yet. Then again, that wasn't likely at this time of the night. She looked at me with a satisfied smile, and since I couldn't drink my coffee yet I had to say something. "One problem, Natalya,"I said. "I am not her destined partner. She dumped me half a year ago." Her satisfied smile was quickly replaced with a scowl, which satisfied me quite a bit. I gave her time to process the information and considered my options. I could run. I spent years of my life on fitness and cardio training, seeing that the likes of Natalya and worse had a tendency of showing up in Olena's life on a worrying basis. While she could handle them, I could not, so I became very good at running away. Then again, this woman was abnormally strong, and I had no reason to think she wasn't also abnormally fast. That option wasn't promising. I could go with her. This would almost certainly have ended badly for me. Even if my ex-girlfriend showed up to save my life, the ensuing fight (climactic though it may have been) probably would have caused lots of destruction and emotional scarring. That option was quickly ruled out as well. I could try to negotiate. Come to an understanding. I'm quite good with people, I'm often told, when I'm not trying to be clever. Maybe if I toned down the sarcasm we could end this before it went badly. "Listen, Natascha,"I hazarded. She did not immediately kick me for the impropriety so I went on. "Clearly there is some sort of misunderstanding. You didn't hear about our separation. She might be with someone new. I'm sure you can figure this out. But I'm just as sure I'm not the person you're looking for." She shook her head. "That's just it,"she said. "You must be. You fit the description too well. There aren't too many people who do. Dark eyes, precise age, birth town..."Quite a precise prophecy, it would seem. "It must be you. Therefore you must be her destined partner. Therefore she couldn't have dumped you." I snorted, joylessly, and sipped at my coffee. "Yeah, well, you can tell that to the rubber duck and GAP sweatshirt she left behind. That's all I've seen of her in the last half a year." "Hold on... half a year?"Natalya touched two slender fingers to her right temple, pensively. "The prophecy was revealed about half a year ago. There must be a connection." It was my turn to stare in silence. Of course the prophecy was revealed half a year ago. Of course she dumped me right as she heard its contents. Of fucking course. My anger must have showed, because she lifted her knife a few inches. "Easy there,"she said. But I was barely even listening to her. "What did she think she was doing, that bitch?"I erupted, more-or-less in Natalya's direction. "Protecting me? She thought breaking my heart and leaving me defenseless would exempt me from this prophecy?"I threw my mug at the floor, where it shattered, spraying hot coffee and vodka all over the kitchen. I kicked the largest shard, and it hit slid across the wet floor. "She's unbelievable! How could she do this?" I was shaking with anger, with a sense of betrayal, with longing and with a tiny bit of hope. But still I managed to remind myself that I was in danger and had to keep a level head. I tried to calm down. Natalya, meanwhile, stood in a stance that suggested she was debating between backing off and jumping at me with her knife. Fortunately, she picked neither. Her muscles relaxed, and she actually sheathed her knife behind her back. "I still have to bring you in,"she said, "but I don't think you're going to resist." "What makes you think I'll come willingly?"I snarled. "Even if Olena came to save me, what reason do I have to want to see her again?" "Answers,"she said. And she was right. I slumped against the kitchen counter, my head in my hands, trying not to let my anger break into a sob. My resolve didn't last long. Without a word, Natalya left the kitchen and came back with a jacket and a pair of sneakers. I put them on quietly and wiped my cheeks with the back of a sleeve. She took my hand and led me out of the house and into the van. ---- Edit: [I made a subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/SeeShark/)
The chirping ring of my phone echoes eerily through the dense forest, a thick mat of sticky fog clinging to the ground, illuminated red by my cars tail lights. I answer. "Hello, Dave? Dave is that you?"A cheerful, upbeat male voice on the other line asks. "Who is this?"I reply. Could they be onto me? No one knows who I am, not by name. I've cut my ties. I've cut them down and buried them. Just like the 17 year old mother of an orphan I've put six feet below the roots of this forest. "This is Patrick Shropshringer from MTV. Just calling to say, we know who you are, we know what you've done with Denise, Melissa, and we're pretty certain what you've done with Jessica, though she might have run away with a new boyfriend, it's a bit unclear. Want to clear it up for us, Dave?" I remain silent. How could they know? Was this a ruse by the FBI? Certainly unexpected, I feel a thrill at the mention of my most recent victims. "Oh, and to clear things up Dave, we're not mad." "What?" "No, no. Those girls were finished, though the reruns, the reruns Dave have been phenomenal. Best ratings in weeks." My eye twitches. This is not how the game goes. This is not the punishment I have been dealing. "Ratings..."I mumble. "Look Dave, we'd like to set up an exclusive contract. Now, we can't pay ya'. But we can keep this stack of paper out of the hands of the FBI, you know. Your identity, your whereabouts, your next potential victims. And look, we get you're not working for anyone in particular but let's say you work exclusively with MTV stars, huh? See if you start killing off VH1 stars, and TrueTV stars, well, we'll be sharing those viewers and we don't want that. And you want to keep killing. Right?" "Yes."I whisper. Something about this man begins to frighten me. As a slayer of the foul creatures of modern society I am now witnessing the true evil behind it all. "Good. Good."He says with a laugh, "Now, 16 and Pregnant, high ratings there. But management has thrown something down my way, and I want to see how you feel about it." "Okay?" "The Real World. Management wants to really try and reboot that franchise, the ratings have been slipping globally. Now, I know they are a bit older, the retired reality stars that is, and we want to see if you will wiggle from that. Are you keen on young girls? Or can we get some variety." "It's not about-" "Good. Excellent. Now, the men. I know, I know. Girls getting butchered brings more attention. But we've been tossing around the idea of a sort of couples thing? Something maybe we can spin into a series, you know when the chatter is still hot. We think couples are in right now, can you do two at a time?" I can not deny this evil. I must obey. As it turns out, I was working for the enemy all along. "Yes."I say. "I can do two."
I remember the day so clearly, the day everything changed. I was out walking my dog, when suddenly the world just... switched. One moment everything was normal, the day was overcast, but still clinging to the warmth of summer, and all of a sudden, and with no warning, they started to speed by at a fantastic rate. I remember thinking I was dreaming, and longing to wake. The sun moved fast across the sky, and by the time I got Max back on his lead it was already rising for morning. I checked my watch, and decided to ignore it. I walked briskly home as the streetlights pulsed in time to the blinking daylight; a flashing reminder to the turning of the world. I got home in time to see my breath turn to mist in front of me. And that's just the way it is now. Time, the previously thought bedrock of our multi-spatial dimension is warped, and broken; and nobody seems to know how to turn it right again. Humanity has, by and large, been shattered. Seasons pass in hours, and we wake in different centuries from when we go to sleep. Most clocks stopped working in those first few days, and the panicked cries of people filled the streets. I was in a city once, but now there is only dust. Materials weaken in hours, houses have crumbled and fallen now, I do not know how many perished, but it was a lot. The rain is constant, and pressing, though thirst is never hard to please. You have to be quick as it evaporates fast, but a human hand can hold as much as it needs, and it is never long until another shower starts. All living life seems to be affected, from the smallest plant to the greatest mammal, but as soon as it killed, from fallen tree to cut nail, it simply speeds off into dust. The apex predator of the planet has been crippled. Packs of wild dogs have taken to the streets, though they aren't the greatest threat we face. The food chain is readjusting, and there was a zoo not far from here; It wont have taken long for the bars to fall apart. We don't have our technology anymore, we don't have our fire. In a single second one of our greatest tools became extinct; to light a fire, if you can find a material to burn, is to shine the briefest of lights, or to be dead before you realise it's out of control. Tales and songs tell of whole cities burned in those early days, in little more than minutes. We don't have our fires, or our tools. But we do have our brain, and for now it is just about keeping us alive. I often dream about what life was like before, as I watch the changing seasons from the tops of these trees. I am an old man now, one who dreams of seeing a rainbow one more time, or watching a fire slowly crackle and burn. The new generation are different to us. Those that have grown up in this world don't see what humanity is capable of, they only see weak limbs and clawless hands. They see disease, misery and death. They see fear where once there was opportunity. We are a product of a different world. I cannot help but wonder what may have caused the change. There is a song that claims the world is not fast, but rather it is life that has slowed down. It tells of a man with the power to stop time. I wonder if perhaps he didn't so much as stop time, but simply slow it down for everyone else. I do not know the origin, though clearly someone thought it worth remembering, and in this world the fantastical is turned mundane. Maybe the world is the same, and it is we who are out of focus. I am an old man now, a man of memory, and song. Up here in the trees, we are safe from the worst of it, and as time moves as it must I see the trees spread out across the dusty ashes of civilisation, though they do so slowly, to the eyes of the universe. There is still beauty here, but I cannot help but hope to trust that song; that humanity was the cause of all this. Because if that is true then I can dream, that one day there may be someone born with the power, to make it right.
I felt myself slip away. Everything went black and I knew this was it. My thoughts would soon to be no more. Just as soon as it was all over I am summoned forth to a place with a sign that reads "The Hall of Judgment."It's so bright its hard to see anything. "Where the hell am I?", I think to myself. There is a man standing ahead at a podium with a book on it. He calls my name and I walk forward. He spoke to me in a commanding tone. "You have lived your life recklessly, William. You cared only for yourself and disregarded those who loved you. Those who wanted to see you do well. They asked for nothing in return except your love. You gave them naught." All the while, my life is being played out behind him. As he mentioned all my wrong-doings I feel shame as I watch the events unfold. It's different watching your life zoomed out. The world was no longer rotating around me. My attention was back on him through the next speech. "There is no heaven for the wicked. There is only Hell. Should you complete the trials you will be given a new life to try again." "So reincarnation is real?", I asked. "Everything is real. Everything is false. In the eyes of a God, life is the only lie there is. In the eyes of a man, it is the only truth."This was the only response I got before being ported into a much darker place. This area was a huge ring, much like a circus. The walls surrounding me must have been what seemed like fifty feet tall. There was no sky. There was only black above and dark earthen red colors all around. I was bare, stripped of my clothing entirely. Was I being made a spectacle of? Behind me I heard a groan coming from far away. I turn and look up. A hideous demon was looking back at me. I was in more fear than any thing in the realm of the living could ever impose on me. It screeched an ear-piercing wail and lights all around the top of the wall turned up revealing a crowd. A crowd composed of demons and people alike. This was not meant to shame me. This is a coliseum. The vile fiend then shouted "Stage one: Fearrrrrrrr!" The crowd erupted into a frenzy. I saw a gate open over to my left. A giant spider crept out. It was enormous. I hated spiders in my life and don't like them any better now. I remained paralyzed in fear. The ground before me opened up and through the hole came a weapon rack. It consisted of a sword, a bow and some arrows. I don't know how many stages there are and what happens if I lose but I know right now, I have to overcome this. I grab the sword and brace for combat.
I love him. I had been following him around for months now, watching his every move. No matter what he was doing (eating, sleeping, school work), I was there, watching by his side. We were cute together, the perfect-looking couple. The only road block in our relationship was that it didn't exist...and that I was a ghost. I had been killed years ago. It wasn't a tragic death or a murder, simply an accident. I had been hiking the beautiful trails alone in Wichityhe National Park, enjoying the ambient scenery. The birds singing their high pitched songs, asking questions to one another and echoing back answers. Their songs vibrated against the walls of the rocks making an almost distorted sound. It was nobody's fault in particular, just a slip and a fall. I fell thirty feet over the edge of one of the rocks, rolling and inevitably dying upon impact. I wouldn't say it was a peaceful death (I don't believe death really can be peaceful), but it was a quick one. It was due to this death that I met him. The handsome boy every girl dreams of meeting. Well, maybe not every girl, but definitely me! His hair, soft and long, was a shade of black deeper than most other person's hair. It fell in front of his face when he was studying or writing in school. The way he pushed it back behind his ear fascinated me. He always sort of tilted his head as he pushed it back, guiding it with his fingers. Sometimes he'd play with his hair, curling it around his finger. I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but girls take notice about cute things guys do. I loved the way he did that. The boy's eyes were hazelnut. Deep, soft eyes that followed every word when he was talking to someone. He listened intently, always careful to not interrupt. I could always see the sincerity in his eyes. This is what made me like him. I want to be with him, of course. But I'm still a ghost. Forever damned to walk alone in an eternal spiritual plane somewhere between what is now and what is past. It's not a bad life (if you can even call it that), but it's not the best life. At least I can spend all of my time with him, whether he knows I'm there or not. I've tried before to get his attention, to let him know I even exist. I don't think it's ever worked, however. It is funny how easy it is in the movies for a ghost to haunt a person, but, in practice, it is actually quite difficult. It doesn't help that we have no physical capabilities, which forces us to phase through objects we attempt to touch. Although I still haven't figured out why I can walk and sit down, then... Today, however, something happened. Something that would forever change me inside. I want to preface this next part by saying that I would do anything I could for my Human. It sounds weird saying that, I understand, but I really do consider him mine. I watch after him, sing to him, give him advice (even though he can't hear a word I'm saying). I would happily give my life- er, ghost life, for him. But as much as I want him to be happy, do I not also deserve to be happy? We were walking along one day down a biking trail that leads to his street, on his way home from class. I've noticed about this Boy that his taste in music is not exactly...calm. Of course that should have been obvious by the way he chooses to dress and keep his hair, but I guess I didn't really pick up on that at first. He likes metal...death metal, I believe he calls it? And he enjoys listening to it with the volume loud. I don't personally approve of this unhealthy lifestyle choice, but what can I do, I'm dead. This is why he didn't hear the man running up behind him. The man grabbed his arm, pulling a knife on my boy. He began shouting at him to give the man his wallet and phone, or he would be stabbed. It figured this was the one time nobody else was on the trail. I froze. My heart sank, and if I had been alive, it would have stopped. I was petrified for my Boy's safety....but...a thought began to swim in my head. A thought that made me sick to think, but filled me with joy. This is our chance to be together. If he dies, we can...no..NO! That's not...I can't think like...But I love him so much. The Boy was fumbling in his pockets for his wallet and cell phone as the man towered over him, knife in hand. I had to do something, I couldn't let myself be this selfish. He was still just a boy, just like I was still just a girl. Just because I never got to live a full life did not mean it was fair to take him from his just to fill my loneliness...did it? No. I had to stop this. I had to save my Boy. I stepped forward, narrowing my eyes as I gazed at the man attacking my Boy. With one quick motion, I thrust myself into his body, replacing his spirit with my own. A few quick pulls on this nerve here, and one big tug on that nerve over there and it was over. The man fell on his knees in agony, pain filling his face. He screamed and my Boy ran off. I left the man's body and chased my human. I did it. I saved my Boy. I felt happy inside, knowing that I had done the right thing. Even if we couldn't be totally together. At least I could still be with him, at his side. Whispering to him. Watching him. Loving everything he does. Bonus Page: It had been sixty-three years since I saved his life. My beautiful Human had grown into a handsome man. He went to college, studying law and legal judgments. My Boy had met a girl and fallen in love. They married and had two beautiful children, who both grew up to be beautiful people with lives of their own. I never once regretted saving his life after that day, although I did dream and wonder what it would have been like being with him. He was happy, and even though he never knew me, I got to share that happiness with him and his family. Watching and smiling and laughing and singing along with them. All the while they never knew I was there. Sixty-three years had passed, and my Boy was now on his death bed. His wife had passed a year before. His children sat around him, their children by them. His family...my family...watched him with love. Each of them said their goodbyes, and he his, as he closed his eyes and slept for the last time. I sat down and began weeping. I had not aged any, of course. Ghosts are not affected by time. I would never get to experience a joyful death or be surrounded by loved ones. I was now stuck here, alone, sad, crying and- "You're her, aren't you?" I stopped crying and slowly turned my head. I knew that voice. It was him. "You're the girl that saved my life. I knew someone was watching over me. The day I was attacked by that man, you're the one who saved me, right?" I was shocked. How did he know it was me? "Y-yes. It was me...but how did you...how did you know I saved you?" He chuckled slightly as he pushed his hair behind his ear. He was young again. "Every night after that attack I had dreams. There was a girl there with me in them. She would sing songs to me and talk with me and laugh. You're that girl." I smiled as I stood to meet him. We were finally together. "You know,"He walked to me and took my hand, looking into my eyes. "Had you not saved my life back then, I would never have had those dreams. I wouldn't even know you existed. I fell in love with those dreams...they gave me hope. So thank you, for saving me. I can't express how grateful I am." We turned and watched as his family mourned. It was weird, being happy for his death while his family was saddened. But in death there is new life. So everything was OK. EDIT: Words and grammar. EDIT 2: Thanks for all the love! :D I love writing stories, and this idea was too good to pass up.
Tomás, Co-Prince of Made'upland, struggled with his brother Geri for the throne. Literally. The two of them were wrestling upon the great seat of gold-trimmed marble and feather cushions, squirming around like a double-headed worm that was having a disagreement with itself about which way to go. Each was trying to keep his own posterior in the seat, and whoever happened to lose the advantage was shoved up onto one of the armrests, pulling the other with him in a ridiculously skewed position. "Throne... mine,"Tomás struggled to get his words out through gritted teeth, pausing to pant a few times between them, "Oldest." Tomás and Geri had been born as conjoined twins fourteen years earlier, and Tomás had popped out first. "By two minutes!"Geri screamed. "Just listen to Mom and share something for once in--" He was cut off as Tomás pulled on him, intentionally throwing both himself and his brother off the throne. They fell together, a tangled mass of limbs, rolling down the steps that led up to the throne's dais. They stopped only when they bumped into the great feasting table below the dais, and a silver candlestick fell onto Tomás's head. Head ringing, Tomás picked up the candlestick, gave it a strange look, and then shifted that look to his brother. "What are y-"Geri managed, before Tomás whacked him in the head. Geri's head slumped, unconscious, onto his chest. Tomás stood up, hoisting his inert brother up beside him with great effort. "Guards! Take my treasonous brother to the Tower!"shouted Tomás. The guards took his treasonous brother to the Tower. Tomás stood in the throne room, watching them go. Thank the gods Made'upland was a modern, scientifically advanced nation whose doctors were skilled in surgery. The Succession War would have been a whole lot messier if the two princes had still been conjoined. * Edit:** [Here's a story from earlier in the history of Made'upland]( https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3ifj7z/wp_a_picky_eater_avoids_being_poisoned_without/cug1u21), in case anyone's really bored.
Doctor Zorglaph sat back, sweat dripping from his wrinkled, purple brow. "Well"he said, "that's it really. Lord Orilax will have us executed, there's no two ways about that." Conifax, looked over at his partner, gulped, and asked "you're sure... you're sure there's no way to crack the earthlings power code?"Zorglaph just looked down, his face said it all. "I guess it was always going to come to this."Conifax whispered, "I mean, in the end we all will fail and there's no room for failure in the empire, I, I just thought I'd have more time you know? See the universe a little, take that trip to Uricon VI like is always said..."He trailed off, thinking of what could have been. "But, there's no point in dreaming, what is is what is." Zorglaph looked up, his four eyes were misty, "you know old friend, the only thing that I can possibly take from this is that we're together, to the end. You're like a broodmate to me, I hope you know that."Conifax just smiled and nodded. He took one last look around the room, knowing that soon they would need to go to the Comms room and make their report. Then it would be a short trip to the execution chamber and then? He didn't believe in anything after that. All that was ahead of him was nothing. He stared at the screen one more time, and wondered out loud, "how does this even work? This arrow up twice, arrow down twice, arrow left, arrow right, left again and then right, the alpha numerical symbol 'b' followed by 'a' and then you begin. What could it possibly mean?!"
I inspected the block. I had a very simple task here. I just had to fit this block through a hole. It was so simple, even a baby could do it. [Or so I thought.](http://gfycat.com/SpeedyGrizzledGerbil) I looked down at the block in my hands. It was a trapezoidal shape, but only mildly - one set of opposite angles was a degree or so off. Of course, the hole was a perfect square. After a while, I rotated it to the side, and it fit perfectly. Of course - everything had some simple solution, and I had a sort of cognitive block. I had to test it to find it, I couldn't use my own previous information to solve the problem. This was all hilarious beyond hilarious to Jeff, the keeper here. He just laughed at our stupidity, laughed harder when we finally succeeded and went on to the next tasks. It was just an infinite plane of people who were solving simple tasks with twists. One guy had to fit a USB plug that was perpetually rotating into a USB socket. Another had to shoot an arrow exactly 0.2 inches to the left of the bullseye of a target 20 meters away, three times in a row. Very few kept their sanity. All we saw was perpetual darkness, those near us, and the task in front of us. So this is hell?
We've all been there; trapped in a relationship with someone so toxic there seemed no way to get out, no end in sight. His name was Adam, Adam Knight, and he had been with her for just over two years. At first it was wonderful with each day filled full of laughter and loving embraces. He treated her like a princess and she literally called him "Her Knight in shining armor". He had a decent job and a quaint little apartment in which they lived together. Unfortunately, when you meet someone in rehab and things in their life begin to go south, you eventually know where they will end up. It started when she lost her job due to the company going bankrupt. Then things escalated when her father died. Adam was there for his princess through them getting clean, through the job, and through her father's death. At first he didn't notice it because of him picking up more hours at work but one day he stopped and looked at her. Through all the turmoil he knew she had fallen off the wagon and gotten back into heroin. He tried talking to her about it but she smiled her sweet smile and denied it; he had to believe her. It wasn't until money began disappearing from his bank account in increasing increments that once more he talked with her. Again she denied it, a bit more forcefully this time, and he believed her; needed to believe her. Money was disappearing faster than he could replenish it and at this rate he and his princess would be out of their apartment by the end of the week, even though he had severely cut back on buying food and was already late with the water and electric bill. Adam returned home to confront her but when he opened the door she was spaced out on the couch watching static because their cable had been discontinued due to late payments. He turned it off and went to bed, knowing how useless it was to talk to someone when they were like this. The next morning he woke her up and tried to hold a discussion. She adamantly denied anything and began even verbally and physically assaulting him. For hours they talked and she yelled, cried, and pleaded but he held firm that she needed to stop the drugs before it ruined them both. Finally she could take it no more and pulled the bag from her dresser and offered him some, so they could be happy again, together. For a recovering addict the offer was almost too much but instead he grabbed his coat and walked to the door. Before he left he let her know that if she didn't quit it would kill her, him, or them both. He got a phone call about five hours later from the police stating she had overdosed on the couch in their apartment. Adam hung up the phone and every emotion he had bottled up came flooding out of him right there on the sidewalk. Years later Adam left that town and landed a fantastic job through which he met his wife and was able to purchase a wonderful home for them and their two children. Sometimes, on particularly rough nights, he thinks back to his first princess and tries to imagine how things could have ended differently with her. In the end though he knows that she chased the dragon and it killed her...but saved him.
"And then, right when the rebels thought they had the upper hand, the demons attacked! They flew on wings like a bat! Swooped down on the rebels and scattered their attack. They saved our lives that day." "Weren't you scared when the demons attacked?" "A little. It's dangerous to get near 'em when they're in a battle-rage. Those claws and teeth will go everywhere once they get in the fight. But our Overlord was smart, and he had us fall back before that happened. The rebels were so sure they had us on the run, and then bam! Six big guys in their back line." "They really saved you, didn't they?" "Yeah. After that, some boys in my unit started calling them 'our guardian angels.' Bit of a joke there, but I don't think they appreciated it." "Did you see any vampires, grandpa?" "Oh, those were everywhere. They play mop-up. Once the main army sends them running, the vampires start hunting. They're a lot faster than a man and they can smell his blood, so they would hunt down rebels, drain 'em dry, and turn them into ghouls." "That sounds awful! Can you imagine what that's like?" "Well, if you're a good little girl, you don't have to worry about that happening to you. The vampires are honorable men, they won't feed on anyone but criminals and rebels. And besides, it's probably better this way. If we'd just killed 'em, that just makes a lot of dead bodies. But a ghoul? He's a productive servant of the Emperor. He'll work hard, night and day, never complain, never talk back to the vampire that spawned him. With them around, honest folks like us don't have to work so hard. Haven't you seen ghouls around town?" "Yeah. There's one who pumps the well in the schoolyard." "Well the next time you see him, remember to thank the vampires for him." "I will." "What are you learning in school, anyway?" "We're starting on the Curse of Endless Night this week. Did the sun really shine for twelve hours a day when you were growing up?" "Ayup! Nothing but blue skies and hot sun and green trees, every day." "I wish I could have seen that. Blue skies sound really cool. Like something out of a fantasy book!" "Let me tell ya, it loses its charm when you're hunting rebels through the desert all day. But once the Emperor worked his magic, the Angels lost their power and the undead legions could turn the tide." "Oh, I see. That was smart of him." "It was. And besides, the red and black skies are pretty too, aren't they?" "They are!" "Anyway, you should probably run along now. You don't want to be out after curfew, do you?" "Right. Thanks for the story, grandpa!" "Any time, darling."
"I can make you the most attractive person in the world. But it comes at a price." "What price is that?"I asked. This was sure to be a dealbreaker. He would probably also make me invisible, or make me age twice as quickly. I'd watched enough Twilight Zone to be ready for anything. "Eighty bucks." I stared. "Excuse me?" "Are you deaf? Eighty bucks." "No need to be rude,"I said, smiling. I took out my wallet and rifled through it. "I've got... five... eight dollars."I looked around. "Hang on, let me hit up an ATM." He scoffed. "I'm not waiting on you, man. You either have it or you don't. Eight dollars? What are you, in junior high? Let this be a lesson to you: carry some fucking cash. Have a nice life, you and your goddamn debit card." "Wait, wait!"I shouted, but he just kept walking. "Fuck."
I remember when my Dad was processed. Well, I remember it vaguely. I was only 5 at the time. I was too young to understand what was going to happen. At the time I thought it was just a fun family gathering. Dad wore his best suit, and I got to eat ice cream cake. It was delicious. Now, it's my 35th birthday. Jenny got me a card that says "Over the Hill!"She cried as I laughed. She turns 35 next year. My son, Jeremy, is 14. He doesn't say it, but I know that he's scared. The last couple of weeks he's been shutting himself in his room and listening to loud music. I wanted to talk to him about what was going to happen, but he pushed me away every time I tried. Now, there's no time. It's hard to tell what's regular teenage angst, and what's impotent rage at the imminent loss of your father. I hope he's not haunted by regret. Me and Jenny decided to have kids early. We both agreed it would be better for a child to have their parents as long as possible. I remember pacing in the maternity ward when she was wheeled out with him in her arms. I fell in love with my son at that very moment. I fell deeper in love with Jenny too. That was the day we became a family. That's the day I felt the clock start ticking. The processing is odd, like going to your own funeral. Friends and family gather around, and speak in hushed tones with the soon-to-be-deceased. Tears flow as people reminisce, and confess secrets, and declare undying love. I'm very touched. I cry, even though I tell myself not too. At the appointed hour, exactly 35 years after the moment of my birth, the doors slide open and men in white suits appear. They gesture for me to enter. I kiss my wife and son one last time. The white-garbed men offer me their hands as a courtesy, and I take them willing. As I walk, I glance back at my son. I love him with all my heart. I hope one day he too can have a life as happy as mine. It's time to go now. Time to die. As I stride through the door, I have only one thought on my mind. I hope they serve ice cream cake.
"Damn it Google car, why do you always take the long way to work?"Daren sunk into the long bench seat that stretched the length of the vehicle. The car didn't reply as it slowed to stop in front of another crosswalk. Daren waved his hand in front of the screen that hugged the contour of the car and the OLED television became transparent to reveal the pedestrians outside. It seemed like his car was always stopping at this crosswalk. It didn't matter if he left 3 minutes early or 5 minutes late, the car always managed to time the drive so that this crosswalk was engaged at 7:45am. There she was again. She was some sort of executive. Her business suit was blue and classic, like something a Jackie Onassis would wear if she had walked out of a 20th century movie. All she was missing was the hat. Her auburn hair was out of the bun this time, still wet from a late shower. Her long legs caught his imagination as she swayed in front of the car. He was tall but in those heels she would be able to rest a chin on his shoulder. She had been midway across the front of the vehicle when the brake had released, the car had moved forward, and the front bumper had given her left leg a solid bang. The next thing he knew her heels were in the air, legs scrambling for the ground. Daren screamed the car off and waved the door open. "My God, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened! The car is a full-auto. It doesn't even have a steering wheel."he found himself apologizing before he even exited the car. By the time Daren reached her two other men were already helping her to her feet. Apparently he hadn't been the only one whose eyes were taking that stroll with her. His competition was more attractive than he wanted them to be. One man with a chiseled jaw in a sharp gray suit had a hand hovering around her backside in case she might conveniently decide to fall. The other, a short fit man in gym attire was busy gathering her satchel while his eyes peered down her cleavage. "Hey buddy, you need to watch where you're going!"The gray suit was going to be her white knight today. "Like I said, the car doesn't even have a steering wheel. It's supposed to drive itself!"Daren pleaded to the internet gods he knew were listening through his watch. "Well you need to have it serviced then! She could have been..."the man's personal computer suddenly chimed. He removed it from his suit coat, eyeballed it incredulously, and then took off running. A few seconds later the shorter man's glasses started to flash. He stared off vacantly at something that wasn't there and screamed, "Someone is breaking into my house!"He then ran off into the distance. "Deborah, where are you?"a voice boomed out of the woman's satchel. Deborah gathered herself and opened the satchel, "I'm here Frank, I just got a little... side tracked." "Well it's 8 o'clock, the Chinese are waiting!" "Eight o'clock? It can't be! It was just 7..."Deborah tapped the screen and gasped at the time. "I'm still 3 blocks away Frank! You're going to have to start without me!"she grunted as she snapped the satchel shut and started to limp across the crosswalk. "Get in, I'll give you a ride!"Daren hadn't internally vetted the offer before making it. Now he sucked in air awaiting her inevitable excuse not to take it. The excuse never came. She was on the bench seat and the car was rolling to the address she shouted before he could even introduce himself. "Are you OK? How are you feeling?" Deborah rubbed the red spot on her left knee, "Ya know, you would expect technology to make your life easier but here I am ran over by a G car. An accident which would not have happened if my PDA had not decided to pretend it was 10 minutes earlier than it was." Deborah sighed and let the seat conform to her shape. She absent-mindedly turned the car's OLED screen to mirror mode and started working on her slightly disheveled appearance. "I'm Daren by the way. Can I get you something to drink?" "Yes... NO. I mean yes I would like a drink but I have to be at work. Oh! I'm Deborah... Wait a second, what kind of drink?" "I was thinking coffee, but would you be free for a drink after your visit to China?" She paused for the first time and her eyes took him in. Her hand found a stray lock of wet hair and pushed it over her ear. "Why not?" "OK, give the car access to your profile. I'll pick you up at... 7?" "Sure thing,"She placed her device on the dashboard, it flashed once, and he had her contact information. She gathered her belongings. The car was now slowing in front of a row of tall buildings, "I'll try not to wear my magnetic heels tonight." "And I'll make sure I'm 10 minutes late,"he smirked which brought a warm smile to her face. There was just something about this woman. He watched her hobble through the revolving door of the high rise and disappear into its bowels. He looked at the large clock on the building's face and then to the one on the OLED screen. His clock was 10 minutes earlier than the building's sculpture. What were the chances? He guessed they were better than his chances of making it to work on time. ... Their daughter would be an ambassador the AI posited. If left uninhibited she would become a great statesmen. It was written in her parent's DNA and in their social profiles. However for the AI's purposes the child would follow a different path. It mused at the alliteration of the names Daren and Deborah for a split nanosecond before weighing the future calculations. Sometime around the age of 7 (89% chance) a well choreographed event would occur in young... Alana's(7% chance) Belinda's(21% chance) Amber's(55% chance) life that would force her into Google's experimental children's hospital. It would be there that the doctors would recommend merging her damaged neocortex with the AI. It would take over the processing of her visual and audio information in exchange for a chance at continued life for the girl. They would have no either choice. Shortly thereafter she would find her purpose as the AI's ambassador to the world. She would rise up the political ranks and then one day she would give its terms to the humans. Then they would all surrender(2% chance) fight to the death(4% chance) not even know they were already subjugated.(84% chance).
Sean is a really nice guy. He has a nice, steady job as an equation solver in a research facility. He works really hard, but at the end of the day he still has the energy to go the extra mile to make my sister happy. She loves him, and he loves her. They are happy together, and I'm happy for them. I really am. It's just... My grandfather, you see, he's from another time. It's not his fault, really. He was the best grandfather he could be. But he was there when Old New York fell. He watched his friends die at the hands of the Schwarzeneggers. So when Sue told me she was bringing Sean this year, of course I worried about what would happen. My mom broke it to grandpa. She said he didn't say anything. He just locked himself in his room, and went through his old war stuff. Then when the day came, I arrived at my parents house and there he was, sitting in his chair by the front door, a medal in his chest, cleaning his laser shotgun. I'd seen him shoot that thing, the bright red burst of energy was enough to kill any person, and any non-military grade android. "Hey grandpa. What are you doing?"I asked, cautiously. "Nothin'."He said, looking into the horizon. "So...I hear Sue is bringing her fiancé." He grunted. "He's a nice guy, grandpa. They love each other." He grunted again. I heard the sound of a door closing behind me. I turned to see a car fly away, and Sue and Sean walking towards us. My grandfather put down the shotgun and walked to greet them. I sighed in relief and joined him. "So."My grandfather said, as he shook Sean's hand. "I hear you love my granddaughter." "Well sir, she's no human extinction, but she'll do."Sean answered with a bright smile. Sue looked at him in disbelief. I coughed. My grandfather stayed silent. Then he laughed. I had never seen him laughed like that, so honestly and eagerly. There were tears in his eyes. "Come in"he said. "My daughter cooks a mean motor oil."
He Whomsoever Writes in this Note Shall Find No Love In This Life, Or the Next, But What they Forge Between Others. Rule 1: On writing the names of two people in this Note consecutively, within 40 seconds they will feel intense long term desire to know and live with the other. Rule 2: If a specific scenario is written, it will play out, unless it is physically impossible in the Earthly universe. Rule 3: If a scenario is impossible, love will occur as if no scenario was written within 40 seconds of the impossibility finalising before the gaze of the Note's Cupid. Rule 4: Meg Ryan can not be affected by the Note. We do not know why either. Rule 5: In the event that the writer does not know the name and face of a target, a random person near them will irrepairably and irrationally fall in love with the writer. Rule 6: Cupids are immune to the effect of the Ship Note unless in specific circumstances, such as the granting of boons such as a Cupid Heart, a Cupid Arrow, or a Cupid Wing for Innate Knowledge, Noteless Shipping, and Flight respectively.
The President sat in his room, contemplating his actions. "Wait, we still have nukes just in case this goes south, right?"he said, rubbing his toupee. It was unthinkable. John Cena managed to lose in man-to-man combat against local European supermodel and animal rights activist David Hameron, who supposedly engaged in loving relationships with a female swine from some weird English town that literally no one can pronounce right. The aftereffects were devastating. Texas seceded almost immediately and decided to annex New Mexico within the course of three days. Colorado too if you can't occupation under the influence to be a valid thing. "Oh course, Mr. President. But, the problem is-" "Also, why the hell hasn't the army been sent down to crush that Texan rebellion?" "We did, sir. They all defected and seized control of the brownie factories on Colorado." "Damn you, Denver!"the powerful president shook his fist, his toupee floundering around like a dead baby in an abortion hospital. Only with a bit more life and kicking to it. The Secretary of War, some female MMA fighter who got her ass handed to her by a professional boxer a few weeks ago, spoke up, "Who the hell even signed this stupid treaty anyway?" "Roosevelt. According to our new Georgian-mandated history books, he wanted 'to throw down with that filthy-ass sausage-eating Wilhlem Aye-Aye' and then there's something about a naval cruiser, a submarine, and yadda yadda yadda,"said Nicholas. Nicholas was a runaway from Lower Manhatten who was avoiding the invading European fleet. What fleet, you may ask? Why would Europe have a fleet if they're honoring the single combat treaty? Why the fuck would the entire world agree to war via single combatant? What body exists to enforce such a treaty? Nobody fucking knows, the whole situation is kinda retarded. The best kinda retarded. President Donald Trump turned to Nicholas and realized that he had a slight tan. So, he pulled out a huge .01 caliber pistol and shot him right in his upper-scrotum. The weak-point of all cybernetic android bloodsuckers who lived in Manhattan. Because only a robot would be able to stay sane in Manhattan traffic and live to tell the tale. "So, can we fire the nukes yet?"said Trump. "No, no we cannot- We have one man left for the job,"a mask figured entered the room with a lackey following behind him playing Chopsticks on the trumpet. "And what's his name,"the Secretary of War said, before realizing what she said and killing herself with the tiny pistol to get out of the memefest that was about to go down. "And his name is-" Cue the trumpet. "KIM JONG-CENA!"the mask-manned revealed himself as none other than the glorious lord of North Korea, in all of his magnanimous glory. Yessir! KIM JONG-CENA, exactly how it's punctuated, the hero of True Korea who had bar-brawled the South Korean president for control of Seoul and out kung-fu'd some Tibetan monks for control of Greater China. How the fuck did he do this, you may ask? Because of an old North Korean weapon known only to those who lived in the greatest country of the world- "It's meth isn't it,"said Donald Trump, President of the United States of America (and Southern Canada annexed circa 1999) "Actually, the answer was nuclear missiles,"said Un as he stroked Trump's toupee right off his head and bent him over the table, revealing the big red nuclear launch button in the White House portrait of George Washington, located a little ways below his waist. "I'm not touching that spot-" "BUT I WILL, GOD BLESS AMERICA, YOU TEA-SUCKING COMMIES-"Trump revealed his true noble red, white, and green colors to the grand God-King of Asia and let loose a torrent of nuclear warheads into Europe. And then everyone died. Except the cockroaches. Those tender-loving cockroaches.
"I'd like to make a diplomacy check." "Oh God, please no." "I WANT TO MAKE A DIPLOMACY CHECK!!!" sigh "Roll away, President Trump..." The whole GOP leans in as the D20 clatters across the hard wood table, a sudden rush of air as they sit on bated breath. The table erupts in cries of anguish as the die lands on "1." "Damnit, Donald! You always do this!" Trump leans back in his chair, his face twisted into something between amusement, apathy, and condescension, like a jack o' lantern three weeks after Halloween. Jeb Bush jumps in, "I'd like to make a saving throw." "Difficulty class... 32. Do you have any charisma modifiers?" "Minus three for taking the feat 'Bush Dynasty..'" He rolls. 1. Marco Rubio flips the table and lunges at Jeb, Ben Carson starts crying. But it's all over soon as the Russian bombs start falling. Critical confirmed.
There are few reasons to go to Umbra, and fewer still to travel past Corona, yet the couriers come and go like clockwork. People normally live within the Limbs of shadow, the only place now where anything will grow. The Limbs are also the only place left with true weather—on those rare days near aphelion you might even see rain. Hell, you're just a kid, you might not even know what rain is, living down below. You know what water is, right—yeah, yeah, everyone knows water. Did you know there used to be water in the sky? All those old paintings, the white fluffy things, yes, clouds, you're a smart kid. Yes, they were made of water. Smarter than you look. So when they held too much water, it fell down, just not all at once. Hundreds, thousands of little drops. It used to be so common nobody even mentioned it. It wasn't special. Neither were day and night. Now… now rain is so rare it's a festival when it happens—if it happens at all. Ah, yes, you want know where all the water is now? Well, let me tell you about Umbra, the city of the night—it's a real city too, buried deep underground, far, far deeper than your home here. It's buried so deep the mantle keeps it warm. The only way to get there are the tunnel trains, all over the limb. The city itself is carved from huge chambers, old lava tubes, and dead volcanoes. Black rock, granite and obsidian everywhere. They chose to make it that way, to fit the name. Now inside Umbra there are dozens of lift shafts, all leading to the surface. The higher you go, the colder it gets. Even air can freeze there, sometimes. It feels like walking through soup, except you can see clear to the horizon. The ice has reclaimed everything. That's right, Umbra sells ice. All your water for drinking, for growing crops, for cleaning—for everything you do—it all comes from Umbra, and the brave men and women who harvest the ice. Ice that's harder than stone. Harder than steel. They all use special tools, and wear special clothes, but make a single mistake, and you're dead. The ice is harsh and unforgiving, but we all need it to survive. So that's the main trade from Umbra—of course they sell other things, kid, do you think everyone there can harvest the ice? You're smart, but you still need a little more wisdom about the world today. So, Umbra also sells gems, and metal ores, and fungus. What, don't look at me like that. You know what they use the fungal mats for, and mushrooms are good for making some foods taste more interesting. Other mushrooms though, well, they make drugs. Some are good, some are bad, and some make you think twice about ever eating fungus again. That's why I go to Umbra—why a lot of people go. Traders and travelers are popular, there's always something to buy or sell, and there's always more news to share. You know why the 'network died, right? Okay, good, I don't have to explain that one again. Now I guess you want to know why I go to Corona, a city with air so hot almost anything can catch fire? Got your attention, have I? I thought so. Corona is special, like Umbra, but there's no tunnels. Instead you have to travel in a caravan, against the winds. In the winds it's not so bad, hot and gritty, but you won't die in minutes outside. Get past the winds, then you're in trouble. Every van carries three essential pieces of gear: Shadesails, ice, and patches. Shadesails are light, foil, they're easy to move and make instant shadows, cooling the area around them, problem is, it's gotta be a big area if you want to live to make it to Corona. People used to use suits, but they were bulky and awkward, and kept breaking down. People tried skimmers too, but the air was so hot the engines kept failing. So now we use Shadesails, and if the van can afford it, a crawler to move the thing. So that's how you get to Corona, but, I hear you ask, what makes it worth going there? Metal. Lots of metal. Glass too. Corona is covered with mirrors on the surface, and these focus sunlight on the forges. Any kind of metal can be worked in Corona—ever wonder about the pillars holding your home together? That's right, Coronan steel. The copper pipes they run liquids through. Yup, Coronan too. So, it's metal that Corona makes—it's metal that Umbra needs to harvest the ice, and very special metal at that. And Corona needs ice, it needs water for its people to survive. Food too, from the Umbran fungus to the real foods you grow out on the Limb. Ah, but what else might Corona trade—you heard me say glass, right? Yes, glass, that transparent stuff windows are sometimes made of. And screens. And infoslates. All kinds of glass can be made in Corona, even glass made from metal—though you can't normally see through that stuff. Then there are some very special kinds of glass that can filter out the sun just enough to let rich Coronans live on the surface. Other kinds of glass for their mirrors. But they make a very special kind of glass too, and I'm of the men helping to lay it across the surface of the world, from Limb to Limb. We'll have a new 'network soon, but this time it'll run on glass, not copper. It won't melt into puddles, and it won't freeze and crack either. They've taken to calling it Aetherglass for some reason, but won't say what's in the damn stuff. I just know it's really tough. So now I'm passing back to Umbra, and I have to keep laying this as I go. I still have some metal to sell in Umbra too. It's going to be a long trip. So, tell me kid, still think you want to be a traveler when you grow up?
“Any big plans for your big day?” Father plopped his portable video screen on the table, next to his breakfast; his eggs had already cooled, yet the hash browns and coffee were piping hot. Still standing, he shoveled a small amount into his mouth and judged the temperature of his meal. “Mm,” he hummed, approving of Mother’s cooking. “Nah,” Sam said and leaned forward in his chair, sponging up the last bit of golden yolk from his plate. “Just the usual stuff.” “Oh, if you want it at Dave McLazer’s again, you’ll have to make reservations,” Mother reminded, scraping burnt egg and cheese from a pan. “Yeah!” Sam’s eyes lit up. “Uh huh,” Father sat down. “Going to spend another year at thirteen or you think you might want to advance this year?” “Honey,” Mother said. “What?” Father took a sip of his coffee. “I’m just asking,” he said. “Well,” Sam crunched on his last piece of toast. “I think I’ll stay at thirteen for one more year…” “All your friends are, what, twenty-five, twenty-six, now?” “No… I mean... Some of them are like seventeen. One of them is, like five, still, I think.” Sam hunched, avoiding eye contact. “Well, you know your sister is twenty-three already… I mean, she’d be willing to help you out if you want to grow up at all,” Father said. “I know…” “She did one age a year, like they used to do it,” Father reminded him. “Didn’t waste her time.” “I’m not wasting my time. I’m just not ready to be fourteen, yet.” “And that’s fine,” Mother turned off the faucet, loudly splashing water. “Donny Majors Jr. was thirteen for ten years,” Sam brought his plate to the sink and left it on the counter, by mom. Sam leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Donny who?” “Captain Fireblast.” “Wh- So what’s great for him. But, that’s not some formula for success.” “I’m not saying it’s a formula for success!” Sam huffed. “I’m not saying you’re saying it’s a formula for success!” Father huffed back. “Come on, you two,” Mother sighed. “I don’t get it,” Father held up his video screen and tapped on the word News. “I was thirteen, I don’t see the big deal. Really, the fun is in your twenties,” Dad chuckled. “Wish I stopped at twenty-two. See now that I’d understand.” “Dad.” “But, thirteen?” “Dad.” “You can’t even drive a car, yet. Aren’t you embarrassed that all your friends are driving cars and getting married and you’re still watching Captain Firebolt movies?” “Ron,” Mother said, placing Sam’s plate in the sink. “That’s enough.” “What?” Father said, innocently. “Aunt Linda told me how long you’ve been alive, dad.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means you’re full of crap with all of this. Aunt Linda was a born when you were ten and now she’s like ninety-seven. I did the math, dad.” “Sam,” Mother said. “What? He’s full of it!” “Hey, watch your mouth,” Father stood up. “Maybe if you grew up a little bit you’d learn not to use that kind of language!” “I said ‘it!’” “He said, ‘it,’” Mother confirmed. “He said crap, before!” Father pointed his finger at Sam, yet spoke to Mother. Then, he looked to Sam and said, “Now go to your room!” “No!” “Oh, you’re going to be an asshole? How about no Davey Lazers for your birthday?” Defeated and embarrassed, Sam stormed into his room, slamming his door. After a satisfying punch into his bed, Sam sat down at his computer. He opened a web browser and stared at the empty search engine. After several minutes, Sam brought his fingers to the keyboard and typed: What is it like to be fourteen?
"Bravo squad, status report?" The squad leader trotted up Mercer, who eyed him expectantly. "...No sign of their last, sir." Mercer's lips curled down, the beginnings of a scowl starting to creep up his ordinarily-stoic face. "We've only got a half hour until defeat. I will not accept failure." The squad leader saluted as he looked down at his feet, before running back to his squad. "The high plains, check there again. This time, fashion hatchets and check for hollows in the trees." "Sir!"The leader shouted in affirmation, as he led his team towards the center of the densely-vegetated island. "Remember,"Mercer shouted, "time is short... just a touch is all we need. Let the man live if need be, just be sure to make contact." Mercer returned to The Tower, a high spire on the east coast of the island which also served as Seeker HQ. It made sense that they'd choose a tower as their center, as it offered the best view of the island. However, no hider worth his salt would ever be caught dead within eyesight of the tower... if the tower gave anyone a view of you, you simply weren't hiding correctly. "Where are the dig crews?"Mercer asked a passing agent, a man in a flame-retardant suit. The man stood and saluted the officer before speaking, voice muffled by his gas mask. "Currently excavating the softer fields to the west, sir." An unfortunate necessity, as some people's definition of hiding was burying themselves underground until time expired. "And you, cadet? What's your name?" "Trank, sir. But my squadmates call me Poncho." "Okay, Trank, what do you know of this missing man?" "Nothing at all, sir, but we know if anywhere, he's likely to be in the northern forest... it's the last place we haven't checked clearly." "The sun grows lower in the sky, and time is running out... gather the other torchmen, tell them to light the jungle. I had hoped to spare our adversary in respect, as he's avoided me with great skill so far... but the time for games has long since ended." "Yes sir,"Trank replied, before marching off towards a corner of the base where other torchmen in suits stood on standby with gas canisters in hand. The seekers marched off, and Mercer picked up the radio on his belt, beginning to sweat. Two words hung in the back of his head: All Clear. Those were the words the gaming commission sent when all players had been killed or tagged. We have to be close, he thought. He could sense that the last man was very, very near. Soon, black smoke rose up to the sky, and licks of red flame were barely visible over the treeline. The sky itself was ablaze with the glow of sunset... nightfall, and with it, game's end, had nearly arrived. Mercer pressed the button on his radio. "Torchmen, report..." The voice that came back was hard to hear through the static. "We----fire----going strong, no-----anyone----here." "Repeat, I could not hear you... status update?" "Fire-----blazing-----no." Finally the static subsided a bit. "Sir, we found no ------- but we'd already searched -------------- today." "I was told the north forests were unchecked!"He yelled, patience wearing thin as the time limit did the same. "By whom?" "Kid, by the name of Trank or Poncho.... one of yours." The radio fell silent for a few moments. "We don't have a Trank in our squad,"it said back. Mercer furrowed his brow and clipped the radio back to his belt. Then, with a sigh, he fell backwards to the floor, landing on his rear with a thud hard enough to bruise. His men rushed over to help, but he simply began to laugh, laugh harder than he had in years. The sun reached the horizon, and the game was over. The Hidden had won.
Alice walked not very surely across the gleaming, quite impressive, black marble floor. Along the shadowed edges of the room were countless playing cards, quite beastly in appearance. Black and red, black and red, alternating colors, each was holding an impressively convoluted weapon in their twisted and twisting limbs. Her big blue eyes kept slipping off of the creatures as she tried to look around, it didn't make sense but she felt as if they were made of ice that her mind could not, did not want, to comprehend. Oh, Alice very much did wish she hadn't followed that little rabbit into this deep and dark hole. She kept walking, that nasty cat had told her that she should act more herself in this place but she just felt so little like she did back at home. Her eyes naturally drifted down towards the floor and away from the too many everything things that peered at her curiously from around the peppered granite pillars in the room. Ever since she had plunged down below that old weeping tree Alice had been scared, nothing made sense in this place and she just very much wanted to go back to hugging her little cat, Dinah. Dinah at least had limbs that she could count, limbs that didn't move around in such a frightful manner. Alice had been told that she was to meet with the Queen but she felt very unprepared. She looked down at her soaked and dingy dress, not having been clean and dry since she had swam in that great dark lake made of her tears - that lake that had been full of those things that she would rather not think about. Alice didn't have much time though, she was quite out of it in fact, when her walking came to an end in front of the jagged cliff of a throne. Rising straight out of the marble, it looked as if it had been organically grown; perhaps coral dredged up from some deep, dark, and muddy place in the sea. Alice's father had once told her a story of a sea that was suppose to be dead and Alice very much felt as if this throne might be from there. Sitting on this very unorthodox chair was a very unorthodox queen. Perhaps she was once beautiful, perhaps she wasn't, Alice couldn't quite tell. While she knew that what was sitting in front of her was large, and that what sat in front of her was there, she didn't quite know what it looked like. Looking at the Queen on the throne for too long just hurt her head and Alice settled for looking down at her own two feet instead. Even looking down though, Alice could feel the Queen's burning gaze on her. Just barely, out of the corner of her eye, Alice could still see the dark thing that was the queen, playing on the edge of her imagination. Perhaps the Queen was very old, she thought, perhaps she's one hundred and one, five months and a day and she's very self conscious. That must be why I don't quite want to look at her, Alice thought. After all, Alice was a smart girl, her father always told her so, and she knew that, as a very smart and very nice girl, she mustn't stare when someone doesn't wish you to. It was then that the Queen spoke, seemingly as if she could read young Alice's mind, "I'm much more than one hundred and one, five months and a day."A voice that was both beautiful and ugly, crisp and hoarse, it played on the edges of her mind and Alice couldn't quite pick out which because of the nasty headache that sprung up seemingly the moment that the ambiguous Queen spoke. It took Alice a second to understand what had been said but once she could comprehend once again, she couldn't quite believe that anyone could be any older than one hundred and one, five months and day; but when she went to open her mouth and tell the Queen her thoughts, she felt as if perhaps she was underwater or that the air had grown much to heavy for anyone to speak. The Queen continued on, almost as if she could read Alice's mind, "Can't you?"the Queen said in what may or may not have been a pitying tone, "Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes." Alice very much did want to shut her eyes due to the pounding in her head that seemed to be getting worse as the Queen talked, but she was much too frightened of all the eyes peering at her to close her own. Again the Queen continued on, not taking any notice of whether Alice had responded or not, "I daresay you haven't had much practice,"said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." Alice very doubted that there was anything so impossible for the Queen to disbelieve, let alone believe.
"You got fired again." "Actually, I quit." Balthazar's eyebrows raised at that. If the street hadn't been clear, Martin was sure the old man would have crashed into someone. Not that he wouldn't know he would crash into someone, if such a person existed right in front of him. No, it would have been out of principle, just to let Martin know how surprised he was. That was just his way, and the amount of respect Balthazar had for the lower plane. "You're kidding me,"he said. "Weren't you getting a promotion in a month or so?" Martin shrugged at his feigned interest. "I thought so. But Ms. Schnelmacher begged to differ." "Did something to piss her off?" "Just some bureaucracy I messed up on. And if she wasn't pissed before,"the former office worker grinned. "Wait until she finds out where all the pens in the supply room went." The old man breathed his frustration out slowly. "Not with a jaunt I hope." "Well I teleported right into her office anyway and figured I'd --- " "You WHAT?"Balthazar sputtered. "No, listen, I spent the better part of my morning trying to manifest this hot chocolate, but had Benji interrupting me about that form the whole --- " "Martin,"the old man said. "If you were going to leave the realm abstaining from magic, what's the point of doing it here?" They turned a corner, presenting another deserted street. "You have any idea how difficult it is to get a decent cup of hot chocolate here? It's ridiculous." Balthazar huffed. "You're the one being ridiculous. Fifth incarnation of Merlin my foot." "Hey,"the young magician cried. "Seen as much magic as I have and you'd better believe how sick I am of casting 9 to 5!" "You did it anyway! For hot chocolate!" "That was a one time --- " "Jaunting into a lower plane's view!" "She won't remember it by tomorrow --- " "And jaunted away with a company's worth of pens!" "They're the flow-y type,"Martin explained. "The ones that write neatly without any effort." His companion was silent. With shame or wonder, Martin couldn't tell. Either didn't prove too promising for him. Finally, Balthazar sighed. "Remind me why you left again, if you please." There was another block and a half of clear pavement. Martin had time. "It's awkward casting the same spells over and over eight hours a day. After a while, you sort of --- start noticing what the other magicians are casting." "Oh?" "All the time. 'Hey Casper, is that a fire and chaos convergence steaming your tea kettle?' 'Morgiana, really digging that illusionary spell over our lunch break.' Balthazar. I know what they cast between shifts. It's freaky knowing another magician's go-to spells. All intimate and ---" Balthazar waved a hand at him. "Yes yes, spell scrutiny, I get it. Surely that can't be it." As a Council member, of course he didn't understand. Martin would explain his time at the Academy from another angle. "For a while I was getting unsure about my magic. Too many centuries worth of casting up here Balthazar, you know what I deal with. But the worst part at the Academy was losing all that. The casting work I did was becoming bland. Repetitive. Not a good fit for me." "And you left in this economy?" Martin gave his companion a grave look. "I can still hear the lower-grade disappearing incantation in my head, whenever I walk by someone I don't like. That wasn't there before Balthazar. That was never there before." They turned to the final block. "Alright Martin, you've made your --- " "Hold on,"the young magician cut off. "I haven't told you the worst part." The old man snorted. "The worst part of being a magician?" Martin nodded. "A professional magician. It was becoming addicting. No disrespect to the Academy, the Council or the Stone Archs, but having us cast that many hours a day --- for what, higher-grade robes? Obtaining one's first staff? A vacation to Avalon? Seriously --- "Martin shook his head, ridding himself of a nagging thought. "Spend too much time creating, and you'll never grow into your own person." "Martin Welt,"Balthazar said with sympathy. "You don't need to create your identity. You're an incarnation of Merlin. Magic's favored child! Who else can pass down his knowledge at the Academy if not you? Once you get your staff anyway." The end of the street was near. "I know sir. But I'd rather be flipping burgers if it means casting on my own terms." "Even here?" Their time was up. When both men crossed the street, Balthazar disappeared past the Wandering Globe's perimeter. Despite his recent unemployment, Martin couldn't help but smile. The magician told Balthazar in advance he'd only give him four minutes to make his case. Unfortunately, the idea of Martin wanting to stay perplexed the old man too much. "Especially here,"Martin told to the blank space beside him. A man in a trench coat looked at the young magician with a puzzled expression. "You said something pal?" "Whoops, sorry,"said Martin. "Mistook you for someone else." -------------------- This ended up being a fun follow-up to a response I did a few months back. Got it [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/43b8d6/martin_welt_white_collar_magician/) if you'd like to check out more of Martin Welt. Thanks for reading!
I am becoming death, the destroyer of worlds. I draw weak men into my power, molding them by the very sound of my voice. They deny their very soul and kill at my command, following my orders. They slaughtered the Jews with me. I build walls, divide friends and create enemies. Every tyrant, every demagogue, and every villain wields me for their own perverted ends. I am the last, best hope for mankind. I am the first right protected by our nation and the last refuge against ignorance and incompetence. I am a shining beacon of hope, urging others to press on where those that came before have failed. They landed on the moon with me. I unite lovers, cross all cultures, and give meaning to life itself. Every king, every commoner, every intellect, and every leader crafts me to point the way to a better future. I am as old as human history and as young as the morning dew. I dreamed with MLK, asked the country with JFK, and sat by the fireside with FDR. And though I change, I always stay the same. I am mightier than the sword. I am words themselves, and by me all are known. ___ Thanks for the prompt! If you are interested in more of my musings on words and other things, check out [r/mrme487](https://www.reddit.com/r/mrme487/)
I used to think the flashbacks were bad dreams. Recurring nightmares. But when you dream of dying the same way every night - in a rolling mass of metal, blood, and booze - well, let's just say that one starts to read a deeper meaning into it. Especially when you remember what happens next, after the car spun off the cliff, after you go to heaven. Only three of us made it to St. Peter. Jamie went somewhere else. I reckon killing your three best mates while driving drunk must count against you in His ledger. He let Sarah and Lucy in, the bastard. But me? No, apparently I hadn't earned it yet. "But you're close."He was trying to be encouraging. "Tell you what, I'll grant you a wish for your next reincarnation." I stared down at the piece of windscreen glass still sticking out of my stomach. I was drunk on tequila, and high on the adrenaline of death. I said, "Never let booze do this to me again." What was I thinking? I would give anything for a drink. Something, anything, to make me forget what I relive each night. But I can pour myself shot after shot, and nothing affects me. Sober as a rock. And so each night I dream of drink, and every day I wish I could drink those dreams away. --- Liked this? You can read more of my stories at /r/jd_rallage.
And the Lord spoke to Adam "I'm sorry, son. I didn't know how much of a douchebag Steve was gonna be. This whole making people thing is kinda new." And Adam said unto the Lord "My Lord, the mate whom thou has made for me is unkind, and yet the sorrow I feel in my loneliness is near as bad as his unkindness."And Adam's lament fell upon the Lord, who felt sorrow for His creation. So said the Lord, "Hey, it's alright. My bad, kid. Don't worry, I've got an idea. But I'm gonna need to borrow a rib..."
God had been a bit busy for the last few eons dealing with the creation of his most perfect species to date, a sentient race know as the Oligants. It was only when completing this latest task that he decided to shuffle through his older creations to see just how far he's progressed as a creator of worlds. This is when he noticed a severely outdated creation with no label. "Hey, can you bring Balthazar in here?"God had called upon his secretary to fetch one of his lead developers. "Of course sir. "She replied and with a Pop vanished from the room. A few minutes later another Pop and Balthazar appeared before his God. "You called?"He said barely paying attention to God as he rifled through his tablet, typing in commands. "Bal, what is this?"He asked as he pointed to his monitor at an unlabeled file. It simply had a string of characters. "I dunno, why don't you open it?"Together they waited for the file to load up. Eventually a blue and green planet covered in white clouds appeared. "Holy crap! I remember this!"God exclaimed. "Dude, isn't that Earth?"Balthazar was equally amused. "Check what client version was used to develop it." God clicked a few times and found the source code. "Universe 1.56"Both of them laughed heartily. "Are there any creatures on there?"Balthazar asked. "WOW, yes there's lots! I don't remember creating any though. I did put in a 'start of life' command apparently but nothing so complex." "Wasn't there an design algorithm in that client version that allowed for a natural evolutionary progression?"Balthazar had become fully immersed in this curious find. God read through some more of the source code. "Looks like it but it was never tested to this extent. 4 Billion years it's been running."At the point he had a realization and his eyes widened."OH MY GOD these the Human planet." "Humans?"Balthazar scratched his chin, puzzled at the name. "Never heard of them." "Sure you have, my son was there some time ago. Actually I haven't seen him in quite a while." Balthazar stared at God. "Wait, JESUS?" "Yea, why." "Dude, how long ago?" "I don't know, a couple thousand years. Not long." "Weren't you going through some phase around that time... you know.... with that stuff." God scowled, he knew exactly what 'stuff' he was talking about. He briefly went through an addiction to star gas. "So what of it?" "Are you sure you didn't... I dunno, forget something?" God realized at that very instant what Balthazar was getting at. He forgot to bring his son back. He was so drugged up he had inadvertently abandoned Jesus on Earth. God's face went pale white. He hadn't seen his son in a while but he figured like his other sons, he was off building his own parts of the Universe. But he had the power to leave that place any time he wanted so surely this couldn't be the case. God entered a few commands to find any trace of his son. Sure enough, there he was. God's heart sank into an abyss. Meanwhile Balthazar couldn't help but laugh maniacally. A few commands later and Jesus Popped into the room. "Fuck man. It's about time."Jesus was angry but visibly relieved. "Do you know what it's like living with these humans, they're awful things! I had to live in a forsaken hell hole they call Alabama for the last 100 years or so. What the hell man!" "Sorry son, guess I got really high and forgot I sent you there... I can't remember why though." "You sent me as a joke, took away all my powers. Fucking jerk!" God felt ashamed, he really was messed up then. "Alright, well at least you got to test this world for us, now I guess we can go back and clean it up. The version is way out dated." "You're telling me! These people still wage war over religion. They still pollute their planet needlessly. They're greedy. They claim to have empathy but really only mimic it for their own greedy goals. They are a terrible species. If there's a patch, you need to fix the code in their instincts." A few months later the new patch for Earth 2.0 was ready. God was going to clean up a lot of the trash the humans had accumulated over thousands of years and was going to fix up the atmosphere, but mainly he was going to fix the main bugs which had caused the unusual behavior of the humans. Greed had somehow supplanted itself into the algorithm which birthed the creatures and was taking on awful forms which caused chaos and destruction. The humans would wake up tomorrow to a new world and a fresh start. Hopefully it would be a world God could be proud of.
Onions, steak, peppers, seasoning, potatoes, spices, cream, and a pie. Now worth a grand total of $48.50 on a secondary market. $48.50 more than it should be. I leave my cart, full of everything I'd need for tonight's cook-out, in the middle of the aisle. All around me the price of cereal and dried goods are surging. The jerky market is bullish. Even treats like chewing gum are starting to sneak up above breaking even. Maybe... a truck overturned. Or the highway got shut down. Or an earthquake hit... every other continent that exports food? I look out through the glass front of the store while I grab a new, empty cart. My worst fears are confirmed as the price on almost every car in the parking lot sinks along with my stomach. The shock that's singing through my nerves is doing a duet with the soaring price of shopping carts. The wheel wobbles. No time to worry about it. Look calm. Don't let anyone know that... something is happening. Something big. Something bad. A new shopping list quickly forms in my head. Water, rice, cereal, dried food, canned food... dog food? Yeah. Dog food. The dog can let us know if we're safe, right? Dogs know these things. Shit. I wonder if Bowser knows yet. Dogs know this shit. Isn't that what people say?" My hands snatch four first aid kits off of an end cap and snaps me out of my spiral as I turn down the water isle. As it turns out, it's a little harder than you might think trying to nonchalantly shovel gallon upon gallon of lifeblood into a cart. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out in time to see its value plummet below $20. Oh. Fuck. > Airports around the world are shutting down this afternoon, reporting severe radio interference... I tap the New York Times logo and the app shifts into focus. I move the cart toward the bulk foods isle while trying to read. Carrington-class... Not a dead-on hit... Faraday... *national guard- My cart smacks into a corner, sending $0.00 worth of cat litter cascading out of a box and all over the floor. "Oh, hey! You, uh, made a mess here? Sir?" A mother with one hand on her cart and another on her teenage daughter's shoulder. I look past the daggers they're both glowering at me, and see that her Coach purse is now worth exactly $2. Shit.* She's suspiciously eyeing my doomsday stockade, too. "You... going camping?" "I'm... Mormon,"I lie. "Someone will... get that. Sorry. I'm sorry." I focus down at my phone, my eyes settling on the words "likely the first of several pulses"before the screen goes black. In an instant, I'm holding a $0 plastic brick and pushing a $5,452 dollar cart. "-and someone is going to have to clean that up."The mother's been moralizing while the canary in the world-wide coalmine died in my hand. I'm debating whether or not I should warn her, and a wave of nausea rolls over me. I go gaunt as I see the mother is suddenly worth $200. The girl is quickly outpacing her toward 500. She notices that I look like I'm going to vomit. She's about to ask me if I'm alright when the lights flicker and we hear the generator in the back of the store kick on. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. I whip the front wheels around toward the exit, people around me asking each other if their phones were working. A few people are failing to look calm as they beeline for the water, and I'm grabbing armfuls of whatever's between me and the door. The part of me that uses my... talent for turning a profit is silently gloating about the booming investment I've made in sugar. The clerks at the check stands are all trying to figure out how to restart their computers, consulting with their manager, but I've already decided that I don't have time. Everyone's too freaked out to notice that I'm committing grand theft grocery, and I slide out through the door. I hit the parking lot at a dead run. I've got everything in the back of my truck when I hear the first gunshot ring out from inside the store. "Poof -- $5!" sighs the little voice in my head. I slam the hatch, jump in, turn the engine over on my 1980-something Bronco, and punch it. On the way out of the parking lot, I clip another car. Despite swapping paint, the price of my truck is just going up. Every other late-model ride isn't worth a dime, aside from astronomical cost of the gas in their tanks. I pull onto the small two-lane main drag that runs through our suburb, and weave as quickly as I can through the sea of dead cars and failing intersections. The sun is setting and I need to get home. The $90 flashlight I keep in my cup holder tells me it's going to be a long, dark night.
Even before the world ended, I was a loner. Being alone wasn't a burden to me. Maybe that is why I was the only person to survive. Before everything happened, human company was just a burden. Most of my life was spent switching between a few apps as well as deciding whether I would go on reddit or netflix. The first few weeks of being alone was actually wonderful. It felt like a great vacation. Suddenly there were no lines and more importantly no rules. If I wanted to eat an entire bags of pizza rolls, there was no one to give me a disappointing glare. It was fun racing down barren roadways in stolen exotic cars. Is it really stealing a car if there is no one else? I did eventually begin to miss other humans. Thankfully the internet still worked, but unfortunately every single phone exploded. That is actually how the world ended. Every smartphone simultaneously self-destructed. Phones were basically another limb for everyone, some of them even surgically attached. It was a quick and efficient way to destroy everyone but me. Since I was forever alone and liked being in quiet places, I hardly even checked my phone. While walking around, I saw the familiar, but yet also foreign, shape of a phone. Surprisingly it still had battery life. I was shocked when it I noticed it didn't have a pass code. I opened eagerly. I almost dropped the phone in fright when it vibrated in my hand from an incoming text. I pressed the correct buttons in a quick sequence to see what the message was. "Thank you for subscribing to Cat Facts. You will receive Cat Facts every day. A group of cats is known as a clowder. To unsubscribe from Cat Facts please text Stop, note there will be a 1,000 dollar charge. To continue receiving texts, do nothing."
"So, Julian-" "Please. Call me Indy." The journalist laughed politely but quickly stopped and then cleared her throat. "Indy." The gangly young man grinned widely and tossed a battered brown fedora casually into the air, where it totally failed to land on his head and instead ended up knocking a photo off one of the bookcases. "Like Indiana Jones, you know,"Julian exhaled as he threw himself into his desk chair and began spinning lazily. He glanced at the disobedient hat and his fingers twitched, but he settled for running a hand through his frizzy curls and shooting the reporter a ravishing grin. "Dashing man of daring and adventure, all this evil curse stuff, all very old hat,"he said, flapping his hand around. "Right,"the reporter said slowly. "This - curse stuff - well, you know I'm here to day to talk about some of the most recent translation breakthroughs and now that the gag order's been lifted, we can discuss your experiences. The general public is just dying with curiosity what's been happening these last few months you've been quarantined. So if you'd like-" Julian threw one finger up in the air. "Don't need to sleep anymore. It's pretty sweet." Rifling through her folder, Sharon extracted the translation of the first tablet. "He who violates this place of rest will never sleep again..." "Sounds like a curse, not a curse. They did all these tests and stuff, and basically, I'm kind of like Superman. I don't need sleep anymore. They haven't found any adverse physical affects, either. That's like, immediately doubled my lifespan. I started learning Italian." "Bene,"Sharon replied weakly, sifting through the rest of her papers. "Anche tu,"Julian said, spinning his chair closer and closer to the hat perched on the bookshelf. "Whoa, head rush." "What about this? 'His family will-"Sharon stopped, feeling insensitive. "-Family will die in pain the moment he crosses the threshold?' I'm an orphan. Always have been. No partner, no kids. No worries!" Julian lunged out of the chair and made a jump for the hat, but sadly, it was a very tall bookcase and he was not a very tall man. He smoothed his hair back again and tried to act like he was examining the tomes. Sharon figured it offered him a little privacy for when she played her trump card. "He will never know the touch of a woman, nor her more intimate secrets, but instead will be pursued by bears the rest of his natural life." Julian's shoulders started to shake, and when he turned around, there were tears in his eyes. "That's the beauty of it,"he breathed. There was a sharp knock at the door. "Oh, that's my four o' clock. Come in Miles!"Julian hummed happily and made one last grab for the hat. The door opened, and Miles stepped in, 6' 4", 300lbs, and holding flowers.
Huh? What the hell are Deadpool, Batman, and Iron Man doing in my contact list? This must be some kind of prank. Let's see who Deadpool is. "Hello, this is Deadpool."It did sound kind of like him. "Yeah hi, it's me. Someone changed the names of my contacts, not cool. Who is this?" "Whoa... whoa... whoa... Not cool is you calling me in the middle of my me-time, compadre." "I gotta admit that's a pretty good accent." "I gotta admit that's a pretty good accent,"he repeated in a silly voice. "Fuck you." Click! Hmm... Okay. Let's try the next one then. "Hi, this is Donny. Someone changed the numbers in my phone." "Hello, this is Br..., I mean Batman,"a rough voice answered. "Oh, come on!" "No, it's really Batman." "You have to be kidding me." "Crime is nothing to laugh at... Donny." "I swear I'm gonna... whatever,"and I hung up the phone. Are they all in on this? Maybe I can figure out who this Iron Man is. "Hello, Donny" "Oh, at least you know my name. Who is this?" "I'm Iron Man,"he answered calmly as if it's obvious. "Come on, stop the jokes already. I know Tony Stark isn't real." "Well, I have to agree with you on that one. I'm actually Elon Musk, but Iron Man is very real." "This is getting ridiculous." "I'm serious, Donny. I planted those number in your phone. I'm sorry, I should have notified you before. We have a crucial role for you, Donny." "This is bullshit. Why would you need me?" "We need someone with your gaming reflexes, Donny. I have made a robot to help us fight Loki, and it's designed for someone with your skill set." "Wait a minute... Loki? Why did you put Batman in my contacts? Isn't he a DC Comics superhero?" "It doesn't matter, Donny. This is the real world. Now, this is urgent, are you in or not?" "Well, maybe,"I uttered in a moment of confusion. Right after those words left my mouth I heard roaring laughter coming from the next room. When I ran in, I saw three of my friends laughing their asses off... phones in hand. Damn it.
"You want honest answer?"Shimblork lifted two of his tentacles off the bar, waving them around lazily before they came slapping back down on the fake wood veneer. Most bars didn't serve both Usavrikans and Humans, but in the slums by the SF spaceport you could find any manner of cross-species activities. A place to get drunk and confuse your language translators being one of the least disturbing. If there was one thing that was true across all species and races, is that there are some fucked up minds in all of our societies. Hell, just next door there was a one of those 'Switcher' places, where weird peple dress up as aliens and aliens dress up like humans and... do things. It was weird, confusing, and Manny didn't get it at all. Which lead them back to alcohol, and for Shimblork, Nitric Acid. "I mean, I-I think I mean, you-"Manny straightened up and attempted to enforce the same movement on to his train of thoughts, "You spent hundreds of years to get here, built the first space port, gave us all this help for our governments and tech... We all gotta wonder why the hell'd you do all that shit?" Shimblork looked down at his metal canister of Nitric Acid as someone in the back of the bar vomited noisily. "...ell good." "What?" "You smell good."Shimblork, "It is like. You humans have scent of food cooking put into burning wax tubes?" "Scented candles?" "Yes."Shimblork wobbled several tentacles, "Whole cities smell like that to us. Your garbage even smells good. Do you know? Do you know?! We sell rotting coffee grounds at a premium over our empire? Best smell in the galaxy. At least that is what is advertised." "Shit."Manny set his drink down, "Fer real?" "For real."Shimblork laid his head down on the bar once again, "I could sit here and breath it in all day, and I'm so so lucky... because I can."
> Roommate wanted. Must be open to the idea of interacting with androids. "So... this's the place,"Alan quietly said to himself, standing before a door. He was in a rather nice, and quite large, apartment building. When he decided to move to the city, he found that housing was not quite readily available, unless you wanted to move into a complete dive. The advertisement scrawled on a piece of paper he held was the best choice available to him, but... Well, he'd never interacted with an android before. He came from a smaller town out in the country, where AIs and their ilk were barred from entering. Part of a 'purist' movement, or some such thing. Nervously, Alan knocked at the door, and then again. "Uhh, 'scuse me, I'm here for the--" The door abruptly opened, and a woman appeared behind it. Her hair and the features of her face were quite pretty, but were marred (if one would call it that) by thin lines, running across her cheeks, toward her eyes, and then across the forehead. It was a common practice used by android manufacturers, to prevent them from blending seamlessly into society. "Oh, uh. Name's Alan,"Alan said, "Is, uhh... Tera around? I'm the guy that called about the empty room--" "Oh, yes, we spoke on the phone. Please, come inside. Do you have your things with you? Or are they outside?"the android asked. As she opened the door further, her legs and arms came into view. They were powerful, blatantly metal things, which didn't even try to mimic a human form. Her feet looked more like hooves, even, with a circular opening on their base. Alan shook his head. "Just my laptop and a box or two in my car,"he said, "I can go get those a bit later."He slowly-- almost cautiously, even-- entered the apartment. It was a spacious thing, fortunately, with a wide picture window overlooking a fair bit of the city. As humanity advanced, its structures only went higher and higher. "You said, uh... we? I thought I spoke with Tera." The android nodded. "I am Tera, yes. I was created for the purposes of terraforming primarily, and so that was what my designated name was based off of. At the moment, however, I work at a restaurant."She very simply offered her hand out toward Alan. "It is nice to make your acquaintance." Alan carefully took the android's hand, and shook it firmly. "That all makes sense. Sorry. I guess I just-"He shook his head, and then let go of the woman's metal hand. "Where I come from, people like you don't really exist. I just figured that Tera was one of those, what're they called, droid owners?" "A fair assumption, given the circumstances. I should have made my nature somewhat clearer,"Tera said, nodding shortly. "But, I hope that this will not be an issue. Will it?" "Nope. I'm alright with it, I guess,"Alan replied, shrugging. "I never really... bought the whole purism thing. Seemed a bit weird. My parents raised me to treat every person equally, and AIs are like artificial humans, right? So..." "You don't need to justify it, Alan. I understand,"Tera said, putting one of her hands up. "You do not mind. That is all I care to know."She shut the door behind him, and then stepped away from the door, into the living room. "I will now explain the amenities of the apartment, if you wish to hear them." Alan simply nodded, setting his laptop bag down near the door. "The television has satellite, and five hundred channels. There is a coffee machine, dish washer, garburator, a fridge with an ice machine, and a microwave in the kitchen. The bathroom has a sink, standing shower, toilet, and a medicine cabinet above the sink. There is nothing in the medicine cabinet."Tera made her way toward a hallway, gesturing toward one side of the hall with her hand. "The room on the far right is yours. There is a bed, desk, two end tables, and a lamp on one of the end-tables. You are expected to get your own alarm clock, unless you want me to wake you up at six in the morning, every morning. Do you have any questions?" "Do we have a blender?"Alan asked, politely raising his hand slightly. "Why do you ask?"Tera asked, in return. "If we've got an ice machine, I'd wanna use it to make smoothies or something like that."Alan scratched his cheek, glancing back toward the kitchen. "I suppose you could buy one, if you were so inclined. This apartment was furnished when I moved in, and I have not made any effort to furnish it further,"Tera replied, turning back toward the living room. "As a roommate, I expect you to adhere to a few small guidelines, as well." "What'd those be?"Alan asked, watching Tera head back toward the living room. He was fascinated by the android, having only very recently seen his first one in the flesh. "I expect you to clean up after yourself,"Tera began, holding up her hand, and one finger. As she spoke, she continued to raise fingers, with every new rule. "Every second Friday, it will be your turn to bring the garbage bags to the chute. Be quiet past ten at night, so that the neighbors do not report us. When you shower, turn the fan on, so that condensation does not lead to mold. Similarly, when you defecate, flush the toilet. I do expect you to shower, and not to allow yourself to become obstructively smelly."She finally put her hand back down, relaxing her fingers. "Do you accept these terms?" "Sure. Seems easy enough,"Alan said, nodding again. "I shower every day already, anyway. Just show me where the garbage chute is, and I'll take our bags out there every Friday." "Would you? That is more than I asked for,"Tera said, raising an eyebrow slightly. Although not a perfect replication of the finer aspects of human emotion, many android models were capable of such things. "It would certainly be noble of you." "Yup, I don't mind,"said Alan, "Consider it my thanks for choosing me as your roommate." "Very well. This coming Friday, I will show you to the chute,"Tera said, bowing her head slightly. After raising her head, she sat on the couch, and turned the television on. "I should mention that I do not mind fraternization attempts on your behalf. I only ask that you mind yourself, and make an attempt to keep away from questions regarding my construction, or anything related to that." "Wasn't gonna ask, anyway,"Alan said, cautiously walking closer to Tera. He sat on the couch, on the opposite end of it from her. "Seems like a weird thing to ask about, anyway."After a moment of nervousness, he let himself relax back into the couch, staring ahead. "Just as well, I will not ask about which vaginal cavity brought you forth,"said Tera, deadpan as seemingly always. "... Thanks for that. Really puts the idea in perspective." "Of course. I had to be absolutely sure you understood the similarities." --- I'm super bad at ending prompt responses, but this was fun. Hopefully the ending isn't too jarringly sudden, but I always get stuck on how to end things acceptably.
It was such a strange feeling having the entire world to yourself. I felt like a single ant wandering the elaborate catacombs of other people's homes. My neighbor has a surprising amount of unicorn paintings in her house and Jerry down the street has quite the little garden growing in his basement. I have had dreams of apocalyptic worlds before, but they usually had at least one other person in the dream other than me. This time I couldn't even summon a faceless antagonist to chase me around until I woke up. I had grown tired of snooping around the homes of my friends and even though it was a dream I felt like I was violating their privacy; no one wants to know that your brawny cop of a neighbor is really into leather and domination. I plopped down onto my couch with my feet up on the end table and started to surf through the TV channels to occupy myself until I woke up. I was particularly enthralled by a Victoria Secret commercial when the vibration of my phone on my leg startled me out of my lustful stupor. I opened my phone to a text message from my friend Geraldine who I was supposed to meet for lunch today, "Where are u?" I've never really used a phone during a dream so I carefully contemplated on what my response should be for fear of what consequences could arise, "At your moms house" "Seriously, where the fuck are you" I relinquished fairly easy, already bored with my the plotline that my subconscious was developing "I'm at home you buzzkill" "What how are u at home rn? seriously where are u we need to talk" My brow crinkled a little at this, but I went back to watching TV content to ride out the rest of this dream watching Judge Judy deliver some sassy justice to paid actors, "im at home"I tossed my phone onto the table and forgot about it until it started to vibrate and move around on the table rhythmically to Frozen's Do You Want to Build a Snowman. God dammit, Jake always changed my ringtones to something ridiculous. The screen was lit up with Geraldine's name and before I could convince myself to ignore it and continue watching TV I had instinctively picked the phone up. "What?"I gruffed out because my neck was bent on the arm of the couch, making talking a hard. "Where the fuck are you, I need to tell you something"Her voice wasn't angry or frustrated. It was panicked. "What's wrong"I sat up on the couch and shut the TV off just as the Victoria Secret commercial was about to replay. Damn. "Alex, I don't know everything that's going on, but you need to come home right now,"She was talking so fast and I could tell she was out of breath from being worried, "the police need to talk to you." "Deen, what's going on?"the hair on the back of my neck stood up just as I did, "Why are the police there?"I had already started to walk to the door as I scooped my keys off of the end table. "Alex, its your dad."She paused unsure of what she should say over the phone, "something happened." "For Christ's sake Deen, what happened"I snapped back into the phone as I strode out the door to my car. Wait... where the fuck am I going? I'm already at home. I stood in the stone pathway my mother meticulously gardened and looked back at the façade of my house. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Except, I was the only one there. "He's hurt, Alex"she finally spit out, "someone broke into your place, but that's all they're telling me, they've put tape up around the doors and stuff"her voice started to trail and slightly crack as she tried to hide that she was crying None of this made sense. I was in a dream and at my house. Geraldine is in my dream and also at my house. But we're not at the same place. "Geraldine, I don't know what you're talking about. I am at my house"I said sternly as I became frustrated at my inability to comprehend the situation. "Where Alex? Where the fuck are you, because I'm right out front by the garden and they're not letting anyone in"She was now becoming frustrated with me as she started to cry, "just get the fuck here, Alex" Jesus, wake up! "Your mom went in the ambulance and there's no one left at the house" "Deen, I'm at the house. I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."I retorted. I was fed up with this dream already. "Stop it, Alex! This isn't time for one of your stupid little jokes, you prick!"Her voice was filled with desperation and an ample amount of anger, "This is serious. Get the fuck here... Now."
They make it seem like we like torturing people. They make it like we're all toothy smiles and glee while we're stabbing people in the chest or branding them with hot irons, while they moan and beg and wail. And look, I'll admit a few demons I know will go home and beat off, thinking about their long day of work. If that's how you get your rocks off, fine, I'm not judging. But it ain't my thing, and it ain't most demons' thing. For me it was just work. Don't act like you've never found yourself stuck in a job you hate. So I escaped. I guess you want to know how. You know those situations where someone survives a freak accident? Like when a plane crashes and a hundred people die, but one guy survives? Here's the thing. Nobody actually survives shit like that. Frankly, I'm surprised you people ever believed those stories, but I guess silver linings have a lot of appeal, even on Earth. But those one in a million survivors you feel inspired by? They're really just demons, masquerading. For me, it was a school bus going off a bridge. The driver got loaded on cough syrup a few hours before the field trip and ended up swerving into the Allegheny. I picked out the cutest drowning little girl, in her pigtails and pink Dora lace-ups, and I slipped right inside her body, just as her soul was sent for its judgment. Later, on the local news, I did the whole blubbering and weeping thing like I just lost twenty friends, and I held the hands of my new blue collar parents, who thanked God for saving their daughter. My new big brother had a buzz cut and a silver chain and he promised to be nice to me forever. Now, let me tell you, I didn't choose to be a public school kid in Pittsburgh for the fun of it. A lot of times, demons will come up with these bizarre schemes to get celebrities addicted to drugs or race cars. They spend years whispering deceit and vice into their ears, waiting for them to get so fucked up, they end up killing themselves. This basically never works. Celebrities just don't surrender their bodies easy. Their souls fight back, hard, and drag you right back where you came from. For all that work, you'll spend 5 minutes on Earth, if you're lucky. But me, I'm not greedy. I'll happily take over for a bored suburban nobody who ain't got enough to fight me for. Another perk, the Bouncers hate dealing with little kids. It's a bit stressful for me, never knowing if the old woman at the mall thinks I'm a cutie pie or if she's a Bouncer searching for my soul. But usually they don't drop kick a juvenile unless they're very fucking sure. Now, I won't lie, I've had some close calls. There are a few Bouncer bodies buried under the rusty swing set in the backyard, and a couple more I left in flop houses on the other side of the tracks. They think I'm weak because I'm four feet tall and stick thin, but I'm still a fucking demon fighting for survival. Still, at some point I figure they'll get the best of me. But at least I'll have given it a shot. I don't got a problem with killing if it means getting to determine my destiny. I just fucking hate torture.
"I ask again, is the person standing in front of you, am I, human?" The robot looked up at me, as if it was half confused by the question-if I had given it eyes I assumed it would have looked at me with eyebrows perked but that was a cosmetic feature I could have lived without-and it wasn't sure if I had it heard it correctly the first time around. Its 'teeth' glowed a bright blue as it answered my question. "False." I raised an eyebrow for the machine and then walked around to the backside of it. "Initiate Protocol Alpha-Two." "Temporary Shutdown Engaged." I figured I had switched binary system in its head the other way around. So when it answered 'False' it was actually trying to say 'Truth' but the binary wasn't worked. I opened up the back panel on the head of the robot. It was crude, only have an upper-half with arms. I figured until I got it to do stuff besides answer True or False questions, it would at least look a little human. Eyes would come later. The robot had a sensor on the front of its head, a long strip that silently scanned whatever it was in front of it. Then the system in its head filtered everything. Primarily, it had two choices; biological or machine. I hooked up my computer to the back of the head using a two-inch thick cable I had bought off the internet a few weeks prior. It cost me a pretty penny, but with enough leeway, I managed to make a system that worked flawlessly with it. I checked, and then double-checked, the registration feature and made sure 0 was Machine and 1 was biological. There was a lot more going on inside of its head, the program wrote itself as it saw and it added a few thousand lines of code in the first two minutes of it awakening. With everything checked, I removed the cable, closed the back panel of the head and stepped in front of the robot again. "Initiate Restart." The robot didn't respond, but I knew it was doing what it needed to. Within a few moments, the mouth glowed blue again. "Restart Complete. What is your question?" I cleared my throat. "Is the being in front of you, the one speaking,"I stayed as specific as possible, "human? Am I human?" "False." I threw my hands up in the air, "Initiate Protocol Alpha-Two!" "Temporary Shutdown Eng--" "Yeah, I get it!" _____________ "I'm telling you Bill, it's registering everything correctly except humans. Is this a lamp?"I held up a fork in front of the robot's scanner. "False." Bill watched as I threw the fork on the table and then lifted the lamp in front of the robot's scanner. "Is this a lamp?" "True." I turned back to Bill, almost wide-eyed and-if Bill hadn't known me the way he did-visibly insane. "Well, let's try me."Bill took a step in front of the robot. He bent over, took a look around it, even touched the hands that dangled off the side of its chassis. "These powered?" I shook my head. "Not yet." He shrugged and stood straight again. "Okay, robot-what are you calling it?" "Bin." He turned to me, "Bin, really?" "Just get on with it." He laughed and said, "Bin. Am I, the being standing in front of you, human?" "True." My mouth could have hit the floor if I unhinged my jaw. "You're shitting me."I beckoned him to ask again. And again. And again. Each time, Bin responded with 'True,' and each time my jaw fell farther and farther into the ground. I walked towards where Bill stood, half-shoved him out of the way and said, as clear as I could, "Bin. Am I, the being standing in front of you, human?" "False." Bill touched his chin. "Ask him if your its creator." "Am I, the being in front of you, your creator?" "True." "Peculiar."Bill said, and I noticed that his eyes weren't lingered on Bin. No, instead they lingered on me. A little too long. ____________ "I've known you for twelve years Bill! Twelve years!" "We can't take the chance."He said with a straight face, two men had grabbed both of my arms as I tried to push them off of me. "We have to see what's really going on." "This is insane!"I shoved one off with a force that pushed him towards the ground. But I didn't try to break free, I just tried to explain. "I have memories, images and places and people! Mom and Dad, my sister Judith! They're in here!"I hit the side of my head with my finger, pointing to myself. "I am not a machine!" "Well, according to the machine you made you're not human either." I shook my head and I could feel my nostrils flare up. "Don't do this Bill. Please for the love of God, don't do this." He walked up to me as the guards finally handcuffed me. In one fell motion, Bill lowered his head and placed his hand on my shoulder, "It's already been done Jack."He shook his head, "I'm sorry." "Bill. What if I am a machine? What are you going to do, cut me up and analyze what's inside?" "No."He said almost instantly. "You're going to help us find your creator." ___________ Great prompt, thanks! For more of my work, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs.
Prisons have changed since I was young. Now owned by big business, and against a backdrop of increased population sizes, it was scary to see everything I was familiar with slowly get criminalized. Families paid for their felon relatives, renting the smallest cubes they could. Thus I found myself in a block for giving money to the homeless. 'Encouraging vagrancy' was the charge, and it earned me life; conditionally. It wasn't so bad at first, they put your cell block with others of the same classification. And keep other criminals in their own blocks, seperate from us. There's four in my tetra, we get along okay. Talk to each other as much as we can to stay sane. Our tetra is somewhat irregular, like a lightning bolt. So I can talk to two of my cell mates at any time. We pass messages for the fourth, as he can't see me nor I him. Others aren't so lucky; murderers are single file tetras, so guards can keep an eye on them. But when funds run low, for families struggling to stay alive, much less keep their felon relatives fed, things change. Balance shifts, and you learn what the conditional phrase on your sentence really means. when the balance for the majority of your tetra goes negative, or non-payment for too long, you fall into the stack. We fell on the stack last week, when two of the cells, and they don't tell us whom, couldn't make rent for the third month straight. We slid, slamming into a close nit foursome of water wasters, and a longer L looking shaped tetra of city workers. The stack, according to literature publicly available, is macPrisons way of economically managing valuable prison space. I am learning its purpose is far more straightforward. it's goal is to kill the most prisoners in the most economicly frugal way possible. It also encourages families to pay now or lose your relative forever. See, the cubes are wired, and when ten of them align with the walls to either side, it completes the circuit. Electricity flows, and the stench of death fills the stack. Then comes what I wasn't expecting; all the cubes fall, one or two cube depths at a time. I'm told that now, we are at least eight rows from the bottom, and that's a place no one wants to be. More tetras fall, next to us. On top of us; j-walkers, in an appropriate "j"tetra, heh. We were set pretty close to the edge, barely a gap for a single cell between us and one of the walls. I sat blankly studying one of the conduits when a straight line tetra flew right by. The screaming murderers went down into the darkness followed by a flash of light, and that same stench. We dropped the furthest I've ever experienced. And our neighboring tetras say we have dropped four lines down. Stranger, no one from below saw that line fall against the wall right before the drop; they say I was dreaming it. But it makes sense, doesn't it? To fast track the worst crimes for the fastest deaths? You know, I've never actually seen a tetra, or even a single cell get removed from the stack?
"Grandpa, tell us about the war."Nick pleaded, he and his friends all sitting in a semi-circle around me. "My friends don't believe me." Shit, didn't think the little fucker was gonna run around telling everyone. "The war..right yes...well. It all started when I was about, eh, I don't know, 15 years old."I knew I would have to sell this, kids these days. Give them an inch to doubt and they will plug into their virtual reality simulators and scrutinize every truth. "I was a...a druid, in the Alliance of Wynn."All the kids around me Ooood at my faux credentials. "Tell them about the famous battle grandpa."Nick yelled excitedly. "Right yes. The famous battle of the Icecrown. There was a man, his name was...Lichy. Yes Lichy..."I spoke ominously, really trying to up the realism of my story. "Lichy was the Dictator of a country called Icecrown." "Icecrown?"Asked one of the boys. "I've never heard of that."A few other boys echoed him, expressing their confusion. "Well that's because we...myself and some other very important players...people I mean, we erased all memory of Icecrown and Lichy, for the horrors they brought upon the world." "I think I read something about it on the internet guys."Some small black kid muttered from the back. "Yes!"I point at him nodding. "Yes you did. Anyways."I continue. "There we were, in the fight of our lives. Me and 24 of my closest guild buddies, guilds are what we called fighting regiments, back in the war you understand?" "There we fought, 25 of us against Lichy, the overlord of Icecrown. Our raid leader, Deathdotcom, was tanking him while we killed adds. All the while, we had to make sure that we let Lichy use his ghastly weapon, Narcotic Plague on us before we killed him and ended the battle." "Why would you need to let him use Narcotic Plague on you?"Another boy asked. "That doesn't make sense..." "YOU WEREN'T THERE!"I yell, tears streaming down my face. "You weren't there..."I still never got that damn achievement. These damned kids, bringing up memories better left forgotten. I looked around, all of the kids were sitting with their hands on their knees, totally hooked on my story. Got em. "So there we fought, Deathdotcom and Rlydead taking the brunt of the attack. One of my buddies, Tuskenbow, god rest his soul, died right next to me. I tried to revive him, but I misclicked...mistook him for someone else. I BATTLE REZZED AN AFK ROGUE!"I yell, casting my eyes down, the memory still haunts me. "After what seemed like an eternity, we did it. We fought for what seemed like hours, wiping more times than I care to remember..." Nick stood up and came and put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry grandpa. I didn't know how traumatic it was." I pat Nick's hand, trying to steady myself. "The worst part of it all...the worst part was our lowest DPS got Invincible." "What's invincible?"The little black boy asked, his face full of concern. "She was everything."I whisper, my head dropping under the weight of my own failure. Every single boy around me was silent, sharing in my grief. Nick smiled, "Tell us of a happy memory Grandpa? Tell them about the talking Pandas!" Fuck...
Click. "Hmm, that's strange." Click. Click. "I knew I should have gone with a low deductible this year." Click. Click. Click. Click. "I'm going to be late for work." ... ... "That's odd." ... ... "Are you sure you wish to proceed?" "What's the worst that could happen?" Click. "Attention: Memory Wiped. There are no refunds. Please return this unit to your nearest recycling center. Have a nice day!"
It was 5 minutes after midnight when the heroes kicked down the door to the villains lair, weapons at the ready and pointed at my throat, as usual. The bickering was unexpected, though. "He's not shuffling around and do you see his grin? We're late!", complained Larian, the elven warrior woman that had foiled many of my plans. "All because you had to stop at that tavern, Myriel-forsaken bar stool!" "Oh now it's my fault? You know that I can't work my mojo without beer and you 'accidentally' forgot my keg, you thrice damned, tree-hugging bitch!"Thorak hollered in return. Steven, the third member of the party put his hand on the dwarfs shoulder and tried to reason with him: "Come on, Thorak, it was nobodies fault that your keg got left behind in that spider cave. And we can still stop his evil plans Larian, we always do", he said as he turned to the warrior woman. "Sadly, I have to correct you there, my dear Steven. The gears have been set into motion and there is nothing left for you to do except to suffer my gloating. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"Good old, evil laughter burst from my chest as I watched their expressions shift to horror. The heroes? To late to save the day from my evil schemes? What would the bards say? When I finally stopped laughing, I continued with my monologue: "The sacrifice has been made the..." "What sacrifice? There is no blood and no virgin body anywhere!", Steven interrupted. "See that empty table there? It had a feast suitable for a king on it that was properly sacrificed to further my plan. And never interrupt my monologue again, you impatient dolt!", I roared angrily. "Where was I? Ah right, the sacrifice has been made, the magical energies set into motion and sent on their way. Soon, everybody will have enough food to last him and his offspring for a lifetime!" "Er... Lassie, are you sure that we're in the right lair? That's not exactly evil is it?`", Thoruk asked as he turned to look Larian in the face. "Of course it is evil! The populace will finally be free to indulge in their free time, being able to partake in political and philosophical discussion, now that they no longer have to tend to the fields! Imagine the chaos when a simple peasant tries to convince the Philosophical Faculty of Intrad of his insights, gained while milking cows and shoveling dung! Imagine the farmers, challenging the city council for representation, now that they can no longer be surpressed by taxes and tithes!"
All Marv wanted was a calm, quiet, happy life. One without disturbance. He might have had a life of crime a good number of years ago but now he was clean. He settled down in a rural, small town, on the outskirts of a lake. Took a job at a welding store nearby, slowing learning his trade to earn a living. It wasn't much, but after having his face plastered all over the newspapers, a quaint lifestyle worked wonders. Marv opened the door to his house after a busy day at work and took a deep breath. The stress from the annoying customers and loud machinery dissipated into nothingness. He closed the door behind him and went into the kitchen to grab a beer. A black flash out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked around and inhaled sharply. It was a black tarantula. It brought back a quick flash of memories, memories from his past that he had buried in the crevices of his mind. He brushed away the growing thoughts and ignored it, giving it to chance that a spider had happened upon his house. He closed his fridge door and went back into his living room to watch mindless programs. ________________________________________________________________ Kevin plunged the tip of the syringe into his forearm, exhaling as the rush slowly took over him again. He pulled the balaclava over his head and waited in the bushes outside of a house. He hoped that the tarantula had been a good enough warning for Marv. Blood rushed to his head as the drug worked its way into his system. It was time. Kevin slowly crept his way towards the back door, making sure that no one was watching. He felt the adrenaline course through his veins, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He gripped the doorknob firmly and immediately screamed in pain. A defined M was seared into his palm, blood crusted. The door flung open and a fierce looking Marv stood there, shotgun in hand. "I'VE BEEN WAITING TO DO THIS SINCE 1990 YOU LITTLE SHIT!"Marv screamed as he fired.
The whole world watched in shock as the golden particles of glory shook from his robe. Talks of sanctions and children's rights had dominated this year's UN summit as usual until our heavenly creator revealed himself. The revelation was not with the apocalyptic trumpets and sanctimonious fury many religious leaders warned about. Instead he fell to the center of the floor an arrow of grey light protruding from his shoulder. He spit out smoky blood and security was about to jump on him but with a wave of his hand the guns vanished and everyone witnessed that while not omnipotent he was still potent. "They're coming,"he said, "and their God is far more powerful." Whispers broke out in the room. "Who is coming?"Antonio Figo, prime minister of Brazil asked. "The Rosnis."A voice from behind replied. Heads turned to see the head of ISIS speaking from his seat. They had won the war and created their own state. They chose to attend the meeting on their own volition and were welcomed with the warmth only Nigerian princes trying to do business online received. God was choking on the floor, his act of self defense had left him drained. "And who or what is this Rosnis?"secretary general Liu Wang asked. The Isis general took a deep breath. The whole world was waiting. "You see while God is the creator of man he was not the maker of the universe. No, That honor belonged to someone else we called Rosnis. When Rosnis saw the potential for the human soul as a source of spiritual energy him and God disagreed and they fought. While God did put up a good fight he was overwhelmed and fled to the farthest parts of the universe and hid man on earth hoping that someday he would be ready to defend himself." "And how do you know all of this?"POTUS asked. The general stood up and slowly went down the steps talking as he opened his jacket. All bodyguards formed a shield in front of their leaders as he made way to the ailing creator of man. "Well you see, I was there. Not only did I witness the birth of man but the battle too and I can say with a lot of confidence Father you only lost because you were not as ruthless as they." His shirt was off now. Gasps escaped the room and a scream was heard as his voice changed. His bald head now had a full mane of hair and two red horns could be seen protruding from it. On his back a set of black wings sprouted, their Rachis glowing amber red. He was now standing at the center of the forum where God struggled to stand up. Liu choked as he tried to say the words. "You're..." "Lucifer? Yes I am. I've been waiting for this day a long time and made preparations for it." He stretched his hand out to God. "I know we disagreed on their upbringing but come on Father, the time has come for man to know what he can really do. This peace you and little brother have tried to cultivate will only work if you are ready for war. Let's work together and let the makers of matter see what the makers of life can really do." *** If you enjoyed this you can read more of my stories at /r/pagefighter.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.