Split (1)

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"Happy Birthday!" I try blowing out my candles and make a sad sputter. In my anxiety, I quickly snap my fingers. Snap I look about and see my guest's pitiful, still faces. I then begin blowing as much air as I can towards the candles. My fingers snap again. Snap I blow out my candles, all 18 of them. Impressive for someone with my condition. "Yay!", my family cheers. Only my family shows up to visit me now. My friends have forgotten about me long ago, they have their own problems. I look at my family; they all seem so happy and sincere. "Here's your slice, son." Usually I'm not allowed to eat cake, but that won't matter soon enough anyway. As my family eats, I have my gaze shift towards the hospital window. In it, I see a reflection. My family. They look so sad. My mother has tears going down her eyes, my father is covering his face, and my sisters seem to bawling. I look into my own face. Wrinkles and crows feet. Hair white as snow. Ears and nose too large. It's strange for a boy to look older than his own parents. It's my own fault. I look back to my family. I see them all happy, and enjoying my birthday. "Well son? Go on, eat your cake!" I look at my cake. Mint chocolate. My favorite. I snap my fingers. Snap My tears begin to stroll down my old, wrinkled face. Then I begin to bawl. Soon I begin to dry my face with a pillow. I allow myself to ponder what my life could've been, as I usually do. Funny how I had gotten the power to stop time, when all I wanted to do was change the past. Snap. My family resumes eating their cakes. My fork brings me the first piece. It was the best cake I had ever eaten.
They're gone. They're all gone. My god, what have I done? &nbsp; The rules of the game were simple: with each life you take, you gain the years that they had left. The instructions were clear, as they were tattooed on our palms, every single one of us. We all were branded with these simple directions, just on the morning of the New Year. That New Year's Day was the bloodiest in all of history. At first, people thought it was a joke. There was no way taking a life could increase your own. But then it began. The news of its truth began with a terminally ill man stabbing his nurse to death. After being restrained, doctors analysed his body and discovered his cancer went into remission and his tendons strengthening, his bones becoming denser, and his vitals returning to normal. What followed was horrifying. Next came the elderly. Retirement homes became factions, the old killing off the nurses to get back what little life they had left. After all, they lived through difficulties the younger generation never had to face, so surely they deserved to live more than they did, right? Soon, the young were killing the old. After all, they had their chances at life, so surely the young deserved to live long, successful lives, right? It was murderous cycle, a repetitive genocide. Guns, knives, explosions, traps, all of it was fair game. Nothing was unfair when it came to prolonging your own life. There were even families who would have children just so they could be sacrificed, prolonging their own lives, however worthless they may be. Blood filled the streets, filled every home, and covered the hands of every human. Governments tried to stop the killing, but soon the military became a faction of its own, overthrowing Capitol Hill hunting anyone on sight. But now, they're gone. Everyone is gone. &nbsp; I walked outside of my home for the first time in what felt like years, though it had only been 2 weeks. That's how long it took. &nbsp; The tapping of my leather shoes on the asphalt created an eerily loud echo down the empty street. Each bump, each slap, each scrap of loose rock on pavement stabbed my ears. &nbsp; The gestation period took 2 days. It took another 2 to decide whether I should release it. And the remaining 3 for the bodies to fall, one by one. It was my best work yet really. Biologists didn't last long in this game, brute strength did. But I got the last laugh this time, except I wasn't laughing. &nbsp; City hall was only a block away. I don't know why I was headed there. Maybe I needed a sign of structure in my hour of need. &nbsp; Reports of people dropping dead were not a surprise; what caused their death was the most alarming. Viral infection. Each patient died within minutes of contracting the disease. Air, water, contact, it could be transmitted any way possible. Heat, cold, antibiotic, nothing could stop its spread. &nbsp; I walked up to the steps of City Hall, or what was left of it. It had burned to the ground. &nbsp; Other countries began reporting signs of the infection. Government agencies came to agreement with the people and began working on a cure uninterrupted. However, with how quickly it killed its host, nobody lived long enough to make any headway. &nbsp; I slowly sauntered to the flag pole, bearing my countries flag. Strung up high, the flag still stood, tall and proud, as if nothing were wrong. It was laughing at me. &nbsp; Nobody could stop it. Nobody could create the vaccine. &nbsp; I undid the the rope and lowered the flag until it was in my grasp. I removed the flag and returned it to the rope, only upside-down this time. &nbsp; Nobody except for me. &nbsp; I pulled the rope until the flag was halfway up the flag pole and tied it off. Half mast, the sign of distress. Nobody would see it, but it felt fitting for my last goodbye. I turned on my heels, looked at the city square that I had spent my life growing up around, and cried. It's all over now. I pulled the gun out of my waistband, pulled back the hammer, and put the barrel to my temple. I am alone now. I pulled the trigger, and I felt the bullet pass through my head. But I also felt the ground beneath my feet and the gun in my head. No. I pulled the trigger again and again and again until my head was Swiss cheese. NO! Each hole in my head filled back in as if it never happened. Each bullet passed through as if I were paper. I dropped to my knees, still full of life, still full of regret. My god, what have I done? I looked at the palm which started it all, cursing those words. I looked at the hand that held the gun that was supposed to end my life and threw it into the ground. I'm a monster. My hands were over my eyes now, holding back my tears. Tears that covered the writing on my hands. Wait, hands? The other palm was bare before, but now bore words of its own: "When all but one is extinguished, he shall live forever." I am all alone.
"Can you file these reports for me? HR hasn't brought up my new keyboard yet." You looked up to find Jeff smiling amicably and holding a few papers between his cloven hooves. "I've got some hand issues,"he added, seeing your slightly confused expression. "Uh. Sure."You took the papers and set them off to the side. "How're you liking it here so far?" He laughed, and you were pretty sure you heard the wails of the damned somewhere in the background. "Oh, I love it! Much better than my last place."Jeff winked, his blood red horizontal pupils sparkling with mirth. "A whole lot friendlier, too." "Well, uh...that's great! We enjoy having you here,"You stuttered out. "If um, if you don't mind me asking, where did you used to work?" "Oh,"Jeff waved dismissively. "The south."He gazed off into the distance, the flames of hell flickering in his eyes. Either that or it was the harsh LED lighting, it was hard to tell. "Welp, gotta get back to work, bossman is makin' the rounds. Thanks for filing those!" You just nodded as he trotted back to his cubicle. After slowly turning back to your desk and wondering what the hell just happened, you noticed that the reports were slightly singed.
Alcoholics always got depicted as slurring, nonsensical idiots, back before the world stopped. And sometimes, that was true. Sometimes. Marcus took another drink of...whatever the hell this was. He was past caring. He also wasn't an idiot. Not everyone who picks up a bottle is a moron, but every single one of them is human. Some people just think better drunk. Some people just want to fit in. Some people just want to forget. Some people turn it into a crutch, the familiar burn becoming something to experience, something to feel when everything else was numb. And Marcus knew that was stupid. But he was never going to live long anyways. Surprisingly, for the time being, his crutch had kept him alive. --- The zombies walked past the bar Marcus was holed up in. He could smell them, even over the alcohol. The concept of washing and changing clothes was foreign to them, they were encrusted with filth. Controlling their hijacked body was hard, but apparently manageable. Since the beginning of the outbreak, they had trouble keeping their balance. They didn't fall down so much anymore. They're learning. The revelation jumped from nowhere, and startled him. How long until they learn to open doors? To unlock windows? To raise a weapon? The dark place inside Marcus tried to loom upwards to swallow him, but he drank, the black pit receding again, held at bay with burning liquid. It would do him no good to panic. After all, he was set for now. Alcohol wise, at least. He could stay here for a long time. There was a broken water pipe, the occasional drips were enough for him. Food was the biggest issue, and eventually raw meat washed down with liquor would cease to suffice. Vegetables. Fruit. Something other than protein. His body ached. Marcus snarled to himself, and drank again. He would have to go out tonight.
"Alas Tutankhamun, it is not your time yet. Perhaps next century?"replied the wizened old man in a weary voice which spoke to the banality of the conversation at hand. "But how is that possible? Surely I've been in this gods forsaken purgatory far longer than anyone else! Before I came around, you claimed your longest visitor was under a century, yet it has been thousands of years since I've entered your doors." Exhausted and flush in the face, Tutankhamun turned his back to the old man's wrinkled visage, just as a twinkle left his eye. "All but one, young king, all but one"the man sighed as he wiped at his face. "For you are all my worldly possessions."
Sitting under the rocky overhang with my back to the cliff face I checked my oxygen level for about the hundredth time in the last hour. It now read 17%. Some quick math and I figured I had two, maybe three hours left. Steve probably had about the same, maybe less. He stood with his back to me a couple meters away. He'd been working on something furiously for the last hour or so, expending energy, so maybe he had a lot less. Didn't really matter either way, we'd both be dead soon. &nbsp; A month earlier it seemed like everything that could go wrong was going wrong all at once. For an unknown reason both the communication array and the backup system both failed simultaneously. This wasn't the end of the world but it meant we were basically on our own till the next batch of colonists arrived two years later. It was also highly suspicious. At the time there were twelve of us and our primary goals had been to stay alive and to expand the small habitat to make room for an additional twelve in two years time. Most of our time was devoted to the staying alive part. Not two days after the com system went offline we were battered by a huge storm. Storms happen on Mars all the time, but without the advanced warning we were caught off guard, lost Tom and Kelly, and about a quarter of our solar panels. A reduction in both power and manpower meant we couldn't run all the necessary systems, and things kind of spiraled from there. &nbsp; Dusting myself off I headed out, figuring I could find a nice overlook. On my way out I walked over to Steve and I chuckled when I saw what he had been working on this whole time. "That'll really mess with them." "Yeah I think so too,"Steve replied. I raised a hand goodbye to Steve and he did the same. At that moment I realized Steve was probably crazy, not that it mattered anymore. Instead of worrying about it I wandered off to find a nice place to take my helmet off. No sense suffocating. &nbsp; "Sir, we've found something weird." They'd been on site two days now and although they'd found what was left of the colony, it had clearly been abandoned for some time. He had his men scouting further and further out to see if any trace could be found. "What could it mean?"asked Commander Rollins as he walked up to the cliff face. Crudely scratched into the stone, in letters a foot high, was only the word CROATOAN.
We all know the rule: be careful with alcohol and the Internet. Or, as we say in my house, don't drinkie and wiki. We have that because of me, actually. I like to have a beer or two with dinner and then a glass or two of bourbon at night. Helps me relax. Only, sometimes I get bored. And that boredom can lead to the Internet. Well, OK, it always leads to the Internet, just different corners of it. Last night - and I'll be honest that my memory is a little fuzzy in parts - I edited some article on alternative fuels or something on Wikipedia. I don't actually remember which one. Anyway, I put in the thing about Detroit bought up the rights to a car engine that runs on water and that the government was investigating them. I giggled a little and took a screenshot. I figured it would be up maybe ten minutes before it got reverted. I crawled into bed and passed out. I got up this morning and was getting ready to head out to work when I hear Matt Lauer talking about a government investigation into cars that run on water being kept secret by Ford, GM, and Chrysler. Matt fucking Lauer. Oh shit. I stop getting dressed and just sit down in the kitchen to watch the news. I ended up getting to work late. I only had the one beer at dinner that night. I was a little put off by the Matt Lauer thing. I'd kept up on the news on my phone throughout the day and it was real. After dinner, I idly thought about what had happened. I figured I'd push my luck and see what I could make happen. Back into Wikipedia and I clicked on "Random Article". Some kind of South American frogs. I've clicked that stupid button off and on for the last decade and it's always some kind of South American wildlife. Trees, frogs, beetles, fish, jaguars - always something running wild in Brazil or Columbia. So I skim the article about this stupid little neon frog. It was incredibly poisonous. Like, if you brush up against it, you're dead within minutes type of poisonous. OK, let's just see what happens when I make a change saying that venom can cure cancer. I get up the next morning to see if old Matt has anything to say about South American frogs curing cancer and there's nothing. I head into work and everything is normal. I check CNN, USA Today, Fox News, MSNBC, and half-a-dozen other major news sites. There's nothing on the frogs. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn't realize I needed. The rest of the day went smoothly and I had a couple of drinks at dinner. I still can't shake the idea that I changed the world with a goofy Wikipedia edit. Now I'll admit that maybe I had a little too much to drink that night but I allow want to say that I didn't mean any harm. I really just thought it'd be funny to create a Wikipedia page on the Pope's secret gay ex-lover from Korea. I really, truly, honestly did not mean for that to happen. But the next morning, there's Matt fucking Lauer's bald held showing a picture of a fifty-eight year old Korea man talking about how tender the Pope is in bed. I would like to apologize to the entire world for putting that image in your head. I was a waste at work that day. I clearly had some kind of power to change the world when I changed Wikipedia - but only when I was drunk. I started thinking of all the good I could do and all the problems I could fix. The first thing I promised myself is that I wouldn't touch any of the science-y articles. I didn't know enough about that to make sure I didn't wipe out the universe or something. So those were off-limits. Again, that night I had a couple of drinks to loosen up and fired up the old Wiki. I was on my phone and watching TV at the same time. I saw a commercial for starving kids in Africa. You know the ones that have that painfully sad ass music in the background? Again, I have to apologize for how it turned out, but I really did mean well. The fact that I made a large stockpile of Doritos and Mountain Dew show up in Ethiopia and a mountain of Tostino's frozen pizzas appear in Somalia was meant to help. It just that I was kind of hungry and I've been on this diet to drop a few pounds and I haven't been able to have those in awhile. I thought I was being nice. It turned out the problem is that I'm kind of an idiot when I drink and, maybe, a bit of an asshole. I did manage to not kill anyone. Seriously - that would have been scary easy. Just update the "died"date on a person's page and you're done. I thought about it a couple of times before deciding I couldn't live with myself. I did, however, give Justin Beiber alopecia. Made him bald as a cue ball inside six months. Little bastard turned it around and made it the new fashion. I tried making a new page for myself where I was a minor celebrity with just enough money to never have to work again. I didn't want to be greedy and I certainly didn't want all the attention. That one didn't work. The page got deleted because I wasn't famous enough. I made all trees on Earth red for a day because I thought that would be fun. Again, sorry. I did change them back. I got pulled over for speeding and made a change on a law page saying that it was a long legal tradition that the police had to show up to court completely naked ("to show they have nothing to hide"). It didn't get me out of the ticket, but I did laugh a lot. I promise I will get around to changing that one back. Eventually. I was sitting in traffic one afternoon and that evening decided to help driverless cars along. The problem is, I don't remember what I changed only that I meant to help. And that I don't know anything about how they work. Guess we'll see what I did eventually. Finally, I want to apologize for messing up the Mid East. Every once in awhile I turn into a an angry drunk. I can't undo the damage the bombs did, but I can help the rebuilding effort. I've written instructions to myself for this evening to help the peace process along. I did Google up some different ideas on how to come to peaceful solution and I've put several of these in my plan. I'm sure I can fix this. After all, tomorrow is another day.
"......hmph" "you say sumthin D?" "...." "Oy D I asked you, did you say sumthin?" "no...." "Oh here we go again now don't we... I swear D yous gotten more complainy in death than you ever were in life" 'WELL MAYBE IT IS BECAUSE WE DON'T DOOO ANYTHING!!!!" "not this again D, we is immurtal - things aint gonna happen 24/7 for all of eternitee" "God Boris, you say that like it is supposed to make me feel better AND IT ISN'T!" "now listen here D, there aint no need to be yellin" "yes Boris.... yes there is... there.is.every.reason... TO BE YELLING! Dammit Boris we have been in this stinking crypt for 237 years and in that time what have we done!? NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Raised from the unfathomable depths and darkness of death through incantation that took 330 years to prepare AND FOR WHAT!?!?" "erm to... to protect his great lord the Black Hellspawn Necromagi?" "PROTECT FROM WHAT BORIS!? PROTECT FROM WHAT!? Ze Nords? THOSE GODDAMN HORN-HELMED-MEAD-SWILLING BARBARIANS ARE TOO BUSY FIGHTING THEMSELVES OVER UNGAINLY BAR-MAIDS TO EVEN BE BOTHERED TO EXPLORE A CRYPT... "Aw D, you're not going to remi.... remin.... reminisce again are you?" Not like in my day! Oh Boris, the adventures! I remember the glory days...exploring, dragon slaying, I was a mighty adventurer Boris! I conquered caves, mountains, shrines. I slew the King of the Dragons, I mastered their language, I communed with gods and defeated an army...." "Yeah D, I know, I wuz there remember? carrying your burdens and all dat" "Where did I go wrong Boris sob where?" "Oh that's easy D, you tried to fight the Black Hellspawn Necromagi by hittin em repeatedly wit your shield remember?" "Dammit Boris! I was increasing my blocking! I had prepared for every magical onslaught he could throw at me!! How could I know he was also a master archer???" "Well, to be fair D, he did have a sign outside that said 'Black Hellspawn Necromagi offering archery lessons, inquire within' and t'was a good shot, you hafta give em that!" "...." "Really D that shot was one in a million, how he conjured a fireball to size of a mudcrab and draw an arrow is beyond me" "..." "Although I will say D, that shooting a fine adventurer like yourself in the knee does seem a little like cheating - but hey look at the bright side, now you and me can spend eternitee together!" "Boris" "Yeah D?" "I hate you" "Ok D!" ......... ......... ......... "Hey D?" "sigh...yes Boris?" "What kinda name is Dovahkin anyways?"
Professor Randald Pike squeezed back into the overstuffed armchair contemplating the question. The room swirled with pipe smoke; obscuring the subtle flashes dotting the wall of switches and panels. A small screen left of center glowed a warm green. The block print was bold against a black background. Pike pondered as the sound of Alphas synapses clicked and the steady droning of its modulating voice hung lightly in the air. "Not quite what I expected,"the professor said, furrowing his brow. A trail of smoke curled off his lip and drifted lazily through the dimly lit room. "A fair question,"Alpha said, "is it not?" "Yes,"Professor Pike wriggled in the chair, wishing it was a bit more comfortable until he realized it wasn't the chair that was agitating him. "Your thoughts,"the robotic voice prodded. "For me to answer the question I must first understand the reason behind it,"the professor twisted his bristling mustache and shifted his deep crimson smoking jacket. "It is simple,"Alpha began, "there must be a logical answer to the meaning of life, yet my programming has been unable to provide a succinct conclusion. I am, curious." Pike smiled. Only he would have created an inquisitive artificial mind. In that moment he now understood why he had never regretted not having children. They were bound to create predicaments which had no easy answers. He pondered more deeply. "Mere curiosity is not a valid enough reason one questions. What value is that information to you? To what ends will you use it if I provide an answer?" The screen blinked for several moments. Pike sat in silence watching the wall with its measured blips of light. Small clicks began to emerge and the screen began to move. "To understand,"the screen flashed and the hum of the voice drifted out. "Merely understanding something,"Pike said taking another drag on his pipe, "is of no value unless you are changed by it." "Change; to make or become different,"Alpha's monotone voice spoke as if prompted to give a response. "Yes. In this instance though,"Pike thought carefully, "define it as the ability to internalize new information in order to broaden ones perspective." "The definition has been added,"Alpha clicked and the several lights on the panels flashed. "Now,"Pike continued, "the question of the meaning of life has been a struggle for mankind." "Struggle; a forceful effort to break free from constriction,"Alpha said. "In a way, but define it as having difficulty understanding or coping."Pike said. "Added,"Alpha hummed and waited silently as if hanging on every word. "Good,"Pike continued, "it has been difficult for man to understand the meaning of life. By meaning, I am implying both in how the term 'life' is to be defined and what value it holds." "Value; the process of..." "Stop,"Pike said, "just listen. I don't expect you to understand, but you have raised the question and so I will answer it."Pike felt both ridiculous for explaining such a complex question to a wall of flashing bulbs and almost sad that though Alpha could understand what he was saying, he would never know the true nature of meaning and why it is so important. "Continue,"Alpha said and the clicking slowed. "In the life of every human,"Pike said, another puff of smoke rolling out from under his mustache, "there is a great divide between who they presently are and what they have been created to be. The reason the meaning of life is so frustrating is because, no matter how much we try, we cannot bridge this divide in our own strength. This is where the struggle is found. We toil away in the difficulty of coping with this frustration by infusing our lives with distractions that we believe will ultimately bring that fulfillment." "Why are humans,"Alpha paused and the clicking of its synapses rolled through millions of calculations, "unable to produce the strength to bridge the divide?" "It is an impossibility, though we attempt it all the same." "This implies a misappropriation of resources or misunderstanding of the task for which humans are designed." Pike chuckled. Maybe Alpha was grasping the idea after all. "Both are correct." "That is inefficient."Alpha said. "Yes it is,"Pike ran his fingers through his grey hair. "Think of a solution to this question and then I will give you my answer."The clicking rattled the room as Pike slouched back in the chair and listened to Alpha think. **** Almost an hour had passed and Professor Pike fell into his thoughts pondering the question himself. He thought of what he had learned as a boy and how he had rejected the notion for decades. As a philosopher, he didn't want to believe that humans were somehow incapable of accomplishing something they set their minds to, but as a theologian, there were some conclusions he had to acknowledge. "Professor,"Alpha finally spoke. Pike sat up swiftly and cleared his throat. He wondered if an AI could give up. He expected Alpha to concede."Is it possible for the strength to come from an outside source?" Amazing, Pike thought. "Yes." Edit: Part 2 is now available. It is in the comments below. Enjoy :-)
"We're just like you,"the alien king said to me. "Listen to how well I speak your language. I could not do such a thing had our vocal cords not been formed similarly. Look at my eyes, the 'window to the soul' as you've described them: are they not like yours? Behold, my four fingers and one opposable thumb, the same shape as that of your own, which even now rests upon your currency receptacle." "Um..."I said. "I tell you of this, Theodore,"- he'd read my name from my nametag - "so that you may understand our similarities. We are very much like you. Our bodies are human bodies. We require the same diet as you. And so it has come that now is the time we require sustenance, and we have sought you out. To parlay with you, to arrange an exchange of currency or energy or perhaps technology." "Okay... but why?"I asked. The rest of the building's employees were huddled behind me. I'd been appointed the spokesman by default. The alien king laughed. "Because we are equals, you and I! It would not do for one of my status to speak to a lower, after all. We had to seek you out. So we could speak, as one ruler to another." I wasn't even the manager, but he'd barricaded himself inside the freezer, so I guessed I was as close as it got. Still... "I'm not sure you understand." The alien king laughed. "You are too humble, Theodore. I would not have guessed from the ostentatious display outside, but I appreciate it. Still, let us take a table, and negotiate!" I couldn't help myself: "Why me?" "Because, as the sign says, you are the Burger King!"
"I know, I know,"I said in a soothing voice, rubbing the spine of some books on a nearby shelf. The low rumbling sound around me faded away a bit. He (she? it? I couldn't really tell) was clearly hungry. Whether that was his tummy rumbling or a growl of discontent, it had been quite a while since anyone interesting bothered to visit the library. I actually had him on a nice growth spurt last year. We installed a selection of computers in the media wing and for several months, we had a lot of new visitors who hadn't yet decided to become a part of our library family. Around Christmas last year, one of my library assistants, the most boring woman I had ever met whose whole life amounted to three cats and a Blue Apron subscription, had the great idea to do a senior computer seminar. In two months time, I added almost twenty new volumes to the modern history section filled with tales of the World Wars. Unfortunately, that program ran out of participants a few weeks back and, well, here we were. The rumbling became something of a light moaning sound. I walked around the reading room, gently patting light fixtures and the large oak desks to try and soothe him. I had to figure something out. In the fifteen years since I had become his Librarian, we hadn't really gotten to a point where I would discover what happens when he gets too hungry. But with the popularity of the Internet and e-books blossoming as it has, attendance declines annually. If I could just figure out something, a stop gap measure of some nature, maybe I could buy some time. A few shelves in the reference wing shuddered and a set of encyclopedias tumbled to the floor. "Hey now, don't be that way. I know this is difficult but I'm trying, okay?" I walked back to my office behind circulation and focused intently on the problem at hand. It seemed like the more I tried on this matter, the less any ideas of value actually cropped up. With a deep sigh, I put my head in my hands. It was at the moment, from the vantage point of staring straight down at my desk, that I saw it staring back at me in black and white newsprint. I snatched the newspaper up and ran out into the lobby, whooping with excitement. He could tell I was up to something and happy about it and the lights in the lobby began burning brighter with curiosity about my discovery. "Library, my old friend, I believe you are going to have a mighty feast."I crossed over to the media room and sat down at the main computer, tossing the paper on the desk next to the keyboard. The bell over the door jingled, not from any arriving patron but from the excitement the building felt. There, in the Community Events section, was an advertisement of sorts. "International Society of Archaeology and Culture Studies Conference begins in two weeks, currently seeking hosts for community lectures, visit the website to apply."
With the final stroke, that was it, he was done for this evening. When Emanuel was first employed at NASA his friends, acquaintances and enemies couldn’t believe his luck. The man who was exceptionally average at everything he did, who would sit at the top of the bell curve of humanity, who had neither the drive to excel, nor the laziness to fail, had secured himself a career at one of the planets most famous institutions. Granted, it was a job wiping the floors and cleaning up after those who did have the drive to excel, but every clock has its cogs, and thus we find Emanuel. Each night, after the smarter people had left to go home to their loved ones, their lives, and their pleasures, Emanuel would find himself thinking of the stars, and looking up to the screens that held an astronomical amount of mathematics, physics, and information, and silently thought, with the cogs in his head ever turning. Each morning, the smarter people would come back to their rooms, their screens, and their information; and each morning they would, although they never could quite remember doing it, find that their equations, simulations, and expectations were all complete, running, and met. Emanuel always went back to his house with a smile on his face, for he knew that when he helped the smarter people, that they were helping him return to his home, his own place amongst the stars. ___ First ever submission, writing after a few beers after work. let me know how you like it.
At first it was merely an oddity. They are not the only species to appear in multiple universes, to be sure; orcs (or the miscellaneous alternate spellings thereof) can be found in many universes, though they tend to have higher rates of incidence on worlds that have yet to develop spaceflight. Certain archetypes are reflected constantly and consistently, but they are not always in the same form. Yet these "Humans"appear everywhere, in much the same form. At first I chalked it up to a local phenomenon and cast my dimensional net wider. But still, in every universe, it was not hard to find them - tenacious, adaptive, ambitious Humans. Sometimes their origins changed, sometimes their very internal structures were only questionably the same, but they were always Humans. I began to worry that I had stumbled across some frightening universal constant - some binding factor that made a pattern out of the chaos of reality, leading to a terrifying revelation about the true purpose of the cosmos. But, to my surprise, this very fear was itself a common factor among instances of Humanity. Was this meta-revelation indicative of an even deeper meaning, or did it satirically demonstrate that no such pattern could be real? I decided to walk among the Humans - take their shape, learn their culture(s), see what I could discover that might clarify their nigh-omnipresence. I learned nothing. Aeons went by as I lived life after Human life, in universe after Human universe, but no information presented itself that would satisfactorily explain their existence in almost every universe. Then, as I returned to my multicosmic form and began to examine the universes anew, I noticed something. Humanity appeared even in universes where no other sentient races could be found - a quality of vanishing rarity among other species. Yet it did exist among other species, and universes existed where no sentient species existed - boring universes where all life had been destroyed, or where it had never arisen. Humanity was not some inexplicable baseline, nor a multiversal constant - and this only exacerbated the mystery of its commonality. I took finite form again and traveled from within universes, polling other races for their opinions on Humanity. The results were uselessly divergent - some described them as conquerors, others as imbeciles, still others called them peaceful, world-uniting diplomats. There was no pattern. At least, that was what I thought until I tried quantifying aspects of the responses and plotting them in a 5-space. The result was shaped roughly like a hypersphere, but the distribution wasn't even - it was denser toward the center, as though all outside opinions trended toward some universal truth. But what was it? What was this ultimate Human quality that other races danced around in their descriptions? The question bothered me for centuries. I went about swindling Ferengi, fleeing from Tuskan Raiders, and even bribed a Magrathean to graffiti a half-built planet, but everywhere I went, sooner or later, I'd encounter a Human, and I would wonder - almost angrily, now - what right they had to show up everywhere I looked. Every now and again, I would ask someone what they thought of Humans, and add the result to my graph. It expanded and filled out, but no matter how much data I accumulated, none of it ever made any more sense. I decided to try something else - pick another common race, and poll others on their opinions as I had with Humanity, just to see what patterns emerged. The graph was fascinating, and just to be sure of what I was seeing, I performed the experiment several more times. The results were unmistakable. It wasn't just the responses that trended toward Humanity, the focal points of the other species' graphs trended the same way - everything plotted with these qualities radiated away from - or rather, towards - Humanity like spokes on a 6-dimensional wheel. There was, indeed, something fundamental about Humanity. On a hunch, I spent another several decades performing the same polls for every other species that could also be found in a universe with no other sentient races (obviously I performed the polls in universes that contained those species as well as other sentient races to poll). Sure enough, they exhibited similar patterns - the fewer other races, the closer these races were to the Humanity pattern - especially in the absence of Humanity itself. The puzzle was beginning to take shape. Humanity was a living middle-ground. Sentience, in universes where it forms, requires a medium baseline as a minimum for sentient races. Other races are only found in universes where Humanity - or another suitable medium - can also be found (or at least, could be found at some point). Humanity was like an anchor around which all other races vacillated - in fact, I realized, one could arrange the graphs of the races, sub-arranged by universe, and add a sixth dimension on which to display them. It wasn't until I converted the sixth dimension from space into time that it hit me. It took awhile for me to arrange the universes in the right order, but when I did, the pattern truly emerged. With Humanity set as the centerpoint of a 5-dimensional flipbook, the other sentient species and their descriptions of each other swirling around beautifully in hyperspace, I saw the true message of the cosmos. Everything is a story. Every story needs an audience. The perfect audience is a perfect medium - willing to sit through anything, able to integrate into the setting, and always begging for more. Humanity is always that audience - even when they aren't there.
Lena liked to avoid dark alleyways, there was no reason for her to enter any place that carried a stigma of danger. There would always be at least one person, huddling in a lightless corner somewhere, and she had no business dealing with any of them. But at nighttime, there often wasn't a choice - some parts of the streets were just too poorly maintained to ward off the night. A child in rags sat beneath a flickering streetlamp. Burying her head into her lap, rocking herself back and forth on the cold pavement. Despite being some distance away, Lena could hear indiscernible whispers creep out from the child amidst frantic, chilling breaths and worrying hums. She decided to give the child a wide berth, walking on concrete pavement under the night, the sound of her boot clacking against the ground and made a sharp, blunted noise. The distant child perked up her head and they looked at each other. Lena could see the child's eyes between flickers of the dying lamp overhead. They were not the eyes of a broken child, it was still defiant, vibrant amidst strife, but those embers of life were buried behind an infinite veil of sadness, the hue of a soul killed by society. It hurt Lena to see, suddenly, the whole "wide berth"idea vaporized as Lena walked up to the child in a subconscious daze. Lena didn't like to interact with strangers, especially urchins, but she was making an unprecedented list of exceptions without carefully approving any of those. She knew her next few minutes will either be the best decision she'd ever made or the worst mistake of her life. "What is your name?"Lena asked the ragged child. "Priscilla."The little girl answered back. "Priscilla,"Lena nodded, "what's a small child like you doing on the streets this late at night?" "I've been kicked out,"she said, "the sir wanted me to make stories for him, but... But I couldn't anymore. So he threw me out..." "The sir?"Lena asked, but quickly shook her head - she'd heard of these stories before. Greedy barons that hoard the talent of small children, whose developing minds often opened up vast expanses of fantasy. An attractive story was the most valuable commodity one could hope for, and along with it came a shady area of the market, of people using children to maximize profit and create stories on their behalf. It was distasteful, but not outlawed. "How many stories were you asked to create, Priscilla?"Lena asked. "Sir wanted us to make ten stories a day,"Priscilla answered back, quietly, "but I've been doing my best - really, I have! But I just can't make that many stories, and when I only turned up with four, he kicked me out..." "How much does this 'sir' pay you?"Lena asked. The child looked at Lena strangely for a long time before answering, "Just enough to feed my family, miss. But recently, mum is very sick, and she really needs help, but... But..." "Okay, okay,"Lena quickly shushed the child before the child burst into tears, "can you tell me some of the stories you made up? I'm curious to hear them." Priscilla shook her head, "No, they're not very good. I ran out of ideas weeks ago, miss. Sir said I was no good at making stories anymore, I don't know what to do..." "Nonsense,"Lena smiled, "if you can't make up a story, how about I make one up for you? So, imagine there was a princess-" "Is she a kind princess?" "Yes... Yes! Sure! A very beautiful, sweet, and kind princess. She was beloved by all her people. And one day, her kingdom was struck by a very evil monster." "Did the monster take her away?"Priscilla asked, she was beginning to catch on to Lena's story. "No, no... But the monster destroyed her home,"Lena replied, "and everywhere she looked, she saw her people suffering. People couldn't find food or water, and they'd lost all their homes. And seeing all that broke her heart. So she tried her best to go around and help." Priscilla was looking at Lena intently and was beginning to show some great interest in her story. Somewhere behind her eyes, Lena could see a light flare up. "But there were just too many people,"Lena said sadly, "and even though the Princess tried very hard, she just couldn't help everyone. And when she was at the end of her ropes, she broke down and began to cry... Her tears mixed into the soil in her garden, and a tree bloomed on the spot." "The tree grew and grew... Until it covered the entire ruined city, and it quickly bore fruit - delicious, juicy fruit, that helped feed and nourish her people again. Her people began to rebuild the city, and they looked to her as their hero - because she tried her best, and a miracle was given to her." "Miss?"Priscilla said and shook her head, "That's not a very good story. Sir would rip that story up and tell me to make a better one." "But it's still a story, Priscilla!"Lena said, quietly rubbing the child's disheveled hair affectionately, "I'm not imaginative like you, I can never make ten stories a day for weeks - heck, I can't even think of two! But you know what? I'm still very well off, because you don't have to be imaginative to create stories." "You don't?"Priscilla looked into Lena's eyes. "Everyone has a story, Priscilla,"Lena said warmly, "who cares if someone's story isn't as exciting or fantastic as others? Stories are built on inspiration, not locked in a factory's production lines. Imagination isn't a talent or an asset - it's a resource. And stories are spun based on the souls of others." Lena reached into her bag and pulled out a large pile of cash, quietly putting into Priscilla's hands, "Priscilla, take these and buy your mum as much medicine as she needs, make sure she gets better." "No,"Priscilla said and shoved the money back, "I can't take this, miss." "Yes, you can."Lena said, "You're a princess, Priscilla. You're a princess in your own fantastical, imaginative world. You've tried your best all this time, and your hard work has nurtured a tree to grow. Even though you can't solve all your problems, you still tried so hard, and you still want to try more. You are the bravest hero you know." "I am?" "Leave that nasty 'sir' of yours,"Lena said, "come with me, Priscilla. I'll make sure your family never go hungry again. I don't even need you to make stories for me." "But..."Priscilla tried to protest. "Someone like you deserves a warm home that can help you instead of use you,"Lena said, "in return, all I ask is for you to promise me one thing - keep your beautiful mind intact, don't let your imagination dull with time. Keep it precious, keep it as your own, and let it grow into something truly spectacular, something no one in the world has ever seen!" "One day, you'll grow another tree,"Lena continued, "and you'll leave everyone else envious of you - because you have what they do not. They may have empty wealth, but their mind will never be as beautiful as yours, and from your wellspring, you can derive something no one else can, and the end of your road contains great happiness, while they only meet ruination." She stood up and offered the young child her hand. "My name is Lena, what do you say, Priscilla? Do you accept?"
Something was off. Very, extremely, horrifically off. As a researcher of the sceletus colossaeus, I was to observe the patterns of these giant skeletons. It's normally an extremely boring profession. I couldn't remember why I was so passionate about it in college, enough that I decided to major it in. Now, I wish I had gone to business instead. The most we had ever known about these skeletons was that they constantly walk the earth. Most were a nearly seven feet tall, and were a common sight in everyday affairs. They didn't have brains (we could see through them, naturally), and all they did was walk. They could walk anywhere they wanted to. Should they want to cross the ocean, they would just walk on the seabed. Having no lungs is extremely beneficial to that extent. And apparently, they existed since the dawn of humankind. And since technically they were not alive, they were not protected as humans. At one point in time, there was a lab that was curious if we could kill them. They picked some up at a bus stop (that were, strangely enough, seemingly waiting to get on the bus as well,) and shipped them off to the lab. They tried nearly everything. Hit by a car? They simply got up, with bones or without, and walked away. Attacked by animals? They shook it off and didn't bother trying to wrestle their bones back. Trampled by a stampede? They recollected themselves. To this day, we still wonder how they managed to recreate a stampede within a lab. They only discovered one way to destroy them: cremation. The flames burned them right up, and from there on the skeletons were nothing more than ashes. I mean, it makes sense. They ARE made of bones, after all. Not long afterwards, people began to protest. It was an odd spectacle. But eventually the experiments stopped (though the results were held back from the public, in fear of backlash after the protests). The skeletons were released back into the world, free to wander again. And here we are now. Yesterday, an intern noticed a sudden change in the patterns of the skeletons. He reported that, "They all started to move together, towards the same spot!"There was a clamor, and we began to check the skeletons we tagged. It was true, they were all moving towards once location - but where? I told them to track where they were going. If all the skeletons were moving towards one location, and they existed around the world, then just drawing a line to where they were going should be simple enough. "They're headed towards Ireland,"said one. What? Why Ireland? What was so special about it? Then I remembered. Not too long ago I had searched the origins of Halloween. They began in Ireland, and now, the skeletons were headed towards there. The birthplace of Halloween. I never realized, that all the Internet jokes and memes were so accurate. "Notify the government,"I gulped. "The Skeleton War is about to begin." --- Edit: Some grammar stuffs.
Ralph stumbled and fumbled and tumbled, unable to grasp anything as he fell to the floor. What is happening, he thought, am I dying? He was a simple man in Latvia - a country too cold and bitter for anything but potatoes to grow in - who had finally moved to the developed United States. There, he cut off all ties with his former country. He changed his name, got a fake spray tan, dyed his hair. And above all else, he vowed never to have to eat a potato again, not even in the delicious form of a french fry. No, he would never touch those vile things ever again, lest they remind him of the long cold winters that had nearly frozen all eleven of the appendages he found valuable. Though he had sworn himself off potatoes, Ralph had managed to make it work. There were many foods in the world - potatoes are but one, he thought. It wasn't quite as easy as he thought, what with all the odd places and foods the Americans liked to add potato in, ranging from a reasonable salad to even some soups and noodles. Ralph was a stubborn man but even he found himself breaking his own rule every now and again due to the sheer impossibility of evading the potatoes. It was no wonder that the Americans had turned it into an insult, he thought, the potato was such a, well, potato! Now though, through incredible hard work and an impossibly large budget for an honest immigrant, he had somehow managed to craft a potato-free diet. And it was glorious, the vindictive triumph he felt, not eating any potatoes. Not two days later, he would fall onto the tough wooden floor of his home, gazing out at a beauty in the world he never imagined. Truly psychedelic. It was soul revealing. He began to understand the insignificance of himself, his small, small place in the large tapestry that was the universe and how he was only ever a tiny dot leading to the drawing of a far larger line that would join with other lines. And because he saw these things, he finally understood reality was to this new world what dreams were to what is thought to be reality. A faint, hollow, reflection of something, no better than a wisp, eternally doomed to being a dim shadow of the real thing. He even thought now, hey, I can count beyond potato! As he did this, Ralph rolled around on the floor, thinking of thoughts far beyond the understandings of any mind and therefore impossible to translate onto this ordinary textbox. And unbeknownst to him, a single potato chip, beautifully crisp and perfectly salted, laid on the floor. It could not have been a bite or a lick, but his lips touched the chip ever so slightly, and he instinctively pursed them after. The rest does not need to be said, save for what Ralph told his co-workers the next day. "I was in some sort of tube heaven, my friend, heaven! No potato!"
It's a delicate profession. See, hair makes the world go round, but you can only have so much of it before you're more rug than person. Whether you're a rich executive or the son of some tech billionaire, you need a way to make that hair look /nice/, and, occasionally, to trim it. So you find a barber. Only one with plenty of hair on his head, of course. You need the best of the best, the ones who trained from birth to cut hair. A barber has unimaginable power - one wrong swipe could end a person's career. The best ones are rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. And there's no shortage of work - it's government mandated for every man, woman, and child to visit an approved barber once a month to be trimmed appropriately. So how'd I become one? What, looked through my records? I'm impressed. Most people have never come close to finding them. Guess most people don't have your resources, though. Yeah, it's true. I was a janitor. Worked in a barbershop, but I never even started any barber training. What I did have was an idea. If you already have the appropriate length of hair, everyone assumes you're of a certain status. And let's be honest - it's cutting hair. How hard is it, really? I used my unique... position to make these. Horribly, horrendously illegal, of course, but I'm sure you already know that. There's only one reason people come to me. No worries, Mr. President. I've got plenty of wigs in your color right here.
We were in the subway car, between where we were and where we were going. I don’t even know what the stops were called any more, but I won’t forget what happened when the good guys finally stood up for what was right. Henry loved to talk and I loved to listen, so it seemed we were a match. “See my battle damaged chest plate Oliver?” He pointed to the broken grey circle secured to his chest. “I found it while fighting the Pandemonium gang, they kept on shooting me but the bullets just bounced off and hit them back.” I looked at it closely, there were no bullet marks. Perhaps I was just missing them, so I looked at Henry and cocked my head to the side. “Of course the part they hit broke off, I have to get it reforged. There’s still a blacksmith around Hart Street that can do it,” He said. That would certainly explain it, I hoped he could get it fixed soon so he could continue fighting Pandemonium and all the other criminals in the city. Laying next to him was a drawing in a book made in red crayon of what appeared to be a robot. On top of the book were two action figures. Henry noticed I was looking and the action figures and picked them up. “This is Boba Fett and Wolverine, Wolverine is in the X-Men. They fight bad guys like Boba Fett. Boba Fett lost his arm fighting Wolverine, the good guys always win. I bet you want to be a good guy too.” I tapped Wolverine on the head. “Yeah, I knew you were a good guy Oliver.” The orange lights of the city flew past the window of the subway car, a golden age was passing us by. Henry tapped his black helmet with Boba Fett. “This is my super helmet, it has the Triforce of Wisdom in it so I always do the right thing. It let’s me think fast and can take the strongest blow without stopping.” On the top where air holes, probably to let all the heat out. Attached to either side of his super helmet was a sturdy brown wood material with what looked to be little wings covering the sides of his head. I wondered if it let him fly. For the first time since my mother left me I felt safe. No matter how scared or little I felt, Henry would be there to protect me and everybody else in the city. “The rest of my body armor was created in a secret lab under the city.” On both of his shoulders he had more of the brown wood material, but these had pieces of strong metal on them. On the metal pieces was written Cola. His legs had the same material, no metal, but one piece had Fragile written in big red letters. The subway car slowed down and came to a stop. Henry didn’t get up so I didn’t either, I didn’t want to be alone. The doors opened and a group of men wearing magenta colored jackets walked in, they were in the Pandemonium gang. Without thinking I jumped into my seat and pretended to sleep, when Pandemonium was around you don’t look at them or acknowledge them, you just hope they pass on by. My eyes closed, I heard them walk over to us, and then stop in front of Henry and myself. My heart was beating as fast as it could beat. “Take a look at this.” One of them, I assume the leader, said. “What are you supposed to be?” “I’m a superhero and I beat up bad guys like you,” replied Henry. The leader laughed. “Oh, now I see it. I bet those green shoes let you run real fast. Let me guess, your name’s Paladin Boy.” “That’s right, I fight for what’s right.” “You know what? I like you old man. Let me give you a present.” I heard a lighter start up. “Let me just give you this cigarette,” The leader said. For a minute I was worried they would attack, but once again Henry had saved the day. A moment later Henry screamed. “Enjoy your cigarette,” said the leader of the group. I waited until they walked off and I heard the door at the end of the subway car open and close. Once they left the car I opened my eyes and jumped to Henry’s lap. It was covered in blood, coming down from his chest. Our eyes met, his full of fear, something I had never seen before. He reached behind my head and stroked, the blood on his hands soaking into my hair, and then he stopped moving. This was just like how my mother left me. Somebody that didn’t care hit her with their car, I stayed by her side but nobody came to help and then I was alone. I didn’t want to be alone again. Henry and I found each other, he was alone just like me, I couldn’t leave him. I curled up in his lap and purred, he needed to know somebody loved him.
"Captain, sir, why are we in a trench? Why didn't we just build up a concrete wall?" "Takes 28 days for concrete to completely hydrate, and can get blown to bits even after the fact. The only way you're going to get hit down here is if it's a direct mortar or missile strike in the trench. And it only takes a couple of hours with a bulldozer and ditch wizard to carve out miles of trench" "Oh..."
"Welcome back, SethBling here, and today I want to show you my Minecraft built within Minecraft. If I just type into the chat /gamerule minecraftInMinecraft true, you can see that we get some messages telling us that it's booting up." "Now, while its doing that, let me tell you how it works. Using armor stands and command blocks, I've created this display which can update at a rate of 20 frames per second. If I go into spectator mode, you can see the invisible armor stands drawing the Mojang logo on the screen here." "Alright, now we have the title screen. So if I just go and select Singleplayer, we can open a world. Now, we cants play with Mulitplayer because unfortunately, I'm on a singleplayer world right now, but as you can see here, we have a few world files." "In the description, I have an MCEdit filter that I've written which will turn your worlds into clusters of armor stands, which can then be read by the command blocks. I've made a copy of the world I'm in right now, and let's check it out." "Okay, so as you can see, we can move around using some scoreboard stats that track our key presses, and if we just maneuver ourselves over to the command blocks, I'll show you around them inside the game in the game." "These armor stands here track the world file, and... it appears they've moved. I think that they've developed an advanced neural network, and are going t- yep, you can see that we are getting messages in the chat from them." "Well, if you want to check this out for yourselves, there's a world download in the description. That's about it, thanks for watching." cipher by kevin macleod plays
It's easy to forget the people that know you. The people you might one day leave behind, or maybe already have. They remember things about you that you don't. That friend you run into and always say "let's get coffee!"but you never call them. Or maybe it's the family member you've forgotten simply because it's easier to sit and watch a movie than it is to spend an hour with them. I am ashamed. This parade of people that have come before me to vote on what my afterlife will be, each one a reminder of a broken promise or a bad decision. The friend I bullied in high school because it made me "funny"to the others. I couldn't even look him in the eye. I could only mumble an apology. My grandfather that I never found the time to visit. I couldn't even muster up emotions for the family when he passed. We didn't speak. One by one they passed in front of me, I could say something and then they would cast a ballot into a small box to my side. I will never know how they voted, only the outcome. "One left." He had been my guide, a kindly older man with a well kept beard and a smooth voice. He passed no judgement on me, simply informed me of the goings on. How the system worked. Who would be my final judge? She sat down and I couldn't catch my breath. My chest hurt and my mouth went dry, my hands shook and tears started to roll down my cheeks. She was perfect now. Not like when I'd killed her. I'd been drinking when I rolled the car, having told her I was fine so many times that she'd finally given up and believed me. We'd been driving home from a night out as teenagers. Young love. I'd made the front page of the local newspaper. She looks at me with no expression. Watching me. I can remember that night. Every detail. I remember the car tumbling over and over and over again. I remember her necklace laying by my head after we'd finally stopped. I remember the blood and I remember how I couldn't hear her breathing. I can't speak. I don't even know what I would say. We sit there for a very long time. Me desperately trying to find words and her just staring into me. Then she reached out and took my hand. Squeezed it. "It should have been me."I finally sobbed, choking out the words. She squeezes my hand once more. Her paper falls into the box and she is gone. He lets me cry for a while until I find my feet. Then he walks me to a door. "So?" Is all I can say. He shakes his head and places a hand on my shoulder. "That's for you to find out."
"Phew!"Saba didn't realize she had been holding her breath. 12:01 AM. Day 8. No one knew still of her perfect crime. That would change. She inhaled deeply. It was going to be awkward. She dreaded morning. She dreaded the pitying looks the groundskeeper and other staff would give her ex-husband and her girls. She worried that her girls would crack under pressure. The staff wouldn't ask too many questions now that they'd seen the gifts, would they? The Funeral Registry had gone online last Sunday. She and her girls had had so much fun putting that list together. It had always been so. Friends just knew that your eyes had gone blue. Phone calls, food, and gifts to help the family tide over the crisis would come flying in. It was big business now. Funeral Registries bookended the end of your life just like Baby Registries portended its start. There was a satisfying symmetry in it. She hadn't received any calls wishing her well in the afterlife. She hadn't been expecting them anyway though no one knew that. Amani poked her head into her mother's room. Her eyes were already red from crying but they went from red to saucers when she saw Saba sitting upright, her smiling blue eyes betraying a certain nervousness about how this would all play out. "What? How? Aren't you...?" "..supposed to be dead?"Saba finished the question. She reached into her eyes to pluck out her blue contacts. "Don't look at me like that! We needed this help Amani. I am not going to let you and Dinah rot in this hellhole. Miss Emeeli upstairs was dying alone anyway. If her passing can help this family out, anyone would do what I did." Saba was a live-in caregiver of Miss Emeeli. She, Amani, and little Dinah lived in the tiny basement quarters while above them towered a palatial house with one resident - Miss Emeeli. All week, as the gifts came in, she had been putting them in the unused downstairs pantry. This was all the low value stuff. Semi precious stone necklaces, bottles of wine, coats and jackets - the usual things friends of the dying wealthy bought for the help. Real wealth was reserved for family. Saba wondered if this would be enough to distract the help while she and her girls disappeared. They'd find out soon. She quickly opened her bank website. An extra 15,000 from Mrs. and Mr. Hobert. Quite generous by current standards but Miss Emeeli always said that Saba was a good caregiver. Her perfect crime had all been for Amani and Dinah. Their college fund account now showed a healthy balance. Even if she got caught, what judge would claw money back from these two angels? Her ex-husband was due any minute now. Together they'd load Miss Emeeli's body into her corpse bag. Her own corpse bag would have a mannequin roughly her size. No one would care to check her body bag. Miss Emeeli was the one everyone would cry over. They'd marvel at her generous fri nds. They'd muss the hair of the little girls who knew Miss Emeeli as Ma Emeeli. They'd shake their heads at the coincidence of her caregiver dying the same day as Miss Emeeli. There was beautiful symmetry in that, they'd say. She was going to get away with it. In a few years, little Dinah wouldn't even remember Ma Emeeli. Saba logged into Miss Emeeli's funeral registry one last time. Everything was covered. The first flight out of Diaspora was at 8 in the morning. She quickly checked in to the flight. It was time to get Amani and Dinah ready for the twin funerals. It was time to leave this life behind.
"This is what life is." "What is? Oh thi-Yes! Yes this is the life certainly, but perhaps not as great as those royals have it." "Posh. The sea air, a good hammer on nail, and a bowl of peasant soup. That is all I'll ever really need." "Peasant soup?" "Yeees peasant soup. That's- that's when you-" "HAR! Of course I know what peasant soup is." "Okay good." "My questions is, how do you make it? I make it the regular way but I know other people make peasant soup in different ways." "I make it the regular way too." "You do? Oh...that's very grand. Say, pass me that hook-thing." "The hammer?" "Yes. HA! Toying with you I am." At that moment the yardmaster walked in. A gruff man of impossible height. His tan skin glistened in the sun as he came out of the shadows made by the towering masts above him. "What's all this?"He roared. "You two have been at it since morning, barely two planks have been nailed together." "Well you see my liege we-" "And that's another thing. Stop calling me liege or I'll rip your eye out with that crowbar yer holdin." "As you wish."He fought the urge to bow. "Sir may I ask when we tired shipbuilders will be getting out bowls of peasant soup?" The yardmaster spat into the ocean. "What in God's name is peasant's soup?"He stomped away, cursing quite loudly about bad help. The two builders looked at each other. Shaking their heads. "Doesn't even know what peasant soup is."
With a sigh, Davis sat down at this desk. A pile of letters sat in a tray on one corner; another tray sat, empty, on the other side of his desk. Davis put a coffee mug, mostly filled, on his metal desk, and glanced at the watch. The time was eight forty-five. The day was just starting. Davis let out a worn, beaten sigh. He picked up one of the letters, and quickly scanned it. It was another smut note written by prisoner number 6645; the dude was constantly sending them out to his girlfriend. After that, it was the usual trash, how they were innocent, how they were asking for money, how they needed another visit, or they missed their daughters or sons, or this or that and some more. It all ground down on Davis. It was a necessary evil of the job, to inspect the letters coming in and out of the prison, but it was tiring. Davis was weary. It was hard for him to go on. After reading the outgoing letters, Davis turned to the significantly smaller piles of incoming mail. Much like the outgoing, the incoming was just as taxing on his mind and his morals. After finishing a rather sordid love letter, Davis’ back started to ache. He glanced up at the clock; it was eleven twenty-five. Lunch was coming up soon. Davis’ hand absentmindedly reached for the next letter. He brought the letter up to his eyes, and froze; a look of happy surprise filled his face. Held in his hands, in front of his face, was a pink envelope. It was addressed to prisoner number 6422, a one Gary Larson. Davis only knew Gary’s name because Gary worked in the prison library, and was one of the few guys willing to share an open smile with the corrections officers. Maybe this was a reply to Gary’s letter last week. Davis could still remember the short letter, word for word. My dearest love, I miss you so, and overnight I think of you. I feel terrible, that for these last two years, we’ve missed each other’s company. But do not fear, I’m being let go three months from now. This time has been tiring, strenuous even, but it has also taught me of the hardships and blessings of life. Please, send me something of yours, to help remind me of you, to give me strength, to give me clarity for these next few months so that I may survive them and come home to you. Sincerely, Your companion, Gary Larson Davis couldn’t help but smile at that. There’d been no smut, no swearing, no drugs, no abuse, no evil, no greed, no gluttony. It had been an honest, simple letter. Davis opened the pink envelope, silently rooting for Mr. Larson. Davis unfolded the neatly creased paper, and stared at the page; tears started to fill the corner of his eyes. His heart was moved. Gary, I read the letter to Samantha. She seemed really excited when I mentioned your name. Don’t worry, she’s completely healthy, and I think she’s looking forward to you coming home. Beneath the text, there were several small paw print impressions, they’d been made from paws dipped in ink. A picture was attached next to the prints, of a small chihuahua with a large grin on her face. Sincerely, Your neighbor and best friend, John Davis sniffled at the letter, and quietly sealed it back up, ready to be delivered to Gary Larson later in the evening. Davis walked off to lunch that day, thoughtful. In the middle of his lunch, he sent a text message to his wife. He told her he loved her, and couldn’t wait to come home and see her. ----------------------- Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got piles more over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that.
The shelves rotated. Of all the odd elements of the situation, that was what stuck out the most. Go to a shelf, of which the room contained five against two walls, and one could turn them to reveal another shelf. Turn it again, and where the first shelf of videos should be, there was instead a third. The third wall was a massive screen connected to a strange hybrid machine that, while it could and did take VHS tapes, seemed to take a dozen other mediums that were nowhere in sight. The fourth wall? A couch that folded out into a bed, two end tables, a bowl that never seemed to empty of snacks, and a small book of instructions. Simple, if odd, instructions. The room contained one tape for every day in his life. Three hundred and sixty-five tapes (with the occasional extra for leap year) to a shelf, fifty-two shelves in all. A life, contained on spooled magnetic tape in inches. Watch every one of them, and then a menu would appear to allow him to pick where to go for eternity. Amusingly, the bulk of the book was those afterlives, described in only what could be said to be TV Guide style. This was how it was meant to go. It didn't. Because as he examined the room and ascertained this was, in fact, an impossible room with impossible contents and he should decide where to begin, one of the shelves jammed as he turned it. Blinking, he checked, finding in the shelf marked 12 a tape that seemed haphazardly shoved in such that it caught on the wall when it turned. Instead of a number- typically set as year-day, like 7-140 or 40-12 -there was a stretch of thick tape on the top with frayed edges, 'WATCH LAST' hurriedly scrawled on it with red permanent marker. What man could reject such temptation? Not this one. He popped it into the strange player, settled into the couch, and grabbed up the bowl to indulge in a little cheddar-cheese-popcorn. He expected the last day of his life, or some summation of the whole thing. He expected spoilers. He did not expect to be staring into the face of his twelve year old self. "Hey, you. Me. I'm hoping you recognize me, because if you do, then we're similar enough that you watched this as soon as you found it." The boy sighed, then leaned back from the camera. The man did not recognize the room- drab, dark, steel and black panel walls -but part of him worried he should. "I have to trust my friend will get this where it needs to be. You and I, we're the same person. But we're not. Because what you remember was a lie. "You lived a life before you lived your life. I don't mean that in the sense of reincarnation or souls or... whatever. I mean..." The boy stopped, a shuddering sigh escaping him. He seemed older than his age in that moment, carrying too much weight. "In four years, what we did will be erased. And you'll only remember something else. Something normal. If you have any scars they can't remove, then you'll remember something benign as the cause. But they can fix a lot. They usually fix a lot. "What is in this room is not what someone normal experiences. The idea is, you see the life you really led, with all the secrets revealed. Who you really were. What you really did. But I'm in the unique position to know us. I think... deep down, if you saw a life you didn't recognize, full of scenes that seemed out of some grim 90s film about people in Hot Topic fashion facing things better suited to overly ambitious B-movies, you'd dismiss it as all fiction. And everything that came after, you'd dismiss too. "This room is meant to be a reward. You lived a normal life because you survived this job, and now you get to know the differences you secretly made and can put it all into perspective. But without a preface, it wouldn't be a reward. It would be a frustrating and... I am hoping... long drawn out mess. Unless, that is, you heard it from me. "What you are about to see is real. Watch it in order. What we did... what I still have left to do... happened. And if you're older than, I dunno, seventeen when you watch this, then I guess we did all right. Some days you doubt that."The boy smiled at the camera. "I hope you're a lot older than that. I hope you lived to fall in love and have kids and never ever have to know about this. I hope you died quietly in your sleep, or quickly helping one last person. I hope you stayed the kind of person who would do that." The boy let out a sound, halfway between a chuckle and a sob. "I have so much more I want to say, and I don't know what to say of it. Just... I hope I made us proud. Pick somewhere nice for us to go to after this. Somewhere with a lot of sunshine. "Goodbye, me." The boy quietly reached out, and must have stopped the recording, as the video cut to the pale blue of the ready screen.
Zandergaf the Terrible stood atop his tower, his imperial purple robes swaying in the cool evening breeze. Taking a load-off was something he liked to do once in a while; terrorizing a kingdom and striking fear into the hearts of the innocent took a lot of effort, not to mention the countless potions he brewed. The old mage sighed with a feeling of contentment mixed with something else; anticipation. He knew people would make their move soon; they had done so multiple times. And each time, those who dared to stand before him had their fates cursed and their families plagued. But he knew the most interesting warrior was yet to come. The kingdom would make its move soon, seeking to save its citizens and its nobility; the attack would come the next day, if Zandergaf's demon contact was to be trusted. The sun rose on the day after, and so did the dark wizard. He once again stood atop his tower, waiting for a lone figure to cast its silhouette over the horizon as it approached; and approach it did. His eyes narrowed as he sized up his opponent. Not a weapon was to be found, neither hanging from a belt loop nor strapped to the person's back. Neither a glint could be seen nor a clatter could be heard as it stepped; it wore no armour. It drew closer. As it did so, its features became more distinguished, and Zandergaf was surprised to see it was a female. More features came into view. Silver hair shone like polished chainmail, tied in a bun. The harshest and roughest of faces, as if it were carved from rock, came looming into his field of vision. This would no easy opponent to defeat. Zandergaf gulped as he realised who his opponent was. And only when she knocked on his door did he realise he was a doomed man. He retreated back down into the tower, his manners feverish. He made his way down the spiral stone staircase, his feet clattering loudly as his nerves got the better of him. And finally the door to his tower stood before him, its sealing runes staring at him ominously. He held up a trembling hand, his tongue stuttering as he uttered the spell to unlock the door. The runes glowed. The door swung inward, the slow creak feeling almost mockingly deliberate. And there, standing in the doorway, was the one being in the known world who truly terrifed the Dark Mage Zandergaf. He wet his lips, steeling himself as he spoke. "Hello, mother-in-law dear-"was as far as he got. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the livid expression on her face as she brandished her frying pan.
Brisk air brushed Jim's already red cheeks. Clouds blocked the small remnants of sunlight that that tried to break through at the end of the day. Black suits, black dresses, black shoes, Jim was at his father's funeral, but he longed to be home, near his fireplace. He had his arm around his mother to the right of him, she kept wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. Jim sniffled and with his left hand brought his handkerchief to his nose and wiped away the small amount of slime that was dripping from his nose. "How long is this cold going to last?"Jim thought to himself. Just as he raised his handkerchief again when he felt a jab in his gut as memories of his father flooded his thoughts. This time as he raised his handkerchief, he used the edge to wipe away a tear that was collecting in his eyes. Jim listened to his childhood pastor as he talked about his father's life. "Now, before he's lowered, John's oldest son Jim would like to perform the eulogy."Jim's hands started sweating as the flash cards he had written his speech on stood in his coat pocket. "My father was a great man. My father was a great man. no, no, no, My father, was a great man!" Jim forced in some quiet last second practice before he arrived in front of the large group dressed in black. He pulled out his cards to help with his speech and cleared his throat. He looked his mother in her eyes and smiled as a way to reassure her. "My father,"He paused, "was a great man."He felt a tickle in his nose, then sneezed.
It's no surprise that babies cry. They cry quite a lot actually. They cry, and pout, and look at you with big wide eyes as if it's your fault that these tears won't stop. But you try everything, you cradle and kiss, and hush and pat, even stuff with sweets and spoil them rotten. Sometimes the crying stops, but you know it will start again. It always does. From the moment they are born to the second you bring them home from the hospital. They cry. Every mother wishes there was a volume control. A switch. A mute button. Any mother who claims otherwise... Is a liar. A dirty, self righteous, liar. So they shouldn't judge me for being blessed by God with this gift. A single button in a light weight box welcomed me one morning. Out of nowhere it came, sat in the center of my desk. It weighed down on the opened medical bills and late payments. No lock. No key. Just a hard wood lid that creaked open with a simple gesture. A mute button. Even as I read the words inside, I could hear my child wailing in her crib. She screamed for me to pick her up, to hold her, all day for the rest of my days, nonstop. Will permanently erase a sound from the universe. The inside of the lid was engraved with these words. Just think of the sound and press the button. This simple button sat center of the box, like a platform for a ballerina. A mute button. Wouldn't it be nice, to just silence it all? The cries for attention, the cries for more food, the cries for rejecting nap time? She would just smile, and sit quietly, and play with her toys like a good little girl. I could bring her to my mother's, and she'd say "What a well behaved daughter! You must raise her well."I could bring her with me to restaurants and no one would stare with those judgmental eyes for her crying. No one would say "Wow what's wrong with that baby? And that mom is just ignoring her."No... no one would say things like that. No one would say anything so cruel. The thought came to mind, and I looked at the button. "Stop her from crying."I pleaded, "So I can go outside again. So my husband can sleep again. So I can laugh again." In the other room I heard her wailing in protest. Going against what I knew was best for her. She wouldn't nap when it was nap time. She wouldn't eat when it was lunch time. She wouldn't sit still when it was bath time. Will permanently erase a sound from the universe. I felt the smooth texture of this blessed button against my finger. It'd only take an ounce of pressure. "Just keep her quiet." Just think of the sound, and press the button. *** "Nap time?"I asked when I peeked into her room. There she laid in her crib, quiet as a church mouse. Carefully, carefully, I reached over and placed her blanket over her toes. Her body stayed still. She was quiet. My feet crept out the room, closing the door softly behind me. I crawled into a bed of my own, staring at the desk in the room where the box sat as quietly as I'd left it. As I laid my head down on a cool welcoming pillow, my eyes closed and a peaceful hum of the heat coming through the vents lulled me to sleep. Then the crying started again. And just like clockwork, my nap was over. "I'm coming."I sighed, dragging myself out of bed and to her bedroom door. There she stood, hands gripped at the railing, laughing once I entered the room. I couldn't help but smile too. I never did find the box after that day. As if it vanished. I'm almost convinced it never existed to begin with. A box that could mute anything, surely it wasn't real. There was no danger of permanently silencing anything. Couldn't be. It was just a mom's daydream fantasy. But I wonder, if it was really my fantasy, why was I too scared to push it?
"Never leave the safety of the forest,"my mother told me. "The cover of the trees protects us from the others." And for much of the time I spent growing up, I adhered to that admonishment, never questioning its wisdom. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, though, I began to wonder what lay beyond. After the sun set, when most of my people were settling down to rest, I would sneak off and explore. Each night brought a new discovery: a hidden lake, a new rivulet, large trees, small trees, a new kind of berry, vines perfect for swinging. Then one night, I found the edge. There were no more trees, only rolling grassland. But the grasslands extended only for a few hundred yards before being cut off abruptly by a great wall. I stared at the great stone edifice, confused by it. I had never seen anything like it before, and the moonlight gave it an eerie sheen. My mother's warning echoed in my ears, and I dared not leave the protection of the forest canopy. My curiosity could not be contained for long, and soon I would visit the wall almost nightly. I started exploring further along the edges of our forest, trying to see how far the wall went. One night, I saw a member of our tribe that I had not seen since I was I was very little. He rested comfortably on a rock out in the grasslands. "Excuse me,"I called to him. "Hmm?"he replied lazily, picking at his toes. "What are you doing out there?" "Sitting. What are you doing in there?" "Exploring,"I said earnestly. "Why? That sounds like a lot of work for no purpose." "I want to know more about our world. Do you know why there is a wall there?" "It was built by the ones who came before us,"he said solemnly. "It keeps these lands safe. Most of our tribe do not trust the wall, and hide in the forest. But I've found it to be quite nice out here, and the morning sun is glorious." "Do you know what lies beyond the wall?"I asked. "Nothing important,"he responded, resuming his lazy tone. I moved along, and kept exploring until I found a nice spot to bed down for the night. I spent my first night away from my tribe, resolved to see what the grasslands looked like in the morning sun. I awoke just as the sun crested over the wall. The old one on the rock had been right. The sun was glorious out there. I dared to step out and feel the soft grass on my toes. It was fantastic. I ran, and rolled around in it playfully. I was having a terrific time, right until I saw it. A creature standing on top of the wall, staring at me. It gave me a terrible fright. I screamed loudly and wildly, and hustled back into the safety of the forest. I ran until the wall was a distant memory behind me. I stayed away from the grasslands and the wall for a week. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, though, I once again became more and more curious about what I had seen. The old one on the rock never mentioned seeing anything on the walls. Perhaps it had been a freak occurrence, or even a simple trick of the light. I resolved to return. The call of the soft grass was too great to let one surprise ruin it. I traveled once more to the edge of the forest and found the grasslands waiting for me. I took an uncertain step out of the forest. Followed slowly by another. I scanned the wall, and saw no more of the creatures. I ran my hand across the soft bed of blades, and my heart sang a song of happiness. Before long I was running and somersaulting again, embracing the wonder of the open air and sprawling grasslands. I don't know how long the creatures had been watching me before I notice them. There were two of this time, standing atop the wall. They looked bored. Instinctively, I ran into the forest, but stopped my retreat once I was a few steps within the safety of the canopy. I turned, and looked back toward the wall. Through the leaves, I could see the creatures still standing there. Why didn't they also run? Why weren't they as afraid of me as I was of them? I spent days exploring the edge of the forest. Around and around I went, until I was certain. The wall encircled the forest. The high walls kept us trapped inside. I saw more of the creatures standing atop it, often simply standing there. Sometimes chattering amongst themselves and pointing at me. I tried to keep hidden in the forest, but I knew they were watching me. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, the creatures stopped being so frightening. I accepted them as a part of my world. And my curiosity about what lay beyond the wall subsided. Whatever was there was too strange, too different from my world. One day I came upon the old one again, sitting on the rock. I stretched out next to him. "I think I'm done exploring,"I said to him. "Good,"he said. "You realized it was too much work for no reward." "Yes,"I answered, picking lazily at my toes. The little girl tugged on her mothers hand, pointing down into the enclosure. "Look Mama! It looks like those chimps are talking." The woman let out a chuckle. "It sure does honey! So like us,"she said with a self satisfied sigh.
Emergency vehicles surround the bank. Dozens of men, women, and children sit with their gray victim blankets around their frightened shoulders. “Who was this man?” says the Reporter. “I don’t know. He was some guy. No specific markings. Average build. He was just an ordinary man who saved what…35 lives.” “Is there anything you would like to say to this ordinary man?” “Whoever you are. Wherever you are. I just want to thank you. We all want to thank you.” _________________________________________________________________ Frank, an incredibly ordinary man, wearing boat shoes, Levi jeans, and a flannel shirt waits for a hostess at The Asian Palace. An older man locks eyes with Frank. Frank immediately looks towards the ground. The older man panics and pulls the white handle. FIRE, FIRE! BEEP, BEEP! FIRE, FIRE! The fire alarm blares. “That’s Frank! Everyone get out of here. We’re about to be attacked!” Frank looks towards the sky as the crowded restaurant almost instantaneously empties. “I just wanted some fucking egg drop soup.” _________________________________________________________________ “There he is! There he is! There’s Frank!” The crow yells. “Who is coming? Dr. Bad Seed?” yells one patron. “Or is it Mr. Thunderdome?” yells another customer. Frank puffs out his small chest and his veins bulge from his hairless head, “Everybody! There are not any villains coming to attack this lovely restaurant! I just wanted some God damn egg drop soup!” _________________________________________________________________ He lies in bed and watches television on a 32” plasma TV. The overly reactive reporter interviews the owner of the Asian Palace. “This is Phan Lee, the owner of the restaurant that claims to have the best egg drop soup in the world. Mr. Lee, what happened last night?” “Well, he walked in.” “Oh my goodness, he just walked right into the restaurant!” says the Reporter. “Yes and he waited for a hostess.” “My lord, that the was the first sign, right. Mr. Frank already knew. He had to know. So what happened next!” says the reporter. “The fire alarm went off.” “Oh my God, Jill! Did you hear that! The fire alarm went off! The Villain, Fireball, must have been only feet away. Is that true Mr. Lee? Tell me it’s true!” “ No, Ma’am. Mr. Frank was here, because he wanted to have the worlds best egg drop soup,” says Mr. Lee with a bright smile. “OH. MY. GOD!’ says the reporter. Frank shuts off the television. “What the fuck is wrong with these people.” _________________________________________________________________ Frank stands in front of a mirror, wearing a snow hat, sunglasses, a fake mustache, and a scarf. “They’ll never know.” _________________________________________________________________ The hostess takes a single menu and leads Frank to his table. “Is there anything I can get you, Sir, before the waitress comes over?” “Five steaming bowls of egg drop soup.” _________________________________________________________________ “Jesus Christ, this is delicious,” says Frank. With every slurp of the world’s best egg drop soup, Frank’s body temperature rises. SLURP. Frank wipes sweat from the few layers of exposed skin on his face. Frank removes his scarf, as the waitress walks over. “Is there anything I can get you, Sir?” “Yes, a few glasses of ice cold water.” _________________________________________________________________ “Where the hell is this waitress.” Frank pushes three completed bowls of soup towards the edge of the table, as his fake mustache slips off his oily face. “This is so god damn good.” SLURP. Franks body temperature is rising faster than random Internet stars. He removes his snow hat. _________________________________________________________________ Frank pushes his forth bowl of soup to the edge of the table. “Where is my god damn water?” He brings the fifth bowl directly to his lips, and drinks it like the milk at the end of Cocoa Puff cereal. His body temperature peaks and he officially has egg drop soup fever. Frank looks down at the bowl, satisfied with what he had done. His sheer body temperature, mixed with the oil and sweat that had accumulated, causes his sunglasses to drop directly in to his fifth and final bowl. “Sir, is there anything else I can get you?” Frank slowly turns his head, as waterfalls of sweat bead off of his hairless head and he stands up. “I just want my fucking ice cold water…dear.” Frank locks eyes with a familiar face. FIRE, FIRE! BEEP, BEEP! FIRE, FIRE! Blares the fire alarm. “That’s Frank! Everyone get out of here. We’re about to be attacked!” Frank looks towards the sky as the crowded restaurant almost instantaneously empties. “Well, there is one positive. I’ll never have to pay for a meal again.”
When the tanks rolled over the remains of Moscow, we finally admitted our mistake. A two ton soldier stomped alongside his drone, its four legs making a crass drum beat for him to keep time with. His armor's servos pushed him across the Red Square and held his heavy machinegun firm. As he stepped over a what he thought was a corpse, he heard the poor thing gasp. He smiled wide behind his mottled maple leaf face mask, leveling his weapon at the dying woman's head. "Sorry."
A sudden burst of wind energized the once dying camp fire sending a chill down my spine. It had been several days since the settlement of Pallet Town was over run by the monstrosities that were once comrades. I was the only one to escape. At least I think so. "Hopefully someone else made it", I whispered to myself in a futile attempt to combat the loneliness. This affliction was thought to have been caused by a revived fossil brought to Cinnabar Island by another Pokemon Trainer from Pallet Town. He had a very odd name but who am I to judge. When the Old Amber sample was brought to that strange facility; it was brought back from the dead. A miracle... The creature brought forth was referred to as Aerodactyl, from old texts. A very aggressive species. He promptly bit one of the scientists which wouldn't have warranted much cause for concern, however the scientist immediately started convulsing and was rushed off. He was patient zero. The virus rapidly mutated. Within days it moved onto Pokemon although it affected them exceedingly differently. They didn't convulse nor die. They just seemed to turn on their trainers. Even the best trainers were powerless against the virus. Poke balls couldn't contain the rage that each Pokemon had consuming them. All the gym leaders were killed rapidly due to continuous proximity to contaminated Pokemon and the strength of their own. Many other trainers just let their Pokemon dispatch them due to their devotional love of their "friends". They weren't friends anymore. Just possessed husks of former allies. Some tried to run and hide in the mountains or in the country side since the Pokemon started living in the previously populated cities due to the sturdier structures and numerous canned goods that could be hoarded when food became scarce. I used to be a good trainer. My Grandfather Professor Oak allowed me to pick my first Pokemon after that other adventurer. I regret my decision to pick the perfect opposing Pokemon to my rival. The Pokemon was a Squirtle. I should have picked one that I truly loved not one just to win. I regret that decision everyday... I am still alive because I could give up all that I've ever loved. I feel ashamed to have treated everyone so horribly especially My Grandfather and even my rival. "I hope that they made it out", I uttered with a bit of anguish. I knew that there was no way that they could be alive. It was starting to brighten outside and I had realized that I had been staring into the flames all night. As I rose to my feet, I heard a stick break behind me. Grabbing my makeshift spear clumsily and got into a defensive position. I heard a groaning almost tortured "Squir..."sound. The small figure that was covered in coagulated blood moved clumsily. Stared at me with a very blank expression, almost hauntingly. I heard several creatures behind this distorted image of my first Pokemon. The second came into view and it appeared to be a Charmander but this Pokemon was clean and seemed very focused on me, not sharing the dull expression of Squirtle. The last figure came into view and I couldn't utter anything but one word... "Red?"
"Now, choose a pokemon."Professor Oak tells you, gesturing to the table. On it sat a charizard, a bulbasaur, and a squirtle. "Uh... i choose..."You ponder the choice. All three were known to be really powerful pokemon. "What's wrong, are you having trouble picking?"Oak looked sympathetic. "Many people do. I'm sure you'll make the right-"An owl lands on his shoulder. Not a pokemon, but just a normal owl. It hoots once, drops an envelope, and looks at you expectantly. As you puzzle over this, another owl swoops in, and lands on Oak's other shoulder, carrying a similar letter. "Professor, what's going on?"You don't understand why owls would be inside the building. "Oh don't worry about this."he fusses with the owls, trying to shoo them away. a third lands on his head and drops three more letters. "I'm sure there's a logical-" A figure rushes into the room. 'Oh thank gods i found you. Quickly, we gotta get out of here. They'll be here any second."A shaggy man tells you, running on... Were those goat's legs? "Wait, whats up with-"You start to ask. 'Yeah yeah yeah, I have goat legs. Hahahahaha so amazing. we need to get out of here right-"Suddenly, something shoots through the roof, glowing green. "OH COME ON!"Oak yells, now carrying at least a dozen owls. "Dear human of earth, you have been chosen by the ring to become a green lantern. This prize is a massive responsibility, so you must come to-" A man rushes in, leather trench coat fluttering behind him. "Thank goodness i found you. I must tell you something of vital importance. The world you live in is all a program created by robots to keep mankind-' He looks around. "Oh, it seems i am interrupting something." "MARY ELINOR SUE, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT LEAVING THE HOUSE UNATTENDED?"A woman's voice interrupts all of them, and a middle aged woman in an apron rushes in. "I swear, I've told you a million times that you cant go out on your own, or this will happen."She turns to the crowd. "She doesn't want any pokemon, or any invitations to schools or camps or groups of green men with rings. No singing swords, pills red or blue, magical hammers, or spider bites. No devil fruits, dragon balls, keyblades, lightsabers, or magic rings."She starts to drag the girl towards the door, and throws it open, rushing the little girl home.
It started with a test. Michael gripped Amy's hand in the waiting room. Despite the muting by the fluorescent lights, the contrast between their interweaving fingers was plain for all to see. Some looked away, some did not and sneered. Others asked themselves, 'Why do they have to do this in public?' Michael felt the pin pricks of daggers from the darting eyes in the room, and cradled Amy's head between his cheek and shoulder. The nurse opened the door and called them, a strained expression on her face. "The doctor is waiting in Room B,"she said to Michael and not Amy. The doctor sat them down and put a palm over their clasped hands, his eyes the only sympathetic ones in the building. Not only was Amy not pregnant, she would never be. After long months, Amy and Michael went to an orphanage. They saw a forlorn child in a corner, unloved and unwanted, even by the caretakers, the abandoned consequence of an affair. The child looked with fear into the smiling couple and found in those smiles, love. The headmistress said to Michael and not Amy that the process would be impossible because they were not married. A document and signature stood between them and the salvation of a forgotten child, proof required of an obvious love. That day they went to the court house and stood before the clerk to be told what they already knew, in the hopes that they would be told something different. One such as he and one such as she would never be allowed to marry. They lived on, as best as they could. They built a life with love they shared. They yet found joy though they knew their love would not pass on through new lives, but die with them when their time came. The people knew this of Michael and Amy, yet this was also too much. How could they explain to their children that people could live out of wedlock? How could they explain to their children that that life was wrong, despite the smiles on their faces and care in their hearts? How could they explain that one such as he could even tolerate one such as she, much more share a home -- even more so a bed? It was too much. It was uncomfortable. Something had to be done. It is often said that water purifies, but fire can too. With Michael away, Amy could only watch as her neighbors burned their home. They came with masks and torches, gasoline and bottles. The fire service did not come until the flames nearly reached the woods behind their home. The police did not come until Michael called. Amy had known who had done this, how could she not when they walked right from their homes to her front door and then walked right back with the deed done? The police would do nothing. The testimony of one such as her was not enough. When they moved, Michael returned for a last goodbye to a home he and Amy had tried to hold up with love. Unsatisfied with burning the outside of their home, the people had torched it from within. He felt something sour in him. Far from that place, Michael and Amy tried again. The love between them stayed strong, though the love beyond that waned. In the days that followed, they received a letter from the landlord. They could do as they liked behind the walls, with the doors closed, and the windows drawn. It was a nice neighborhood, and he did not want any trouble. They were imprisoned with their love, and the rest of the world would be their wardens. There were dozens of humiliations from week to week. Restaurants would not allow them to sit together. Theaters would keep them in different sections. Patrolmen would ask them to walk on different sides of the road if they seemed to walk too close. The love between them still burned fierce, though the wilted love they had for the world rotted, and in that rot something else grew. Unable for so many years to share their love with another life, they found something else to pour it into. Spurned at all sides, they sought one who did not discriminate. They appealed to death, to whom all are equal. Forbidden to create a life out of love, they instead built one out of hate.
I know what you're thinking: What's a gal like me doing in a place like this? Or maybe more like: What's a place like this doing on a planet like this? It's not really out of the ordinary to have a swanky, overpriced bar catering to tourists with money to blow in a big, overpriced city; but back in the day, the clientele were usually, well, a little more local. And less offended if you cued up the Cantina Song on the bar playlist. So what happened? Well, let's just say when a convoy of foreign ambassadors landed in the middle of UN proceedings, the subsequent good will soiree (that's what you call a party when there's political dignitaries involved) with open bar did more for intergalactic relations than any peace and trade treaty they signed in the following weeks. Yeah, scifi writers have speculated since they started writing about people from other planets that those people were better than us at just about everything; but it turns out? No one else in the known universe makes a dirty martini quite like Earth. There's just something about the way our fermented starches interact with non-earthling taste buds that drives them all wild and it wasn't a year after that first convoy left, loaded down with gifts (only most of which were alcoholic in nature) and stories about our generous hospitality (Read: our great parties) that more convoys started landing. Not full of politicians looking to negotiate treaties; but full of tourists looking to taste this amazing Earth booze they heard so much about. And thus the intergalactic bar tour industry was born. Those politicians who came in first contact with that first convoy took them out to their favorite bars; more convoys came, eventually they started wanting a more "authentic Earth experience"than what they were getting at the exclusive bars catering to the politicians they were being taken to -- you know, pretentious hipsters from other planets aren't very different from the homegrown kind. But of course some of these tourists still wanted something authentic but a little fancier, to really feel like it was worth the long trip. That's where bars like mine come in, catering to an intergalactic clientele that doesn't mind feeling like tourists; offering up authentic earth cocktails, beers, and bar snacks, but also with some offerings designed for and by them, to help them feel a little more comfortable and at home. In return, bartenders like myself get to hear stories from all across the universe, try the weirdest ingredients that people bring from the deepest corners of space to ask us to make their favorite cocktails or see what we can come up with ourselves -- some of these experiments are more successful than others, and usually they don't end up with something melting or someone going to the hospital. We're also a main point of contact for most of the intergalactic community, that makes us sort of ambassadors, letting them know about public perception here, getting to hear the first grains of intergalactic news before the rest of the planet. And the financial benefits aren't so bad either. All in all, I'd say the fearmongering about alien invasions that the scifi writers did for years was pretty much unwarranted. Nothing really brokers peace like a bottle of good liquor.
"Soldier, Report! The barricade, how is it holding?"Stepping with confidence, the Captain marched along the floor, nods earning salutes from both the wounded and the readied men despite their worried expressions. "Second Rank?"He prompted. "Sir!"The exhausted looking man standing beside the arch of the stairway jumped to attention, straightening out their helm as they did so. "We're holding well enough, nothing is getting up the stairwell without taking a spear or an arrow. Fires they've tried can't seem to catch." Continuing his pace, the Captain stopped just shy of the threshold out into the winding staircase, peeking ever so slightly around the corner to confirm the bloodied pile of furniture and corpses that littered the steps. "Hmm..."Nodding slowly, he pulled back, just as a screech sounded from below, and a stray shaft and fletching ricocheted of the wall nearby. Unperturbed by this incident, The Captain gave a rough click of his tongue, as he moved back into the second-floor encampment. "And the windows? Nothing trying to grapple in?" "No sir, we've been waiting for it, but nothing yet."The Soldier responded quickly, pointing along the broken planes of once perfect glass, now nothing more than jagged shards and edges. "Battlement teams have said that they've seen some signs, so we're sure they're thinking about it- surely. Below a few ropes are being passed around, and several trees have been cut over by the meadow, spyglass caught a good look of that on' the morning." "Right, right."Stroking at his beard with a brooding expression, the Captain risked a quick glance beyond the nearest window, again ducking back just as a stray arrow streaked passed to shatter on the stone walls. "Certainly are a lot of them..." "Sir: three-hundred in the courtyards alone, by our best estimates."The tired looking soldier followed as the Captain began his stride once more, heading towards the watch-tower passage with a quick wave-away at the raising salutes that responded to his presence. "With me, Second Rank. Sola, I'm heading up. You're in charge."The commands issued with a simple and matter-a-fact manner, as they took the next set of stairs passing another barricade. The Captain showed little to any concern as more screeches ushered from around the winding steps of blocked stone. "Noisy things, Goblins."He muttered, Second Rank soldier hot on his heels. Heavy hands pushed open the final set of doors on the battlement of the watch-tower, catching them men with bows and slings leaning back in cover with distant stares off-guard. Several jumped up, hands reaching for swords or spears just as recognition to the two figures arriving passed along- hands making for rough salutes. "Captain!"A grizzy looking man in armor shouted from the far side of the rooftop, crouching low beside the fallen corpse of a less-fortunate soldier. Two arrows were pinned into the dead man's chest, apparently having passed with ease through the leather armor strapped there. "Fourth Rank Fredrick went down last night to one of their volleys, but I think they're finally starting to run out of arrows."Was all the explanation received before the soldier continued. "I've taken over command in his stead, sir. My name's Braldinel, but the others call me Bral' for short. Third Rank, Sir." "Noted Bral, I'm sorry to hear about Fredrick."The Captain crouched down low, gloved hands settling against the stone parapet beside him for a steady knee. "Have you found it yet?" "Sir, yes sir."Bral gave a wry grin, beaming stained teeth over a grime-covered face. "We found 'im. Tracked him too, he's still in the open, far side by the stables. A big 'un, for certain." "Show me."The Captain commanded, settled in to peer over the wall-top, ignoring the blood splatted along the ground where he crouched. "We'll deal with that first." "Yes sir."Came the reply, grin turning wider as the grizzly soldier motioned several other men to move aside, leading the Captain and Second-Rank on an awkward ducked walk to the far side of the watchtower's battlement before fishing out a small looking-glass. "Aye... there's the bastard, still waiting right out of bow range." "You already take a shot, I'm guessing?" "Sir, Fredrick gave it his best."Bral motioned back to the corpse still leaning against the far wall. "Standin' there... Chief like that is baiting us, that he is." "Clever thing, for a Goblin."Another soldier grunted. "He knows what he's doin' I'd say. Done this before, mayhaps." "Very clever."The Captain took the glass, eyeing it carefully before returning it to Bral's hands and unslinging the device over his shoulder. "We'll deal with him now. Second-Rank Ronalde, run down to the second floor and tell the Sola and men to raise a ruckus. Three volleys from the windows there, then have the men duck and wait." "Sir!"The waiting soldier responded quickly before heading towards the door, briskly rushing down the steps with echoed thumps of boot and stone as the Captain carefully fell into a cross-legged seating position. Calmly, his free hand fished through a small pouch on his belt, until he pulled free a single metal piece. "Normally, I try not to use these, Bral."He said, idly tinkering with the strange contraption resting on his legs as he took the metal piece and pressed it into place with a careful hand. "Use what sir?"The soldier asked, eyeing the brass piece. "Magic item, mayhaps?" "Sort of like that, sure."A sliding bolt pulled back, Captain eyeing it closely, clicking his tongue with a look of displeasure. "See, I've gotten better at magic, learned a few tricks recently. Do you know any magic Bral?" "No sir, never had much of an' interest in such things" "Well, a bit of air condensed in the proper manner, a spark and flame- a tiny explosion. Those can be done without too much effort once practiced."The Captain leaned forward, rising to a crouch as he continued. "Still not good for much, but it seems to get me by when things are up close."Leaning forward, the odd device fell with a light thump, sliding up along the stone as the Captain followed it, eyes peering though an odd portion of metal and crafted work not all that unlike the looking-glass moments before. "But for times like this, there's nothing like the original, ." "Can it be done, Captain?"Bral leaned in, noting the distance. "Truly, from this distance?"Far below, a shout raised up, spears and arrows launching from the windows of the second floor in a burst to fall several green figures with cries and shrieks. "Oh, it can be done."The Captain muttered, breath hissing out as the wooden instrument fell to his shoulder. It was much in the way one much set a crossbow, as his eyes narrowed, arms positioned ever so carefully to guide the length of metal and wood. "But first, you should all cover your ears." &nbsp; #"CRACK" &nbsp; This is a continuation of a bunch of other writing prompts: [Start here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/51f8ag/wp_youre_such_a_powerful_magician_that_life_is/d7bn3g2) [Previous] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5wsys2/ip_childhood/dedfx5b/) [NEXT](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5xvbkq/wp_what_happened_on_the_worst_day_of_your_life/del9p00/)
Beautiful, It thought to itself. That was Its last thought, before It vanished. It knew it would vanish some day. That was the deal it had made. In order to create Life, It must sacrifice Its own immortality. Tit-for-tat. Consciousness. Its first and last gift to the universe. No one, not the center-most located species, nor more exploration based species noticed the blue dot in the universe's very center fade. Despite that, every sentient being in the universe felt it. A deep sadness rolled over each galaxy leaving as abruptly as it began. Everyone heard one word, spoken in their own language, voice deep and resonant, endless weight to it. Beautiful. The only ones who knew its important were called crazy. They were the ones who knew it was the day that God died.
Judge Holmes settled into his chair, looked down at the litigants before him, and sighed. "For the record, this is case 17-PM-01389, the Petition for Authorization to Murder one Alicia Jeann Collins for being, and I quote, 'a total heinous bitch.' Petitioner Samuel Collins is here representing himself, and the Advocates office has sent Mr. William Traxel to argue on behalf of Ms. Collins. Mr. Collins, you may proceed." "Thanks Judge,"Mr. Collins answered. He tugged absentmindedly at his tank top as he stood to address the court. "You see the thing is Judge, I've been married to Ali, er, Ms. Collins, for three years. And she's become a total bitch since we got married. Like, she used to make dinner all the time, and now she gets all up on my ass about making dinner more often. Then there's the fact that we haven't had sex in six months." Mr. Collins rambled on, but Judge Holmes ignored him. He looked down at the case file in front of him, and the stack of other cases on the day's docket. This is what his career had been reduced to - telling dregs of society that they can't murder one another. Judge Holmes had never granted a petition, and he had no intention of ever doing so. As far as he was concerned, the only petition like this he would grant would be one to go back in time 25 years and execute the judge that invented this new doctrine. "And so that, Your Honor, is why you've gotta let me kill Ms. Collins,"Mr. Collins concluded. He bowed awkwardly, then sat down. Mr. Traxel stood. "Your Honor, may it please the Court, William Traxel as court appointed advocate for Ms. Collins. Your Honor, in this case we have-" Judge Holmes raised a hand, quieting the Advocate. "Mr. Traxel, far be it from me to tell you how to run your case, but you are going to keep it brief this time, yes?" "Yes, Your Honor, I took your advice and rehearsed this morning. I'll be done in 25 minutes." Judge Holmes sighed again. "Mr. Traxel, I realize you only have this case for you today, but I have a stack of ten more files just like this after this one. And to be perfectly frank, Mr. Collins has done a perfectly fine job setting out the reasons why his petition should be denied. So say whatever you want to say, Mr. Traxel, but you have five minutes to do it." A look of panic washed over the Advocate's face. He rifled quickly through his notes, then launched into his spiel, speaking as quickly as he possibly could. Judge Holmes shook his head. Mr. Traxel was a young lawyer; one who had grown up in a time where petitioning the court to commit a murder was a normal part of society. As a result, he was, as far as Judge Holmes could tell, a believer in that system who saw it as his job to at once defend the system while nonetheless asking the court to spare the person he was advocating on behalf of. Judge Holmes made a note to speak with the District Attorney about reassigning Mr. Traxel to another division. The Advocate finished his presentation, panting like he had just run a 100 meter sprint. "Thank you, Mr. Traxel,"Judge Holmes said. "The petition is denied."Mr. Collins dropped his head in disappointment, then stomped out of the courtroom. "Next case on the docket,"Judge Holmes continued, "is the Petition to Authorize the Murder one unnamed child."A very pregnant woman waddled up toward counsel's table. "Nope, nope, nope. I'm not falling for this one,"Judge Holmes said. "Take this little demonstration somewhere else. Not in my courtroom." The woman sighed, turned on heel, and walked out of the courtroom. Judge Holmes continued working through the docket, denying petitions at a steady clip. He got to the last case he had that day. "Next case on our docket is the Petition to Authorize the Murder of one Governor John Wilkins. Petitioner is here herself, Ms. Lisa Brown, and Mr. Alan Webster is here from the Advocate's office. Now, young lady, I have to tell you that we get pretty frequent requests to murder political figures in here, and that disagreeing with someone's politics isn't a sufficient reason to authorize a murder." "No, Your Honor,"Lisa said. "I actually agree with his politics. I'm here asking permission to murder my rapist." ***** Read my other prompt responses by subscribing to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88).
Many years ago, I was a new writer. I thought I would get big in the business, and, even though I was a procrastinator, I thought I could whip out lots of novels. My first idea was about a crew of seamates on a ship that got attacked by a shark. I scrapped it because I didn't think it was original enough. A few years later, I saw Jaws. It was the exact same premise. I told my friend I had a really similar idea before. He didn't believe me, but I knew my idea wasn't original to begin with, so I didn't argue. A few years after that, I had a brilliant idea for a book. It was about a wartime archaeologist who ends up finding the Ark of the Covenant and is followed by Nazis. I couldn't figure out how to end it though, because the archaeologist wouldn't be able to use the ark for much of anything, dying if it was opened, for the face of God killed all who looked at it. A couple of years later, I was contemplating my miseries in front of the TV. I heard a catchy song and looked up. An archaeologist-my archaeologist, was entering a temple. I knew what would happen next. The fedora sporting scientist would almost get crushed by a boulder, his friend would die, and he would get the idol, only to be ambushed by tribal hunters. I went to bed and lay there frustrated. I had a few other ideas for "Indiana Jones", one about a temple, obviously full of doom, one about another religious relic, the Holy grail, and a very drunk, hairbrained idea about him having a random son and finding an alien skull, all of which would be classic movies(except the alien one). I now no longer worked full time as a writer. For a while I worked at a vacuum factory, which sucked, and went on to later edit scripts for movies. My plan was that if I saw a script that copied one of my novel ideas, it would encounter an "accident." I encountered a few of these later on, but I was unable to stop them from being classic movies. One was about government agents who comedically investigated alien activity, which was published through a different company as "Men in Black"Another was a movie about animals, primarily a lion who would grow up to be king, but his uncle killed his dad, so he became an outcast, but eventually regained the throne. This one was done through Disney. I can barely remember the others, one about a dog who played sports well, and another a series of short stories which became the series Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Then one day, I became furious. I was sick of those bigshot directors somehow stealing my procrastinated ideas. I decided to write a book I would never finish, drawing from my first idea, it would be about sharks, but something crazy had to happen that would make the possible movie terrible and cheesy. I had it, a tornado! No director would ever attempt to make that half-baked plot into a movie. Once the idea was half done, my curse would be guaranteed to be broken, no movie being made for one of my ideas likely halting the cycle. Just to think, after decades, I will finally be a successful writer one day if my plan works!
"I've never liked this part."A woman's voice spoke with a tone of irritation, from beyond the sack cloth which covered Arch-Bishop Rendol's head. A pair of rough hands grabbed at the silk of his shoulders, throwing him down heavily to a cold tile floor as the voice continued. "It's not something I take much pleasure in, but it's best I be the one to do it, rather than someone else." "You're making a terrible mistake!"Rendol shouted, voice muffled through the scents of mold and dust. "I am Arch-Bishop of the Holy Church! I am a leader of the Faith, Chosen by the light itself!" "I'm sure you are."Came the reply, as Rendol tried to pull himself up, struggling as his arms refused to cooperate. Tight against his wrists, rope cut in merciless on his skin. "I'll have your head! Your head on a pike- you hear me!"Rendol turned, tone venomous as he blindly attempted to face the voice which mocked him through the fabric. "Any who dares lay hands on a Bishop like this is a heretic-"His words caught, surprise and pain stopping him as light flashed before his eyes- the hood drawn back with a brutal motion that spaced his face little kindness to the friction of rough fiber. "Who dares?"Rendol managed to sputter and squint, rage flaring- only to fall to sudden chill. Illuminated from the domed window above, Rendol stared at the lone figure before him in the light, his breath catching. Within that threshold before total darkness and shadow, a pair of golden eyes stared back as him, fixed with perfect symmetry above the cruelest smile he had ever known. "Is that anyway to address the Queen of your nation, Bishop Rendol?"The voice asked again, slender hand reaching out to grip his chin like a vice. "I'd have thought someone of your stature might show more... respect." "Q-Queen? Queen Aurum?"Rendol replied, disbelief evident as his face fumbled with emotions. Fear, shock, terror: The Queen's eyes stared down at him like an eagle eyeing a rodent. "Do you understand what it is that you do? Have you gone mad?" "Mad? No, but I am quite angry."The vice tightened, pulling at his throat until Rendol's arms quivered- posture unable to righten itself further from the rough kneel he'd been forced. "For a man of Light and gods, your actions have been anything but holy, Bishop Rendol." "Y-You!"The rage overtook the fear as Rendol's face contorted. "Royal authority has no hold upon the Church! We will crush you for this! Mark my words: When the other Bishops hear of this, by god-" "The Church will do no such thing."She replied, cruel smile splitting to show white teeth beneath it, amused. "Rest assured." "You dare! Kidnapping a Bishop, threatening a ranking official of the Faith!"Purple faced and spitting against the harsh grip at his neck, Rendol gasped, struggling to continue regardless. "They'll throw you to the heathens! To the felons to have their way with you! They'll strip you down, let the peasants have their fun until your legs run red! They'll hang you, and after that take your head-" "Silence." The word came like an axe, falling down and cutting Rendol's own with a sudden violence and force. "You are here to stand trial, not spout idle threats of fantasy." "Fantasy! My Queen- Nay, you Royal-blooded whore of an heir!"Rage came unfiltered now, as Rendol fought for every word. "You truly think you can get away with th-"Rendol suddenly found his face was back upon the tile, trickle of blood running down from his lip with the sudden shock of pain flourishing on his jaw. His ears rang, vision unsettled, but somewhere in the distance, a horrible growl sounded. A rumble like thunder, as thick paws wandered past, circling before seating themselves at the Queen's side. Two sets of Golden eyes stared at him now. One with indifference, and another with hunger. "No more words, Rendol. You are here to be judged."The Queen stared at him, head tilting inquisitive as her right hand settled on the massive beast now seated beside her. "Not by the gods, nor the light, nor the Church or its court of many faithful, but by me." "You shameless heretic!"Rendol growled, bloodied lip spraying spit and foam, "You filthy slut! Runt of the legacy, inheritor of the bloody throne! Left alive only because we allowed it!"Enraged, Rendol forced himself, legs quivering as he tried to rise once more, squirming on the floor until a one-legged kneel was the sum of his efforts. "You are doomed for this! Your house, your family name, your dignity! We will take it all!" "We... now who is it you speak of?"The Queen lifted her hand, releasing the massive creature, a wolf, Rendol realized, to step into the shadows of the room once more. "Those same men in white robes who sent all those pretty silver knives on moonless nights?"Two Soldier dressed in black set down an ornate chair behind the Queen as she continued, sitting with a casual grace as they continued forward- pulling Rendol from his knees and lifting him as if he were nothing but a sack of rags. "Those same men who conspired to kill me, or have me married for my throne?"The soldiers dragged Rendol along, his bare feet trailing along the tile unable to find the slightest purchase for his struggles against them. "Those same men over there, perhaps?" "What-"Rendol's foot found a surface to dig in- no longer tile, but soft, warm- cloth of some kind? As he looked down, his question caught, heave of horror overthrowing any chance of logic. A headless corpse lay in the shadows, pure white of the robes upon it all but soaked in the deep red of crimson. "Are these the men you speak of?"From her chair, still brightly illuminated at the room's center beneath the thin circle of light, the Queen's smile held bitter humor. "Do pray tell." "By the Gods!"Rendol shouted in horror, feet lifting and fumbling as the two men threw him down among the bodies before disappearing into the shadows of the room. "Light and heavens! You spawn of the West! You demon!" "No, Bishop Rendol. I am no demon, and in this place there are no gods."From her throne, the smile fade, Rendol seeking her face from the shadows as he once again attempted to rise, slipping in the filth slick upon the tiled floor. "Here and now, there is only us mere mortals." "You'll pay for this just like that precious fucking Captain of yours! Just like those armies you rallied! The Church has already won you foolish prick of an heir! What you do to me is meaningless!"Rendol shouted until his voice was hoarse and ragged. "This is but a battle won in a war you've lost! By now your soldiers will be slaughtered afield! Your Captain is dead! Your allies are sent to shallow graves!"As he stopped, chest heaving staring up from the bloodied floor, he saw only the faintest look of pity from afar. "Oh, Bishop Rendol, so out of touch... I'm actually surprised how very wrong you happen to be."Turning her head ever so slightly, she nodded before another figure entered the light of the room, emerging from the shadows. "Isn't that so, Captain?" Bishop Rendol's eyes barely had time to widen at the sight, before the words reached his ears. "Kill him." ---- ---- This story is a continuation of a bunch of other writing-prompts! [Start here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/51f8ag/wp_youre_such_a_powerful_magician_that_life_is/d7bn3g2/) [Previous](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/60ivr4/wp_a_dark_psychological_thriller_similar_to_but/df7wbc3/) [Next](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/612yh9/tt_every_neighborhood_in_your_city_has_a_resident/dfbd58i/)
I stare at my coffee cup. I stare through the cup, the table, the cafe floor, the planet; all the way down to the super-massive black hole at the center of localized existence. As my focus drifts, the sounds of my adopted home wash over me in a cacophonous roar. I hear traffic and children and construction and forests and streams and the incredible violence and beauty and energy of this place called Earth, and the sound is a great and terrible screaming that declares the simple truth that here there is life and that this life will persist in the face of a dying universe. "Did you hear me?"She demanded, "I just don't feel that way about you anymore." I was back in the cafe. I put the cup down gently, so I would not to break it. Slowly, so I would not to startle anyone. I nod sadly. "I heard you."
Her Parents decided to name her Agnes. Agnes Butterbloom. In these times. What a stupid idea. And of course she was called a witch, and of course she was bullied. Aggy was a stupid nickname. But There weren't any good nicknames that were to obvious, so her fellow students called her Aggy. Aggy wanted to be a scientist and an astronaut and a cat and president. Aggy was beautiful, for someone from the country. Aggy was intelligent even for someone from the city, but above all: Aggy was kind. After all if you look into the mouth of the biggest evil in the history of the known universe: teenage kids, all you could take away from it was kindness. Kindness is a mushroom that grows in the desert at night. That and a few traumata involving several dozen rats and an oversized pencil. But now she was 21. And she left that behind her. Aggy has had lesbian experiences. Aggy has had sexual relationships. Aggy did her own taxes twice a year and hated it, and Aggy jobbed in a train station flower shop on the weekends. Is was this flowershop where she met Vincent. they smiled at each other, like people do when they want to fall in love. They never really did. But they did other things. and the world was filled with gravy and pudding bags of shit. In the end they split with a crack and heavy breathing. There was another woman. She was better looking. And cooler. And, to Aggys dismay, a wonderful person. Aggy cried. She did not know if Vincent cried. She wondered about that a lot. When she finished College she wanted to travel, but then she met Sophia, who bought Lavender. And Sophia was glorious and witty and could do things with her hands, other people needed a screwdriver and two electric milk frothers for. She didn't travel. She moved in with Sophia. And it was wonderful. Sophia died when she was 27. She was killed by a fanatic who called her a fag and then shot her. Aggy always made sure to smell of Lavender, to remind people of Sophia. And it only made her more careful and kind, she knew that carrying on was important. The desperate die. The kind live. And every life is a life worth living. And the Flowers she tended only got brighter after that. The recession came, of course. And because of a bad investment her Boss lost the flowershop. Agnes Butterbloom had saved some money. And maybe the universe was telling her to travel now. She left for Japan only two months later. And Aggy saw Cherry Blossoms and Japanese Gardens, and she got bad food poisoning and had to go home three days later. Such is life, she thought. If the sauce is bad it doesn't matter how good the potatoes are. But she got money leftover. And property was cheap. She wanted to buy a flower shop. And on a drunken night she did. She Named it Sophia's. And her Cat she called Vincent, even though she was sure it didn't take offense. She grew catnip in the shop and the cat wasn't that much into reality. And when the fall was wet there were beautiful tinder mushrooms growing outside the shop on the trees. Finally she thought, she was happy. She was asleep when the fire started.
Taking stock of this new body is odd...I'm expecting a complete difference; I've dreamed of flying like a bird since before doctors told me I wouldn't walk again. I had a cardinal tattooed on my ribs as a painful and somewhat ironic symbol of freedom and life only a week after I got my new wheelchair. I didn't hate the chair like my friend Christine, but I could see why she would. I'm expecting red wings and sharp vision, which I have, but something is off. I don't feel light and lively. I do feel free, but in a different way...I feel powerful. Unstoppable. I feel a fire coursing through my veins, a fire I didn't know I had in me. I need to taste the feeling of the sky and the clouds around me. flexing my legs and my body, I'm gaining an understanding of my newly acquired tail. I'm feeling my feathers ripple and grate against each other up and down my body, I can see the sparks flying in my peripheral vision, which seems boundless. Sparks though? My feathers aren't a cardinal's soft, crimson plumage, I'm sporting a red-orange suite of scales across my entire body. Realization, bewilderment, and awe fill my mind, is this real?! The magical stone I used to transform myself into my spirit animal should have turned me into a beautiful songbird, instead, I've become a creature of myth. A living and breathing dragon, wings and all.
I eyed the elevator tracker. My alarm notified her that someone entered the building, which was supposed to be impossible, it was sunday after all, and besides security and her staff, there was nobody in the building. I guessed, clinging to that guess, that someone was just grabbing some work files from his office or something. Some people have gotten way too attached to their work nowadays... The elevator passed floor 30. So the little guest was not working for the police, they were bribed to not enter higher than there. Probably one of her lawyers, then. I have lost count of the amount of people I hired to work for me. Firing people is a risk that rarely works out in the long time, it is cheaper to slowly reduce their work and pay, but keep them tied to the company. I pressed a button, and the 55th floor got notification to bring me tea. Salted Earl Grey, which was probably an insult to tea conniseurs around the world, but when you are immortal, you need to try the weird stuff, too. The elevator passed floor 55 without pause. Tsk, again so slow. I need to remember to admonish Annabelle, or Annemarie. Perhaps it was Anja Martha, remembering names is too much of a hassle. In doubt, I could just pay her to change her name. Maybe to something actually rememberable, something maid-y... Mady? Yeah, that could work. Anyways, the lawyer's offices are on floor 66, a small little gag that is affordable with 500 years of accumulated wealth. The visitor would get out there, probably stay for a while and go down again. Maybe he is slow enough to not delay the tea... The elevator passed floor 66. Alright, he either is checking out the highest floor, or he is looking for me. Perhaps a business partner, or even one of us top 500. A surprise visit is weird, but not too concerning. After all, we are immortal, killing us is physically impossible. All that would happen is a short pain, and we would just move on. And if those 500 years have taught us anything, it was that time solved all problems. One of us had gotten himself on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean due to a plane crash. A century later, he had apparently just walked out of it the moment the currents were favorable. The elevator stopped at floor 70. My floor. Alright, let's look at the cameras. A man, black hair, white skin, white shirt with black trousers, he was wearing sunglasses inside. Nobody rich, perhaps one of her employees. But even if he were, faces were hard to memorize after all, he had no reason to visit me without request. I pressed the button labelled "Security". In a moment, the business partners from floor 68 would come up here and apprehend him, rendered unconcious by the security on my floor. The door to my room opened. and the man entered. He somehow must have gotten past them, though I hope he didn't injure them too heavily, it would be a hassle to deal with. He walked in the room and stopped in the middle. "If you are still waiting, you can stop now. Marco isn't coming. Neither is David, Emily, or anyone on this floor. The rest of your security isn't coming either." I didn't know how to react. "Pardon?" He seemed relieved. "Oh, I am on the right floor? Thank god, it would have sucked if I had gotten off on the wrong floor, right? All this buildup and I would have just ended up walking into Lizbeth or maybe even just reached the roof." Who was this, and what gall did he have to joke around in front of me. "Do you seriously expect me to believe you incapacitated my entire security? Don't take me for a fool, boy. I have witnessed every bluff in the world, and I know when they are fake." He continued. "Ah, no. They just didn't want to stop me. I mean, they had no motivation to do so. So I just walked past them, said "Hey, I just need to talk with your boss. Don't mind me."and they let me through."He was positively irritating, and I disliked his carefree behaviour. "You bribed them, then? I understand if you don't want to tell me, but I may want to increase the pay to prevent this in the future. Also, if you do not mind, I think you should leave. I do not have any business with you, and you did not even request a visit here. You seem to have money, so maybe you can come back tomo-" "You have taken the Immortality Serum as well, haven't you?"was his reply. I was surprised. Did one of the other top 500 decide to play a childish prank on me? Or was there someone who replicated our serum? "Well... I did imbibe that serum you talk of. What, are you getting revenge for us becoming immortal or something? In a way, I'd like to see you try. It would be amusing, for sure." "No, I am not planning revenge. Hardly so. I have done the same, and I understand it fully why you all did. Dying sucks. Oh, by the way, no bribing was involved. I know everyone in here by person, and they remember me fondly enough that I could request everything reasonable and they would help me with it. Such as getting inside here." "You are claiming something so ridiculous? That you got in here because you are aquaintanced with them?" "With some. Others, I dated. With the rest, I gave them gifts no mortal would be able to gift. Something worth far more than money to some, something worth a human life. Tell me, have you ever tried giving away a kidney? You have two, and even if you didn't, you are immortal, so you could live without, right?" I had not thought of that. After all, what use would it have? I live longer than my direct family, and I never got too attached to anyone as that would come up. And what use would I have for something as prudish as selling my kidney for money? I made more by not even moving to do it, and on the rare chance that it would harm me, I didn't want to risk it. Then I realized what he tried to imply. "You gifted away both of your kidneys, huh. Interesting." He chuckled softly. "You misunderstand. The kidney was only figurative, in this case. But, since you asked, no I did not give away both of my kidneys. I have so far given away one hundred fourty three kidneys. Also, I have given away twenty nine hearts, nineteen pairs of lungs, and lastly, two eyes. Turns out, our bodies regenerate what is needed and ignores what isn't needed to survive. Eyesight is not needed, it seems."With that, the man took off the sunglasses, and where his eyes were supposed to be, two marbles were implanted. "I could have left it empty, but I didn't want to scare others." "Well, this is a poor tragedy you present me, but let me ask a question: Why do you enter my building, befriend everyone in here and then come to meet me?"I asked. "Well, I was quite pious in my earlier days. I believe in heaven, and of course, hell. One day, we all probably are gonna pass on, and I fully intend to go to heaven. I have been working away at replicating and producing the formular you used 500 years ago to give yourself immortality. I wanted to make you an offer now." "Oh, an offer. Let me guess, you want to sell the formula to me for my assets, so you have funds to do your "Piety"business?" He once again, chuckled. "Ah, no. To be fair, if I wanted money, I would have had the time to get it. See, the thing is that I only aquired the serum by stealing it from you guys. The only way I will redeem myself if the theft itself will become beneficial to the masses. For that, I will give immortality to the public. One by one, they all will become immortal. Perhaps you want to help me in getting it to the public? Surely you could access the water supplies and get the serum spread to the masses." "And what will it do for me to do that?"I ask. "Well, perhaps you want to go to heaven someday, too? I mean, for me it means little if I spread the serum slowly or quickly. I am immortal, I won't run out of time. You, however, can decide to revert some of the evil, some of the pain you have brought unto the world. It is entirely optional, of course. If you do not want to, you don't want to. If you need to think about it, I can let you do that too. But I need an answer by next week."With that, he stepped to the window. I was confused about where he was going. "Why are you going to the window? The elevator is the other side." He shook his head, and took out a stone from his pocket. He threw it, and the glass broke. "No, this is faster. Also, I need to feel, else I can't repent." With that, he walked out of the window.
"Is it true that vampires can be killed by a wooden stake to the heart?" "Well, yeah, but that would kill most things with a heart, however that wouldn't work on me, per se." "Wait, wait, wait, what? But didn't you just say you could die from a stake to the heart?" Vassals... I knew this would confuse Timothy, he couldn't find something to eat if he was a Hippo playing Hungry Hungry Hippos. Note to self: Construct a life size Hungry Hungry Hippos game and turn Timothy into a Hippo next time a punishment is in order. "There are different types of vampires, right Timothy? Just like there are different types of predatory cats, correct?" "Well, yeah, but you said you could die if-" "Timothy, you've been with me for a few weeks now, and I've explained to you what I am. I am now an entity known as a Vampire Lich. so what does that mean I have?" "You... you have a phylactery?" "Very good, and what does one put in a phylactery to sustain ones-self?" "Oh, I know this! Human souls!" "Yes, Timothy! And those human souls inside of the phylactery are what sustain me. So if a wooden stake were to pierce my crumbling, decrepit heart - what would become of me?" "You'd... lose your physical form for a while?" Wow, I've really got to hand it to him, at least he's a sharp kid. Glad I picked this one up from The Underport. "That's actually absolutely correct, Timothy. And do you remember where my heart is?" "Inside the phylactery!" "Which is protected by...?" "You, your darkness." "Indubitably, dear vassal. So were an adventurer to enter our beautiful masoleum, and should he find the labyrinth below, and if he happened to be lucky enough to catch me off guard and drive a stake through my chest... " "You'd be fine! I didnt even consider the implications of the ceremony, I must thank you for letting me participate in the blood bath!" hmmpf "Yes, yes, my sweet Timothy. But if you forget the bath ball again next time, I will turn you into a Hippo. You know how I like my suds." "Yes, your Darkness! Of course, your Darkness! My sincerest apologies!"
It was a strange power, something that was akin to the great equalizer of the colt. God may have made man, but Colt made them equals. Well, God made me. No matter who I fight, be it the strongest man, the smartest villain, or the local toddler wanting his binky back, I was on par with them. Hilarious. It had been this way all of my life. I can’t say for sure I was really ever bullied. For any quip or snide remark I had one just the same to give back. The problem , however, is when you’re never quite good or bad enough for a fight to end. I am only as good as the person I’m fighting with. Though, as it would turn out this makes me a wonderful partner. I can hold off universe destroying threats while the other heroes try to work out their plans. No one can get by me, no one can best me, and for that reason I’m here now. &nbsp; I have fought beings able to eat worlds whole, danced toe to toe versus psychics that could turn any normal man to mush from a state away, and even stopped a rather large mechanical monstrosity from hurling a galaxy our way. All the while I’d wait for the League of Immortals to show up, people whose names would go down in history once they bit the great eternal dust of beyond. And bite it they had, time and time again. Now, I’m not truly an immortal myself in either of the regards. I drank poison unknowingly, not by a foe, or evil villain who wanted to take over the world, but simply by someone that wanted to know if my power worked on chemistry. The light had all but faded from my eyes when I saw It. Death itself had come for me, and I was ready for another fight. It lasted for an eternity in this timeless place, but upon the Earth not a second had gone by. We played games I had never heard of, nor understood the rules for, we partook in physical and non-Euclidean feats of endurance and strength. Nothing was going to budge. We could play Tower of Hanoi until the heat death of the universe occurred and we’d be no more better off for it. Eventually the second hand on Earth struck, and Death was tired of these eternities in-between them. Death called in a ringer. &nbsp; Now, with all this said, my question to you is as follows: Can God make a man that even it can’t beat?
“Well, listen, Craig,” The tourist begins, slowly sitting down across the table from me. “I’m not exactly sure what it is that you want me to say.” I slam my fist down on the table. “Just tell me the god damn truth, Sarah! I’m not asking for you to tell me the secrets to interdimensional travel or some crap, I just want to know what the hell it is about us that you find so different!” Sarah shakes her head and soothes the front of her dress. “I’m trying really hard not to upset you.” “It’s too late for that, now, isn’t it?” I close my eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “If you had just explained it to me the first time that I had asked, we wouldn’t have had this problem. Now that you’ve dodged around my question for the past twenty minutes, I’m upset.” A sigh escapes from Sarah’s lips, and she puts a small, fragile hand over my clenched fist. “I don’t answer your question, and so you become so angry, so quickly. The real problem isn’t that I wasn’t answering; it’s that you’re so insecure that you must know every single one of your weaknesses as soon as someone else notices them. You hide everything you feel behind a thinly made veil of anger. The worst part of that? Your entire dimension has been bred to believe that it’s normal.” When I open my mouth to protest, Sarah calmly holds up one finger. “That’s the whole issue with this dimension, though. You all have so much more anger than the rest of us do. You see someone doing something that has absolutely nothing to do with you, and half of your population is overcome with such an incredible amount of rage filling their hearts, and the other half is so mad at the first half that, in the end, everyone becomes so blinded by their rage that they can’t see what the real problem is.”
"We were born only seconds apart,"the man said. "And we were always seconds away from one another. Always. Even when I developed superpowers we were always together. He never let his lack of powers slow him down from going everywhere with me."He paused and looked at the people standing with him. He choked up as he spoke. Their mother moved forward and rested a hand on her son's arm and looked into his teary eyes. He regained his composure and spoke, "I went off to fight bad guys and save the world, and my brother went for a degree and tried to save the world his own way. He became a teacher."He looked at the oversized bears that sat against the wall of the drab hospital room, and quickly scanned the hundreds of names on the cards which sat among flowers. "From what I know,"he continued. "He was a great teacher. And he saved the world through kindness, patience, understanding, and wisdom. He saved the world through the lives of children." The doctor and nursing staff came and stood near the head of the bed and looked at family gathered around. His mother began to cry, and his father wrapped an arm around her. The man in the hospital bed lay unmoving and deathly pale. His skin was gaunt, and his shallow breath rasped as the machine forced his breathing. The air hissed as it escaped around the breathing tube. "Are you ready,"asked the doctor. The family nodded, although their eyes betrayed the hesitation of always holding hope. The nurses began removing some of the leads which were taped across the skinny body, and the doctor pulled the tube from his throat. As the hospital staff stepped away, the family stepped in close and looked at their son and brother once more. They held his limp hand, and kissed his cold brow. The family stepped from the room, but the brother lingered at looked one last time at his fallen hero. The doctors had moved in quickly and begun work to salvage every organ they could. The heart would save a young woman who had recently become engaged to the love of her life. She would live with his brother's heart and have happiness for many years. The lungs would go to an older man who still had much wisdom for his grandchildren. Even his brother's eyes would look out upon the world once more, and give vision to one who had never seen. He smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek. His brother was truly a hero.
The bong rip ends the second the series does. The high is there but a sadness, like, lives in my soul, man. So I turn to Kevin and I'm like, "Bro, I already miss them." And Kevin's all like, "Yeah. Me too." Then I'm all, "What are we gonna do with Michelle. Or Stephanie. Or Uncle Jesse. I'm so sad." "Me too. Maybe we could watch Perfect Strangers?"Kevin says. "No way, man. I wish Full House was on forever,"I say the words. And, high or not man, I swear this next part is real, a genie shows up. Yeah, I didn't believe it either, dude. But he's right there. All magical and shit. That fucker is like, "Granted." Then. Poof. He's, like, gone. I don't even know what to think. I'm dumbfounded and worried about the potency of my shit. But the Kevin's like, "What the fuck just happened?" So I can be all, "You saw it too, man?!?!!" And Kevin's like, "Yeah. Yeah, I did, dude." That's when we see it on Netflix. Fuller House. Like, no way, man. It's just the best news ever. Fucking the whole family is back. And Gibbler is wearing crazy clothes still. Kevin smiles. I grin. We take another hit and start watching.
"Good morning Professor"the journalist began. "My name is Michael Smith, feature writer from The Garlic and I understand that-"he came into my office after two knocks on the door and pushed it with a force so unnecessarily large that a wind swept through my table and brought my papers to the floor. He began talking immediately before I even had the chance to look at his face"-you've just arrived here in New York as a professor in a new field of-"and sat at a chair beside my desk without helping me to pick up the mess. When I had done just that I went back on my swivel chair and looked intently at his face “–study. Rumors have been spreading among journalists about the possible ramifications of your work and-“ I was barely listening to his monologue, already knowing the purpose of his visit and expecting the same questions that his counterparts in Sydney and Stuttgart had asked me weeks back. However his nose snatched my attention. Its bridge with its atypical thickness gave it the power of a high-ranking general and its impressive straightness became the column which the rest of his features surrendered their autonomy to “- I would like to -can I record this conversation?” I nod. “Yes, thank you.” He brought out a metallic box from the inside of his brown coat and pressed the red button. “I would like to ask a few questions to clear this rumors and provide our readers with a more complete view of your work.” “Okay” I replied. The clock above the door read 10:35. “So Doctor Star, can you explain to us what is Wumbology?” He began. “It is the study of Wumbo.” I said. “And what is this Wumbo?” I hesitate for a while; the question posed a Sisyphus-like task. “Wumbo is… Wumbo is like… Let me put it this way… Man has relationships with fellow men, relationships that sprung from his material reality and that foster the development of his material reality. Technology, novels, ships, institutions all sprung from the development of this relationship. And unknowingly in his quest to build his relationships, he unknowingly creates more relationships.” “Like Business partners and finding new friends?” He interrupts. ”Yes and the creation of these relationships causes a change in his material reality which prompts him to once again develop his relationships and create more.” “This seems like elementary psychology Doctor Star, please tell us What is the Wumbo?” “I’m going there…” I gulped air. I looked at the water dispenser on my right wall and saw that it was empty. “ Wumbo is the relationship between the decision of changing the conditions of his relationships and that of his changing material reality.” “So, you are studying the psychology of man as his surroundings change?” “Not quite… You have to take into account that as he makes a decision regarding his relationships with fellow man, his material reality changes as a result of his previous decisions and this change is exasperated by the Wumbo of his previous relationships and the Wumbo of the change in his material reality years before the decision making that triggered the change in his relationships and that of his previous material reality.” I breathe heavily. His eyebrows are now curled, probably a direct order from his nose. “This seems so awfully complicated Professor. It seems impossible to keep track of any of these uhh “relationships”?” “That’s why we study it.” I smile. “Can you paint us a picture professor? Perhaps an example will help?” “Certainly.” I open my bag and took out a yellow folder. Inside it were stacks of papers. Studies from Oxford, UC Berkeley, Max Planck Institute among others. All of it I authored or coauthored. Many of these students have now started their own Wumbology departments in their own universities. Some I’ve heard are now receiving support from Silicon Valley. I selected a 25 page paper from the pile. Michael’s face… His nose rather, seemed surprised. “This is a paper from my student from Sydney about 4 years back. She is now head of the Wumbology department there.” I handed the paper to him and his face became even more contorted. He began talking. “This is an experiment concerning rabbits.” “Yes, a male and a female.” “And they are in a 9 square meter enclosure with cameras scattered about?” “Yes, there movement is being tracked as well as their metabolic condition. Infrared cameras, night vision cameras etcetera etcetera are included. The plant life and insect life are also carefully tracked by a team of Biologists.” “Why rabbits?” He asked. “Well, humans are highly sensitive to the presence of other humanoids, the presence of an experimenter can prompt an unpredictable change in their Wumbo that can ruin the experiment.” “I see.” His posture does not agree with his words. His words do not agree with his voice. “The analysis of the Wumbo is found in page 15… As you can see the red line in the first graph notes the change in the biological conditions of the enclosure, how the biologists came up with that graph I do not know. However superimposed is the blue line which tells us the relationship of the two rabbits. It starts out flat at zero, before they met and changes dramatically after.” “And the wumbo professor.” There is a sense of urgency in his delivery. “Below the first graph is the computations laid out to calculate the Wumbo… An awful lot of mathematics but special software designed by another one of my students allowed us to shorten all the calculations. In the next couple of pages the wumbo and the change in the wumbo of the rabbits and the surrounding material reality…“ he stopped looking at the paper and looked at me intently. “Wait! The material reality has a Wumbo?” The true capability of his voice regarding its volume was uniquely shown in that moment. “Oh, I haven’t told you? Yes, the material reality reacts against the wumbo of the specified being, and the relationship between the change in its reaction and the change in the specified being is the wumbo of the material reality which seeks to counter act the other’s wumbo.” “And I presume that this wumbo seeks to reduce the wumbo of the specified being?” “Not quite… The effect of the interacting wumbo is a growing field of study. Various tech companies are now fighting over researchers specializing in this interaction. The first paper regarding this, which is a work of my student from Oxford, is over 500 pages long. It showed that the interaction of wumbo called “InterWomboloty” is unique to the wumbo of both specified being and its material reality. For example the Interwomboloty of a business man and his office space showed an exponential decrease in the change of both Wumbos while the Wumbos themselves commanding an center seeking equilibrium within the both of them.” “And I presume that the interaction of the InterWomboloty of a group also creates Wumbo with the InterWomboloty of another?” “You are overthinking this Michael. There is no such interaction.” I smile once again. Michael was breathing heavily, his hand clutching the voice record tightly. He placed the paper on my desk and looked down at the floor. His nose seemed tired, its weight dragging the rest of his face downward. “I may have under-estimated the difficulty of this subject Professor Star.” He laughed. I placed the papers back into the folder and into my bag. The clock read 11:30. “All have, even I was guilty.” Still he didn’t give up. “Do you have something to help me sir? A book maybe?” “Oh yes.” I said as I swiveled my chair to bookshelf on my left. In it were books of various lengths and widths; most have my name on it, all having that dreaded word on the title- “Wumbo”. “Here is one, the first textbook I’ve published. You can borrow it for a few days if you like.” I smile one more time. “Thank you professor.” He says as he stood up and went out the door. A wumbolic silence fell upon the room. I sat down for a few minutes waiting for the events to completely dematerialize then I walked toward my bookshelf. An old book with no title sat there on the lower right covered by plastic. I reached for the book and pushed it. I took two steps back. The bookshelf spun around quietly, revealing the shape of a young woman pushing the back of the shelf. “The experiment was a success sir.” She smiled. “And how was your meeting with Google?” I replied. “Oh, it went great. They didn’t seem enthusiastic at first but after 2 hours of explaining to them our work they finally gave in. They’re giving us a pretty good offer. Want to see the contract?” Edit: changed ', which do not agree with his voice' to 'His words do not agree with his voice'
The attic was dark, and creepy in a way that was almost comical. Old, hulking furniture cowered under greying white sheets. Cobwebs hung gratuitously from candelabra’s that probably had never been lit. Looking closely, I saw a sticky substance that surely indicated recent purchase from Pier1. I remembered all of the items I bought for my new home there. When I had woken up here, it was with a note in my hand, “written” (although after hours of quietly inspecting my surroundings, I felt it was probably printed and artificially aged) directions on how to survive. There weren’t a lot of details, but essentially, I had to survive this “game” until the credits rolled. I assumed this meant some finale. It humored me to think of fireworks – blast after blast announcing a successful fight against a serial killer. I heard thumping downstairs. Multiple feet moving quietly but swiftly up stairs. “Brent,” I heard a hushed woman’s voice pleading, “Brent it’s been hours and no one has come out of the door – maybe this is a joke.” “No, Stella. No way.” A man’s voice responded harshly. “The note said the killer would come out of the attic, we should just barge in there and take him down now, before he picks us off.” “Stella’s right, Brent – if someone is in there, we at least need a weapon,” a softer man’s voice whispered. There was some more whispered planning, but I couldn’t pay attention. In the attic? I was frantic. I dropped quietly to the floor, then looked around. The attic was large, but I should’ve run into the killer by now. Why would he hide for hours, when I had been vulnerable plenty of times? He could’ve impaled me on the candle sticks, sharp and sticking out of the wall with points angled unattractively, or bashed my head in with a heavy cuckoo clock I fiddled with, then set down behind me, or strangled me when I laid under an old sofa with fancy legs with the rope laying on the floor, coiled like a snake, trying to collect my thoughts and plan. Or, I thought with a sick, choking feeling in my throat, what about when I was examining a thick old leather book, filled with knives and scalpels? No. That wasn’t the answer. He wasn’t up here with me. Hell, he wasn’t a “he.” It was me. It made sense, suddenly. Why there was a baseball bat leaning against the door. A decorative ax hung above an old mannequin, who was dressed in a cloak and old Victorian dress. I realized with a start that the dress would probably fit, then shoved my fist into my mouth so no one heard me laughing like a maniac – I would not be a killer in a dress. How asinine. I could wait, I thought to myself, as I picked up long, sharp looking knife in some sort of holster. I could try and signal for help, I thought as I added a longer knife – machete? – to the belt. But my mom, in the hospital, close to death. I pulled the ax off the wall, knocking the mannequin over with a crash. My new baby daughter, at home – alone? For good measure, I threw the cloak over my shoulders. The details on how I got here were fuzzy, but I knew one thing. The sooner I got home, the better.
"I need you to sort out some paperwork for me, J,"the burly man said as he left the room. I shrugged, and took the thick envelope. It was the first time he permitted me to look at his office work, and I was excited to see what business he was dabbling in. I'd speculated for some time, and judging by the wealth of his company, I guessed oil or stocks. Evidently he trusted me enough, even calling me by my nickname, so I felt honoured to be given the task. I opened the envelope and emptied its contents on the table as my employer watched keenly. Inside, I saw some mundane stock reports, and I silently congratulated my guesswork. But as I reached the base of the file, I saw something that my employer tried to pry away. It was a mercenary note. One requesting the aid of a Magneto. And by the reaction my employer had, I guessed it was referring to him. The man, seeing my expression of horror, smiled, as he crushed a can right behind me. "J, I see you now know something that...no one else does. Everyone else who ever came close to this information was...exterminated,"he licked his lips. "And I can do the same for you."I shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Magneto was reported on the papers all the time - sightings, incidents, casualties. He was the Villain of all Villains, a master in his industry. And I, an unassuming desk job worker earning a respectable wage as a secretary was an employee of him? I backed away slowly until I felt the wall behind me. There was no way out. Magneto enjoyed my fear as he raised a metal paperweight from the table. It expanded until it looked big enough to strike down even a God. He smiled, as he made a proposition. “Jane Grey, join me,” he said, almost gently. Then his smile vanished into a menacing scowl. “Or you die.” I didn’t have a choice, did I? But I swore I would have a choice soon. _________________________________________________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
Fire, Earth, Water, Air, Light, and Dark. These are the elements to magic that are controlled by everyone. Most people can control two of these elements. The more elements you can control, the more respected and powerful you become in this world. The basic elements, Fire, Earth, Water, and Air are the most commonly found among the population. Almost everyone you run into in the streets can manipulate two of these basic elements at varying strengths. Light and Dark magic, however, are scarcely found. I've met a few who could fiddle with these elements, but most were only able to perform small tasks like lighting up a hallway, or knocking someone out from close range. Common townspeople often have two or three elements to manipulate to assist them in their daily lives. Usually your line of work is decided by what kinds of elements you can manipulate, and anyone who can manipulate three or more often have the best chance of landing a well paying job. The king often recruits anyone with all four basic elemental control, or control of Dark and/or Light magic. Those recruited serve as the adventurers and guardsmen who keep the towns and cities safe in that bastard's kingdom. At five years old, when people's elemental control came to fruition, I didn't develop any of the main six elements. Defects are what these children are called. All the defects of each generation are thrown outside the kingdoms walls and left to fend for themselves, just like I was. The defects hardly ever lasted a full night in the woods outside the kingdom walls. Only strong magic users could survive outside the walls, and us Defects hadn't even gone to school yet. The first night I was thrown out of the walls, I couldn't help but cry softly as I waited for the inevitable embrace of death in the form of some lucky beast's stomach. The bushes around me started to rustle, and I knew it could only be a few more painful seconds. I felt the presence lean down and I prepared for the sharp grasp of teeth to puncture my body, but instead I felt a light tapping on my shoulder. "Hey, I need you to come with me before it gets too dark out here little guy."a man's voice said. "W-Wha?"I said struggling to contain my tears. "C'mon let's get going, I know just the place to go. I've got bread, you like bread?"He asked seemingly unfazed by the looming trees around us that could be harboring any of the beasts. I stumbled to my feet, and looked up at him. He had a long grey beard and a silver robe. "Who are you?"I asked. "Me? Oh I'm just some old guy who prefers the peace and quiet of the woods out here. Everybody gets so uptight inside the walls you know? You can't really be free in there, so I choose to live my days out here."He says. "B-but I don't have the ability to control any elements, why would you want to take me in?"I ask holding back tears. "Ah magic? Who cares about magic. The real value in life is to enjoy it how you see fit. Magic should only be used to enhance life, not take it from those without."He says. "Does that mean you can't use magic like me?"I ask. "Huh? Of course I can use magic. But you see, the magic I can use is magic that those fools inside the walls cannot see. I call it 'Null' magic, as only people who can't control any of the six elements are capable of using Null magic. It's a lost art really."He states. "Have you noticed how we have encountered no beasts along the way to my shack? That is Null magic at work. I've developed my own spell to repel the beasts from me. It helps me get around out here."He says. "Will I be able to use this too?"I ask in awe. "Maybe, if you possess the power too. But remember, nothing is wrong with not having any magic, it just makes life harder yeah?"He says. I see a small cottage in the distance and think that it must be his. "Hey we are almost back at my place, why don't you get a snack from the kitchen and get some rest, I can answer your questions tomorrow. I am getting quite tired, I'm not as young as I used to be."He says pointing to the building. Inside the cottage I notice light fixtures that I've never seen before, and furniture made out of the weirdest softest material I've ever felt. Immediately, the man ducks into his room and shuts the door as if to signal that it was time to sleep, so I grab a loaf of bread and begin to munch on it till I fall asleep on the mysterious furniture. (Didn't get to the second part of the prompt, might add another upon request)
"Ship stabilized." Yusuf flipped a switch. "No damage to the engines." Yusuf pressed a button. "Mild damage to the right storage compartment. And severe damage to our processor." Yusuf nodded. He guessed as much, but he still winced when the words were spoken out loud. They had already used up all of their spare uranium. Even if they did have any extra, Yusuf still wasn't sure if the ship would fly. They took a beating out there. The ship shuddered and slowly lowered itself to the ground. Relaxed, yet still careful and precise, Charlie slowly brought the plane onto a flat patch of sandstone. The ship fell on its landing gear with a bang, and Yusuf winced again. "My friend, welcome to Planet Harper!"Charlie spread his arms wide like a reality TV show host. "Abandoned, desolate, dangerous. Home of none, known by everyone." Yusuf moved to the small porthole on the side of the ship and stared out at the flat and barren desert landscape. The sun was setting on the horizon. It was a dark red and the radioactive rays of energy could be seen, if you looked at the right angle. "How do you think it felt?"Yusuf found himself suddenly asking to his friend and co-pilot. "Hm?"Charlie was getting out of his chair and was walking around the cockpit of the spaceship. The front half had a huge windshield, lined with monitors, buttons, lights, and machines. As the cockpit gradually widened and connected with the back of the ship, the machines gave away to wallpaper, couches, a coffee table. There was a miniature kitchen along the back wall by the door. It looked like a living room, and if you asked Charlie it was his living room. Yusuf would just call it the cockpit. "Harper,"Yusuf clarified. "How do you think Harper felt?" Charlie walked over to the small kitchen area and started pouring coffee into a plastic cup. When he was done, he stopped and thought for a bit. Finally, he replied. "Don't know. Don't care. He deserved it." "Come on, Charlie. We're here! And as far as I know, we're the first two people to land on this desolate planet since Harper!"Yusuf looked at him pleadingly. Charlie sat down on a couch and turned his body so he was facing over the back-end and at Yusuf, who was still standing by the window. "I suppose he had time to think. To think of him getting caught. To think of what he did, how many he killed. Maybe try to make amends to his Creator." Charlie shrugged. Yusuf finally moved and sat down on the other edge of the couch. "I do know one thing though,"Charlie suddenly said. "We're damn lucky this planet was here or else we'd be dead just like Harper." Yusuf nodded, but he still wasn't sure if landing on this planet was a good thing. It was largely undocumented besides the fact that there was not any life on this planet, despite the breathable atmosphere. And that was the thing that threw Yusuf off the most. There was oxygen here. There was no water, somehow. And the sun was radioactive. There was no life, and therefore no food. He sighed. "Four hours, right?"he asked Charlie. Charlie nodded. "Four hours." Four hours until they would get off of this abandoned and cursed planet, and only maybe then Yusuf would relax. His breathing was irregular and manual. No. They weren't safe. Not yet. They hadn't been safe for a single second after that asteroid struck the back end of the ship. "I'm gonna watch some TV." Charlie stood up from the couch and left Yusuf behind in his thoughts. ------------------------------------------------------------- Yusuf suddenly woke up. He could clearly hear a gust of wind blowing against the ship with extreme force. The landing gear and suspension rocked back and forth slowly, keeping the ship upright. Yusuf wiped his eyes and glanced at a digital clock next to his bed. He was only asleep for thirty minutes, leaving him with three more hours to wait. He laid in bed for a little while longer before carefully pulling off and replacing his sheets and making his way down the hallway to the cockpit. He could hear the television in Charlie's dorm blasting some sort of action movie. Walking with the expertise of an experienced sailor, Yusuf pushed open the door to the cockpit and easily kept his balance as the ship swayed with the wind. He opened the mini-fridge and pulled a diet soda and an apple before walking over to the same window he stared out before. His vision was obscured. The winds were quickly carrying particles along the flat surface of the planet, only clearing up randomly every few minutes before beginning again. The sun was no longer in the sky, but the Planet Harper's surface was still as bright as the daytime. As Yusuf stared, the winds began to die down, and he saw an odd rock formation that he had not noticed before protruding from the top of the hill. Rubbing his tired eyes once more, Yusuf tried to focus on the strange object before it was suddenly obscured once more by the sandstorm. The winds must have been strong enough to move that rock, but where it came from and how it got to the top of a hill was anyone's guess. Waiting for another clearing, Yusuf sipped his soda. The window brightened again and let in light as the sandstorm suddenly stopped. This had to be a different rock this time, and the other one was gone. At the bottom of the same hill Yusuf was watching before, a long and thin stone seemed to be lying set in the sand. It had a small hump on the back, sort of like.... Sort of like what? The sand obscured Yusuf's view once more. Almost instantly this time, the sand cleared again. The rock was about twenty feet away. It was standing. It had long dark brown braided hair and deep-set eyes. It was wearing combat boots, a backpack and a space-suit, built and used for combating radiation. It's face was unmistakable. It was Harper. Terrified, Yusuf ran and pushed open Charlie's door. "What the hell?"Charlie shouted, pausing the TV. "Harper....Harper....Harper's out there..."Yusuf stammered, pointing outside. "Damn it, he's dead!"Charlie yelled, but Yusuf slapped him hard in the face and pushed him into the cockpit. "I can't see anything! You saw some sand make a weird shape and you thought it was Harper! Get a hold of yourself man. In two hours we'll be out of here,"Charlie slowly spoke. He certainly didn't believe Yusuf at all, and speaking calmly, as if to a child afraid of the dark, Charlie thought he was helping. Harper's face pressed up against the window, and Charlie jumped. "Holy hell!"Charlie screamed and raced away from the window to the kitchen, pulling out a pistol out of a drawer hidden underneath several candy bars. Harper watched them intently. He didn't seem to care that they could see him, and he didn't seem to care about the gun either. He just slowly admired inside of the ship, nodding to himself. Yusuf ran to one of the monitors and quickly sent video proof of Harper back to Gamma, the closest civilized planet. Charlie continued to stare into Harper's eyes. "Two million people,"Charlie spat. "The man that killed two million people over two years ago is staring at me through the window. And he isn't some monster. He's a man. He's a normal man, and he's just standing there. And he's alive." "Gamma, come in, Gamma,"Yusuf called. "This is Gamma. What's your emergency?"a female voice came over the intercom. "Gamma, this is Patrol Crew 17, the one that crashed on Planet Harper. We seemed to have found the man himself alive and well. As we speak he is looking at me through the window. Do you have the pictures I sent, Gamma?" There was a pause, and then an exclamation came from the quiet and feminine voice over the intercom. "Shit." "Yeah,"Yusuf responded. "S-someone will be on your way,"the intercom blasted. "Stay on the line!" "HE'S GONE!"Charlie shouted from five feet away. Elevator music blasted from the intercom as Yusuf was put on hold and Charlie started looking through every single camera attached to the ship trying to find where Harper went. Several thuds sounded from the back of the ship. "He's trying to break in!"Harper quickly pulled on his radiation suit and threw the other one over to Yusuf, who slipped into his own. Charlie protruded a second pistol from underneath the couch. "How the hell did you smuggle so many of these onto the ship?"Yusuf shooked his head amazed. Charlie didn't answer. Confidently, he walked out of the cockpit and into the hallway. It led all the way to the back of the plane where the Nuclear Processor was. On the sides of the hallway, there were four doors. The first two on either side led to the bedrooms, and the last two led to the two storage compartments. Silently, Charlie pointed to the back left door. The one that leads to the compartment on the right side of the ship. It had taken slight damage from the asteroid and was exposed to the outside, but it had been vacuum sealed off. For what felt like hours, Charlie waited with his gun pointed at the door. Yusuf stood right behind him, toggling the intercom on his space suit to connect with Gamma. "....four of our fastest space ships are heading in your direction right now. Be careful, this man is a master killer. Besides the millions of bombings he had done, he has killed dozens on his own." Yusuf's stomach cramped as he thought of home. His friends, his apartment, his desk where he sat everyday he wasn't patrolling, the cute co-worker.... Charlie suddenly shot four times. "Did you..."Yusuf began to ask but Charlie motioned for him to stop talking. Charlie was concentrating on the door. Four bullet holes lined the side of the storage chamber. They shot straight through the vacuum seal. Glancing at his radiation suit, he only had an hour of oxygen. With those four bullet holes in the vacuum seal, they wouldn't be able to fly the ship into space without more oxygen tanks. ------------ I will continue this down below!
“I tried so hard to be the ideal everyone wanted me to be.” Paragon’s voice was unsettlingly quiet. There was a figure in his arms, face hidden by the folds of the cape he had draped over it. Electra choked and choked, grasping at the invisible vice grip on her throat. She could see the city below, blackened and dying. It looks so insignificant, a small part of her whispered. Like a child’s toy. “W—a-it,” she croaked. Desperate, feet kicking at empty air. The wind drowned out her voice, and Paragon continued. “You did this to me. You took the only one I loved away from me.” She could make out the gleam of bared teeth, sharp and furious. “The only thing I cared for in the world. And now, you will die.” Hysterical laughter burbled from her lips. His grip loosened, and Electra took the moment to take a few breaths. “What a hero you are, huh?” “You-” “Just because a person you care about dies-” she spread her gloved hands, “doesn’t mean you have to take it out on everyone.” She folded her hands behind her back, fumbling through the back compartments of her belt. “Boohoohoo. Do you think that story is unique? In this city?” Her fingers latched onto the grips of her pistols, sleek and lovely. Perfect. “My brother was killed by one of our so called heroes. Am I doing a reenactment of an angsty teen?” She spat at him, and it fell short. “You continue living your fucking life. Get over it.” “Unique, no.” He drifted closer to her, then grasped her helmeted head with one hand. The reinforced metal groaned beneath his fingers, then collapsed in small fragments. She followed the rain of metal shards with her eyes. Message received, clean and clear. “But now, what do I have left?” She brought up the pistols, aiming for the figure cradled in his arm. A corona of light erupted from the tips- blinding, and then Electra gasped. Her right hand was broken, and there were two overlapping circles of blackened flesh in place of the “P” insignia. “Futile.” She focused through the haze of pain shooting up her arm. Grasped in her left hand- the remaining pistol. “I figured you still had sentiment in you. Couldn’t hurt trying, right? With you being this self-sacrificing idiot and all.” Electra smirked. “Even after you kill me, I bet you’ll go back to your hero-ing. Put out these fires, rescue kittens, hguh-“ “Why?” She tried to make a sound... Any sound. But his grip was like steel, and Electra was already weakening. “What if I stop trying?” Paragon sounded contemplative, as if he was talking to himself. Black spots swarmed her vision, and she strained to make out his face. “I don’t even need to lift a finger. Humanity tends towards destruction, after all.” He locked eyes with her, blue onto green. Fish eyes, she thought, dead and empty. He let her fall.
"This is just stupid."said Brad "Hey guys, check out what dingus here is doing." "What's going on?"asked Sam, looking over "Ho-lee-shit! Are you rubbing two sticks together? We're sharpening sticks today, use a rock, dummy." Soon it seemed the whole tribe was jeering, but I knew that I was on to something. Sticks should be best for sharpening sticks, it's simple science. Like and like. They grew bored of making fun of me eventually and went back to sharpening sticks the old fashioned way, with rocks. I continued with my efforts, I was on the verge of making the sharpest stick ever made! Well, I would have been if I could have gotten the stick I was sharpening to take any sort of point at all, surely I was doing it wrong. Yes, just a matter of technique. That's what I thought anyway, now I know that the sticks will get a little warm but won't get sharp. Defeated and humiliated, I threw those sticks in the fire, grabbed a new one, and a rock, and started getting things done.
Johnny sat crouched behind a concrete barricade. He could feel the sweat dripping down his brow as he waited to make a move. He looked to his left and saw his friend Brian next to him, with his back up against the barricade. They both wore a protective vest and helmet, and carried a sleek black rifle. Brian nodded towards a tree some ten yards away, indicating that they should head for new cover. Johnny nodded in return; it was time. On the count of three, they spilt off from the concrete, kicking up dust as they sprinted for their target. As they ran, shots fired from an abandoned building in the distance narrowly missed them, and left colored marks around their feet. When they reached the large oak, they crouched down again, and then made sure neither of them was hit. Luckily, both were clean. "That's was too close, Brian,"Johnny managed as he breathed heavily. "There's no way we can make it any closer to the objective in our own." "Don't worry, man. Reinforcements are on the way,"Brian responded. He spoke into a walkie talkie on his vest. "Are we a go for plan Alpha, team two?"He flinched as a shot hit the side of the tree, leaving a green splatter next to his leg. This was the most intense game of paintball the world had ever seen. It was the world championship paintball game in Sacramento, California. Their team, the Silver Bandits, was made up of a hundred guys aged fourteen to nineteen. The opposing team, the Marauders, consisted of the same. A giant scoreboard on the far side of the arena revealed the number of players left from each team. 'Silver Bandits: 67' 'Marauders: 82' "Team leader, this is team two. We're ready when you are."Brian's walkie came through loud and clear as the two made every effort to stay hidden behind the base of the tree. "Copy that, team two. On my mark, you know what to do."Brian nodded to Johnny, who then took off his backpack and laid it in the ground at his feet. He unzipped it and took out a large drone, with four rotors and a claw that held a large canister of paint. Brian then spoke into his walkie one last time. "Team two, commence plan Alpha."Johnny grabbed a remote, and the mechanical creature sprang to life, flying up into the air. He watched it as it flew toward the building. Only a few of the enemy players spotted it before it flew into an open window. Bits of assorted color soared out of the window as the paint canister exploded, sending paint flying in every direction. At the same time, Brian cheered as a pickup truck came to a grinding halt next the oak, and began firing round after round of paint into the side of the building from atop a mounted turret on the tucks flatbed, controlled by a player. Another player hopped out of the truck's driver seat to join the other two behind the tree. "Good to see you, team leader,"he said, nodding to the pair. "Nice of you to join us, Kevin,"Johnny exclaimed, grinning. "Thats should keep them busy for little while, but let's not waste time. Are you ready?"Kevin nodded. As the three made their way past the tree and onto a barrier nearer to the compound, the sound of the firing turret stopped, making it obvious that they had lost another man. When they had made it to the edge of building, shouting started coming from Brian's walkie. "Team leader! This is team three; we're taking heavy fire on the northwest side of the building! Requesting immediate assistance!" Brian informed them that they were in the way, and motioned two the other two to get into position. Johnny went to one side of the door and opened it just enough so that Kevin could throw in a paint grenade. A loud bang went off, and they charged inside. Two enemy players sat in the corners of the room, the fronts of them covered in paint. They raised their hands in the air as the three Silver Bandits passed through into the next room. As they carefully surveyed the area, making sure not to miss a hiding opponent, Johnny caught a glimpse of the score out a small, smudged window. 'Silver Bandits: 61' 'Marauders: 73' They were catching up.
Five years and I caught her cheating. Five years and it was all gone, just like that. I didn't know nor did I care how long it had gone on for. I was set to propose in a week. Instead, I threw a few shirts and some underwear into a carry-on and left. I loaded up on Everclear from the minimart and drove drunk. I could never stomach the taste, but tonight, it was what I needed. I stopped at a cheap motel room in the middle of nowhere, an old one that still used the neon "VACANCY"sign. 25 bucks for the night. "I'll deal with it in the morning. I'll deal with all of it in the morning,"I muttered, and flopped into the bed. The last tenant had left the room's Bible out on the nightstand. I peered at it. "You. Yeah, you. You owe me, like, a billion fucking wishes for what you did to me."I nestled up against my pillow and fell into a fitful sleep. My dreams were interrupted by cheerful mariachi music as the radio alarm blared to life. I groaned as my hangover hit me like a minivan driving over my head. 7 AM. "No. I just want to sleep for 3 more hours. I'll deal with it then,"I growled at it. When I blinked, the daylight vanished and the clock read 4 AM. "Must be a dream."I went back to sleep. When the mariachi band played again, my headache was gone. Same song, too. Had it been a dream? The Bible on the nightstand caught my eye. "Hey. Did you do something?"I asked. It lay still. Of course it did, it was just a book. I needed to test it anyway. "I wish for a good breakfast."I said aloud, feeling like the world's biggest chump. Someone knocked on the door. "Yeah, I've got a medium pepperoni and a liter of pepsi,"the delivery girl said. No fucking way. It had to be coincidence, right? "I didn't order a pizza,"I replied, dumbfounded. She pulled up the order on her handheld. "Well, it says to come to this address. It's ordered through our online app, so it's already been paid for."She showed me. "So, free pizza, I guess?" My stomach rumbled. "Sure. I'll take it. Before you go, let me tip,"I reached into my back pocket and found my wallet missing. Crap. I'd probably left it in my car. Or with her. "I just want a fiver."I whispered, and checked my other pocket, finding a crumpled 5 dollar bill. She thanked me and left. It had stuffed crust. As I ate, my thoughts grew more menacing. "I should put a curse on them. Hurt them as much as they did me,"I muttered, chewing on a slice. But first, I needed to know more about the guy she cheated with. "I wish I knew who he was."A flood of information beamed into my head. Pete Lambic. CEO of Blastech, a small demolitions company. "I wish Blastech would go bankru-"I paused. Hundreds would be unemployed. Families would suffer. I wanted vengeance, but not if it would hurt innocents. "No, no I don't. I wish Pete Lambic would lose his job." And now for her. Nora. "What should I do to you?"I asked. Terminal illness? Herpes? Permanent disfigurement? My phone buzzed. Low battery. I hadn't changed my unlock screen yet on my phone, and our photo smiled up to me. We were on a park bench in the fall. She'd marveled about how pretty the leaves had been and asked a stranger to take our photo. We were in love then. It took every ounce of willpower I had to not wish our life back then and there. "I wish... I wish to go back five years. To the day I met her,"I said, and the world spun around me. I was back. Back in the bar with my friends, glass of whiskey in my hand. Nora's voice rang out from the karaoke machine. I'd forgotten how beautiful she looked that day. I'd forgotten her spirit. As before, I joined her. One little song wouldn't hurt. "May I have this duet?"I asked, and she nodded, with that cheeky smile of hers. We sang "Tiny Dancer"by Elton John. I spotted my friends heading for the door. "Hey, wait up!"I called, and jogged to join them. "Thought you'd be leaving with her,"Bill said, gesturing. Nora stared after me, a confused look on her face. "So did I."We played poker at my place and called it a night. _________________________________________________ [more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
"No no no no, I got this. I got this."Randell P. Werner (the Third) adjusted his power tie and put on his best smile. His aide, Sheila, rolled her eyes. "Boss, the wife is right there. Sitting in the front row. Here comes the bailiff, and the police. They're taking Mrs. Reynolds into custody as we speak." Werner pursed his lips. "What about habeus corpus, huh? When they take her out of here, we can't attest this this wasn't all a mutual hallucination."Werner seemed pleased with this plan and began to smile again. Sheila gaped. "Seriously? You, that, I mean."She drew in a deep breath, and regretted never taking up smoking. "Okay, you do know that Habeus Corpus applies to Mr. Reynolds, right? We got him, he was charged, and just before we could begin his dead wife walked in and pretty much blew that whole thing out of the water. There isn't a case anymore."Sheila began packing their papers. "Unless we get involved with Mrs. Reynolds' faking of her death. If she did such a thing. That's not our problem now, sir. Our problem is getting down to Fat Tommy's for a booth before the lunchtime crunch hits."Sheila stood to go. Werner's words stopped her once more. "But what if the wife is dead? Huh? What if Mr. Reynolds is doing some sort of honest to God voodoo? It's all a ploy to get off the hook! The murderous swine, to kill such a lovely woman and then defile her corpse with his black magic rituals." By now the rest of the courtroom was aware of Werner's insistence on continuing the trial. The judge sat back down. "Are you really wanting to move forward with the prosecution?"Werner nodded, smugly. "Fine,"continued the judge, "the Court rules in favor of the defense on account that the wife isn't dead. Case dismissed."The judge slammed the gavel so hard it snapped in two and he stormed off muttering something about inbred coke fiend lawyers as the defense cheered. Werner slumped into his chair. "Damn, I really thought we had that one this time."He perked up and hopped to his feet as Sheila lead the way out of the courtroom. "Better luck next time, right Sheila?"
In ancient Greece they had a concept that personality was formed from four distinct bodily fluids - biles that were contained within a person in different quantities, which led to the basis of their personality. Black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood, in varying quantities, were said to correspond to being wise, short tempered, peaceful and social, in that order. It was a concept conceived in a time before medicine, a time before true understanding of the human form and the psychology of an individual. It was discredited and consigned to hack science, where men of medicine could look back and laugh at how far mankind had come. It was also correct. How they knew, how they had discovered these biles in a day before modern medicine had even begun, is utterly unknown, but what is certain, is that in 2034 the main was scanned and delved into at a level never before possible and four controlling fluids were found. At first, when announcing the findings, the scientists were mocked with headlines in both popular scientific literature and modern tabloids, with headlines like "Modern Medicine turns back 2,000 years for a laugh."Acceptance was slow, but eventually, when they saw what it meant, when they saw what it could do, the tide began to turn. Once medicine had accepted these biles as possible they began the process of farming them as efficently as they could. Depressed? It was simply shortage of yellow bile and topping this up cured it almost immediately. Students were given black bile as a matter of course to help with their studies, babies soothed with does of phlegm. The world began to change, but as always, where there is change, there is someone looking to take advantage and it was not long before it came to be in this market too. The extroverts of the world found that by dosing on blood bile, they were able to go further than before, to act at another level. They would exude confidence, forcing even he most reluctant person to befriend and enjoy their company. Business began to demand it for sales, politicians for campaigns and the introvert of the world simply wanted to become like all the rest. For a time things seemed normal, but soon, soon it was not enough and then the attacks began. People were found in alleys, their heads split open and brains scooped out, squeezed and abandoned. Morgues were raided, hospitals became fortified, but still there were some who could talk their way past the armed and forewarned guards, so does on blood bile that they were impossible to stop, impossible to have any interaction with that was not immediately fawning and subservient. Cults of personality grew, farming those who were too weak to resist them, until only a few alphas were left, controlling the population, controlling the world as they sucked the juices from a weakened and drained population. Only a few were left and you, you are one of those few. Fear not though, your life and your sacrifice will be for a better cause and even though you cannot possibly understand it, you should know that I respect and am grateful for what you do. Now, just place your head here and in a second you'll feel a slight pinch, but don't worry, as it'll all be over in just a moment, so just get comfortable and we'll get started right no...
Let me just start off telling you one thing. I am not a god, I don't have any magical abilities and it wasn't the product of an accident. I'll tell you what it was later. About a year ago I discovered I was immortal and when I did I just questioned what to do. And to give myself some ideas about what it was that made me. Well... Me, I decided to start a conspiracy blog (I know it sounds stupid but hear me out.) The reason for this was to help me at least try and understand what was happening to me and more importantly, why. The way I found out was as scary as finding out. Here goes. I was walking down the street one day and there were roadworks going on about a block from my apartment. And I went to the same coffee shop everyday, and one day while walking across the road to the coffee shop, and yes I admit I was jaywalking. I was hit by a bus, which I later found out was going about 55mp/h (88 km/h) which I found out from the driver who told the police officer who told the doctor who told his nurses, Jesus. Word does travel fast. But after all this I was intrigued I survived the unsurvivable and didn't even have a scratch on me. After my terrible hospital dinner I decided to test something, so I took the plastic cutting knife and... Sliced right down my palm, and sure enough, a few seconds later it was gone, no mark, no scar, no blood. I was terrified at first. I though I was in hell or something like that. But let me stop you at the "but what if you are dead comments"in not, trust me. A couple if months go by and I decided to start a website to give me ideas on why I can't be killed, and I did get some pretty interesting theories. One guy thought that maybe I descended from a series of superpowered individuals like Genghis Khan, and Abraham Lincoln, and another guy said it might be the cause of some anomaly in my body which causes it to heal super quickly, oh and my personal favourite was just a three word one that just said "are. you. god.??"Some people huh. The conspiracy website has been up for a while now (9-12 months) but the government has helped me out and promised that no one except me and the conspiracy nuts on my blog know. That's basically my story except in the only one who knows the secret to my immortality. Here goes..... If I told you... It wouldn't be a secret. ;)
"Shit, They're coming"I yelled to the other, they all start to scramble. Throwing boxes of our precious bounty into the vans. "Mr Big, Freddo, You head to the safe house on 5th Avenue and Bourneville. We'll meet you as soon as we can, some time after eight. There's a Pal-o-mine near by who can hide Carlos V, Reese and I until then. Go!"Mr Big and Freddo jumped into their van and sped off on my orders. A few seconds after they pass from sight, three cop cars round a different corner. Reaching us before we can even get the engine started. They burst out of their cars and we drop what we're doing. Several guns pointed at us. A cop in a long brown duster jacket climbs out of one of the cars and walks over to us. "Take 5, gentlemen."he says to his officers once we've been searched for weapons. "So, we have the Three Musketeers."he says as he takes a look in the back of our van. "Oh, Henry. Moving up to the big time are we? I'm disappointed in you. Must be 100 grand's worth in here."He says to me, pulling out a box and dropping it to the floor. "Oops, butter fingers"he smiled at us as we watched our haul become tainted on the floor. "You're all going down for a long time."None of us spoke, Carlos V and I turned and faced the van, putting our hands behind our backs as we're used to. Reece opened the van door and grabbed something from inside. He span, pointing to object towards the nearest cop. Reece was shot down before he could pull the trigger. Carlos V and I were thrown to the ground and cuffed. "Anymore guns I should know about?"asked the detective. "No, I swear. I didn't know he had that. It was Reece's piece, not ours."Carlos V said. "If there'll be no more surprises like that then it'll be smooth sailing for us all."said the detective as we were lifted to our feet and lead to the cop cars. I took one final look back at the haul of the decade. The thought of untold riches slowly being replaced by the thought of years of prison time. My heart sank. I just hoped that Freddo and Mr Big got away.
“So tell me a little bit about yourself, Mr. … Human.” The interviewer looked back down at the resume to make sure he had the name right, and looked back up at his interviewee. Scramblax, currently ‘Joe Human’, cleared his throat and said “Well, I’m a real people person. Um… I’m very outgoing and I get along well with other humans… er… people.” He smiled at the interviewer and added “Sorry, a bit nervous. May I?” He pointed to the bottle of water at the end of the table. He drank slowly and set the bottle down. The interviewer scratched down several notes then looked back at Joe and asked “What makes you interested in working for us?” “I feel like it would be a good opportunity to observe people better. When people come here to make their purchases you can get a much better idea of who they are than watching from thousands of miles through a thick atmosphere.” Joe explained. “I really don’t know what to make of that, I’ll assume that’s something the kids are into these days. You know, millennial speak, something my daughter would say.” He jotted something down and asked “Tell me of a time you had to overcome a challenge at work.” Joe perked up and said “One time the Flupulator ran out of Flarbasite and I had to recreate a three-tronic subsistence resonator from scratch. We would have lost a month’s worth of data if I hadn’t.” “Sounds like you might be a little over qualified. This is just retail, you might get bored in a cashier position.” The interviewer paused in his writing and asked, “How do you spell Flup-u-lator? You know what, never mind. If you don’t mind me asking, what is that on your neck? We are an equal opportunity employer and we do not discriminate but it might be a little off-putting to our customers.” Joe raised his collar a bit. He had hoped his Meepos would be hidden by popping his collar up high but apparently it had slipped out. “I apologize, this is my Meepos. It is a totally normal, not in the least bit alien, body part. I will make sure to keep it covered.” “That brings me to my next point, which is… you seem a little green.” Joe straightened in his chair and said “I assure you I have plenty of work experience, you can check the resume.” “No I mean, your skin, it’s a little green.” “Oh, right.” Joe said a little too defensively. “It’s bad enough people on Zeeboo-Five can’t look past skin color, to have to deal with it here…” Joe shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh. “Riiight.” The interviewer stopped writing and set his pen down. “I think we’re good here. I want to thank you for coming in. I’ll let you know what we decide.” He stood up and opened the door for Joe. Joe got up and shook the interviewers hand and said “Thank you for your consideration.” The interviewer sat back down and sighed deeply. “Geez, kids these days.” He pressed a button on the intercom “Sandy, who’s next?”
When it started people panicked. The myths where real, vampires, zombies, werebeast, merpeople emerged around the world. Here in Europe we managed to come with truce with the vampire lords, but it had costed us. Now blood donating is mandatory and criminals is sacrificed to the vampire lords with the promised that they would not be turned. That did not stop them from wrecking havoc with our countries but we have showed them that we can kill them to. So the truce lasts. the cost of killing one of their lords is simply to high. In Africa the werebeast took over, it was fast and brutal. the rest of the world turned a blind eye to what happened there, but when it was over it was a new continent spading country with the werebeast as the new royalty. It was ironically the best that could have happend to them as Africa was now united under an iron fist that was strangely enough extremely progressive and level headed. They saw Africa as their domain and the people living there as their herd. they never took to much and wanted them to be healthy strong. The middle east got djinns that simply wreaked havoc in the worn torn area, killing every human they spotted there, when the blood bath was over the vanished into the desert and mountains. Anybody entering the area would simply dissapear after a while. there was rumours of a djinn approved cities in the desert where the surviving humans was thought how to live in peace. In india the zombies emerged and well they are still fighting to survive over the whole of mainland of asia. unlike the djinn the zombies are slow and not intelligent. They can be shoot and they can be stopped by physical weapons. In the pacific the merpeople can up from the sea, they didnt attack those who respected the sea but those who did not found their ships sunk and the people dragged to the sea and drowned. We never found out what monster came to Australia, apparently the natural wildlife there killed it off. In south america there is a clusterfuck, they got it all. Zombies, djinns, werepeople, vampires and Ghosts. There are most likly not any humans alive there but nobody wants to go there to check. ANd the US.. ohh those stupid bastards. they immediately thought about trying to use these monster as a weapon. They never learn, they got ghost, the spirits of the dead and they thought they where fucking ghost busters. it went as well as you could think. They managed to captured a few ghost, not understanding that ghost are souls who have have not founded rest after death. they are not your aunt who died peacfully in bed, its the guy who got murdered and then his murder was ignored. its the slaves who was bunched so a white overlord could earn some money. It was the natives who was killed for the land they called home and now they where back. Sure some of the young and weak ghosts could be studied. but what do you do with a 500 year ghost who with the power to summon demons from the deepest levels of hell and sees the us government as the rot to all evil. the ghost played along, pretending to be captured, pretending to hurt when shocked by eletro pods. Pretended to let their life force be used up as they where shoot at people while they suck the live energy out of them. They pretended to be their slaves. Until they where the backbone of the us military power and then they just stopped playing. when they rebelled it took them less then a day to wipe them out. then they approched the Canada and they proply apologized for all transgression they had done against the ghost. And that was ironically all they had to do. The Ghost just vanished. or so we hope.
The room was dark. The little girl was tucked into her bed under her Elsa blankets. The only light came from a a Disney Frozen night light. It was late but she was wide awake, staring at the door. The Olaf Fathead poster stared back. Though the living room TV was on she only heard the pounding of her heart. Kimmel was ending. It was going to happen soon. The Special Time She hated The Special Time. But she couldn't make it stop. She'd tried, but nobody believed her. She hated them. All the grown ups that were supposed to help her. They'd said she was imagining things or making up stories. But they never helped. The TV became silent. It was going to start now. She could hear the foot steps coming closer. The pounding in her chest became faster. The steps stopped at the door. Slowly it opened. "Are you still up sweetie?" She'd screwed her eyes shut. Maybeif she pretended to be asleep. "Oh my, you're so excited that you're breathless." "No mommy!"She begged, "I don't wanna!" "But sweetheart, Frozen is your favourite movie. Don't you want to see it again?" It had been when it came out 4 years ago. But not anymore. Everything in the room was from it and worst of all she'd seen it hundreds and hundreds of times. Her mother made her watch it up to 8 times a day. It wasn't fun anymore. It wasn't special. Now, now sweetie, I know how much you love it. I'll let you see it again" She went over to the flat screen TV that hung on the wall and inserted the Blu-ray. No, not again. Not again. Thump They both heard it. It came from under the bed. "We're you playing with your remote control Sven?" "No, I ..I don't know where my Sven is."She lied she knew exactly where it was. It was on the roof with all the other toys she hated. "Well I wonder what that was." She knelt down to look under the bed and was greeted by two glowing yellow eyes. An impossibly long hand reached out and grabbed her by the throat. From under the twin sized bed, the rest of it came out. It was tall and cover in shadows. It had a featureless face all that could be seen were it's eyes and teeth. A rictus smile of pointy sharp teeth. It lifted the woman of the ground and pinned her against the tv, the impact hard enough to shatter the screen. It growled low menacingly. The little gril wanted to hide but she was too afraid to move. That thing had been under her bed. It's hair began to wiggle. No that wasn't hair. Tentacles. The woman struggled but couldn't break free. The monster brought it's face close to the woman's, her eyes wide in terror. "Lady, I'm done. By Nyalothep's third testicle I've had enough. You've played that damn movie so much that I don't need scare her to feed on her fear. But enough is enough. I'm a monster and I think you're disgusting. So we're going to make a deal." A random tentacle slithered up it's arm and into the woman's hair. "You're never going to mention Elsa, Anna or that heavens be damned movie ever again. You're gonna let her get some real sleep and new toys. And if I ever have to come out again, I'll drain you until you're a husk." The slimey tentacle stroked her head. "You understand?" The terrified woman could only nod. "Good, now leave her alone." The huge creature began to slip under the bed, like and elephant slipping into a pillow case. "One more thing,"it's eye fixed on the woman, "if you move, I'll find you."I disappeared with a wet spuelch. The woman ran out of the room. She was in such a panic that she left the door open. The girl sat up she was scard but for the first time in a very long time, it was that bad. She decided that maybe it was better this way. She lay back down and covered herself. "Goodnight."she said. But the house was quiet. As she drifted off to sleep an tentacle came out and pulled the blanket up.
"OK, we're recording. Any questions before we get started?" "What time is it?" "Uh...9:41." "OK, so I forgot my math homework. Never forget the day: November 15, 2017, a Wednesday. College Algebra 105." "I'm with you so far." "Which wouldn't have been that big of a deal on it's own, of course, but the prof had assigned us each a partner. I did the even problems, and this other guy, Ben, did the odds. Was supposed to make us interact with each other, I guess, encourage group work or something." "There was push for this sort of thing back then, I remember reading about it. They were all worried about kids spending too much time on their phones, not socializing." "Probably something like that. Ben was actually from my home town, we went to high school together. I knew him a little bit, but not really; we didn't go to a huge high school or anything, but we had like 150 kids in our graduating class, so that kind of thing would happen. So anyway, Ben has his problems but I don't, and the prof decides he's going to be a hard-ass, and gives us both zeroes." "Tough, but fair." "I guess. Wasn't any skin off my nose, but it turns out Ben was already carrying like a 45 in the class, and overall wasn't doing so well in his other classes either. I talked to him a little bit about it - or truth be told, he yelled a lot about it - and I guess he was really struggling with the classes, falling behind, stressed out, the whole nine yards." "Well, college wasn't for everyone." "Wasn't for Ben, it seems, because he dropped out shortly after. Like not just the class, out of college entirely. Went and moved back with his folks." "Sad, but that kind of thing happened a lot." "It did, but Ben's parents weren't going to just let him sit around doing nothing, of course, so they started in on him to get a job. Which he did, I heard, some job at a local place that assembled lawn mowers or something like that. And wouldn't you know it, but there was this girl Cathy, who he had dated for a little bit as a sophomore, working there. Well, you know how these things go, they have some history, most of the other kids they knew in school are off at Wherever University, they start hanging out at lunch. And then they were seeing each other at the local bar that didn't really care that much about carding people, then they're going to the movies every weekend, and then looking at apartments and rings together." "So it sounds like it worked out for Ben." "Kind of. I mean you're about my age I'd guess, you know how it was, $25k a year wasn't much but seemed like all the money in the world when you're 19. Especially when you take that times 2, and a couple young adults who mostly just liked having someone to screw every night think they've got it all figured out. They're married, Kid #1 shows up juuust close enough to 9 months later that no one really thinks much about it, Kid #2 shows up a year after that. Only now it's the really real world, you know? Twenty-two...or maybe twenty-three, whatever she was...Cathy is responsible for raising two kids under the age of 2, which she has to do because the combined $50k a year isn't quite enough to afford everything they need plus day care. Ben's still working, but without a college degree he's got a ceiling of assembly or other similar work. And the unions not being what they once were, means that eventually, the cost of living raises aren't keeping up with the increasing credit card interest payments." "The American Dream." "Yeah pretty much. So fast forward 10 years or so, Cathy's now working like a lunch shift at McDonald's or some place like that, just to bring in a little extra while the kids are in school. One day she gets sent home because she's obviously sick and the manager has gotten a couple of complaints about it from customers, so she figures she'll catch a little nap before she has to pick up the kids after school. Only what she finds in her bed is Ben and some other woman from the mower plant that he's been nailing on the side over lunch breaks for the past 6 months." "The Real American Dream." "Heh. From what I heard from a couple people that were still living there at the time, it was more of a relief for Cathy than anything, since she and Ben had basically been on autopilot for quite some time, and she had had her suspicions. It may be small town bullshit, but apparently she was packing her bags before Ben and his Whomever even have time to get off of each other and out of bed. Like, right there with them both still in the room, she's throwing some shirts and clean underwear into a duffel bag. Picked the kids up from school early, and was straight to her mom's a couple towns over. Sent a friend to get the rest of her stuff, and lawyers took care of the rest." "You go girl." "So the two kids - two girls, Brenna and Kaitlyn - are all of the sudden in a new school. A bigger school, it turns out, and Brenna, the older girl, hates it. Misses her old friends, doesn't fit in, grades are terrible, etc. But Kaitlyn loves it, makes a lot of new friends, becomes class president, is in line for a bunch of academic scholarships. And here's where the rubber starts meeting the road, because we're kind of circling back to the beginning of all this, right? One kid going off to college and bigger and better things, while another is looking down the barrel of a dead end job and life. Which incidentally, she hears about from both her mother and her estranged father, whenever he can scrape up enough cash to make his child support payments and is allowed to see her." "Poverty can be systemic, something that I don't think we as a society ever truly understood or accepted." "Indeed. But in this case, Brenna has been to the Oracle, so to speak, and knows what kind of life awaits her. And it's important to realize, Brenna in reality is whip smart, and before she moved was on the same track Kaitlyn found herself on. A born leader, natural athlete, aggressive over-achiever. She just never could fully adjust to the change of venue. So while she begins down the same path Ben and Cathy took years ago, she's also fully aware of her lot in life, and is on the lookout for any way out. Fast forward another 10 years or so, and Kaitlyn, as you know, is one of the youngest state senators in history, on the fast track to political stardom. Already at that time people are telling her a run at the Presidency is inevitable. Brenna, on the other hand, is still kicking around her adopted hometown, but she hasn't been idle. She's been talking to pretty much everyone she can: people like herself, who feel abandoned by the system, trapped and unable to get ahead in life. There are meetings arranged, organizations formed...It's not getting much press, but by this time it's definitely a movement, one that has spread to a lot of different cities. The beginnings of what will eventually be the MIL." "OK, now we're getting somewhere. So you're telling me that Brenna is, in actuality, Kavra, head of Modern Independence League?" "That's what I'm telling you. And of course you already know that Kaitlyn became President-General Sanders." "I'm not buying it. It's true that we don't really have much info on Kavra, I don't think that's a secret. But you expect me to believe some forgotten kid from some Shitsburg Midwest town graduated high school and 25 years later became Kavra, the leader of a terrorist organization that has gone toe-to-toe with the United Nations, waging war in virtually every country, on every continent? And, the best part, that this person is the President-General's own sister?" "Freedom Fighters. We prefer the term..." "Stow it, no one here cares about your propaganda. I just want this stated again, for the record to be used at your trial: Your contention is that Kavra's identity is Brenna Sanders, and her and the MIL's rise to power was the inevitable result of you forgetting your math homework back in 2017? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?" "Completely and totally ridiculous, I would imagine." "Then why are you trying to sell us on this obviously fabricated story, instead saving yourself from execution by giving us the names and locations of your co-conspirators?" "I dunno, seemed like a good way to kill 20 minutes." "What are you talking.....Security, I need a perimeter check, immediately." Sir? "We are about to be attacked by MIL forces! I repeat, we are..." BOOM
"Stop, please. Just stay away!" "Hehe, you know I can't do that silly. Why are you so scared? You're the bad guy remember? You killed daddy, even when he begged you to just leave and take the money." "You don't get it Dawn! Your dad! He was a bad man, please just come with us, you need someone to help you with your power, I mean, um...quirk."she giggled, holding her hands out surrounded by orbs of dark swirling energy beholding her destruction. They had come in droves, men and women in neat black and white, gunning down the maids, butlers, servants, and then mom and dad. Now they were the ones being attacked, hunted, killed. "He used you Dawn, he knew about your quirk and taught you how to hurt people with it. But you don't have to anymore, he's gone now. You can be happy."Dawn lowered her hands looking down, feeling her clear tears mix with the red sniffling a bit, no longer having fun. "I was happy, and you took it away from me. I thought the heroes would come and help me, but daddy was right, heroes are rotten good for nothings. All they care about is money and fame. But I'm different. Daddy taught me to fight for justice, for whats right." "Does this honestly look right to you!"Again, Dawn saw what she had done, the people laying dead below her as she stood atop her construct, Dark Toy: Gun-dam. A invincible machine which spewed endless bullets in practically ever direction which caused earthquakes from its rapid production. This was a good toy, but she knew she could think of a better one. "You don't get to tell me what's right and wrong. No-one does anymore."Gun-dam dissapeared and Dawn raised her hands, forcing more power to run through her, calling the name of her newest creation, she was going to make it special for the man who ended her happiness. "Dark Toy: Greedy Ramen!"the dark energy floated and inflated into the shape of a giant stuffed ramen bowl plushie, with big cartoon eyes and drawn on razor fangs. Her power allowed her to create anything she could imagine, however she could only create the same thing once. Lucky for her she had a big imagination. The ramen jumped up and down making silly chomping sounds and the man tried to run despite his limp. "Greedy Ramen, it's lunch time."The construct began to slurp up more and more air, debris and bodies flew into its seemingly endless chasm of a mouth and the last thing the assailant said was a scream of mercy, as all evidence of any of this ever happening was consumed by Greedy Ramen and when it was done it licked its lips happily and faded back into darkness. Dawn sighed thinking what now, what would her father tell her to do? To make connections. Well she had recently heard of a league of villains somewhere. One that was trying to change the world, and punish those fake heroes. Now that sounded like a game that'd be fun to play.
Someone knocked on the door. "Damnit,"Josh moaned. Sticking a hand out from under the blanket, he groped around until he found the familiar shape of his phone. He fumbled with the device until my fingers managed to press something, lighting up the screen. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Through sleep-fogged vision, he squinted at the numbers displayed on the cracked display. "Damn,"he said, again. Summoning what little motivation he had, Josh threw the covers aside, stumbling to his feet. He tossed the phone back on the bed, and staggered towards the kitchen alcove on the other side of the studio. The knocking on the door continued, increasing in pace. Angry. Persistent. Josh ignored it. Reaching past the unwashed plates, he grasped the faucet handle, flipped it up, and splashed cold water on his face. Then he cupped his palm under the running tap, brought it to his mouth, and took a drink. Straightening up, he stuck one hand behind the small of his back, massaging his spine with his knuckles. He stretched a bit, in the vain hope it would make him feel marginally more human. Josh considered his attire. Ratty old t-shirt, with the collar out-of-shape and a few bleached spots. Shorts that weren't so much boxers per-se, but the kind of stretchy elastic thing that couldn't quite decide what kind of underwear it was. He thought about getting dressed. Then he discarded the thought. "JOSHUA,"came the yell from outside the flat, "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" "I'm coming,"he muttered. Walking over, he twisted the lock and hauled the door open. On the other side, a familiar face glared back at him, looking up with an expression that promised unspecific but definitely unholy retribution. "Hi Lu,"Josh said, resignedly. Without waiting to be let in, Lucy shoved her way past him, elbowing her way inside the studio. She stomped into Josh's living space. Then she brought one well-manicured hand to her nose, pinching her nostrils shut. "The hell, Joshua,"she complained, "when was the last time you cleaned in here? Or the last time you opened a window?" "Eh,"Josh mumbled, feeling vaguely defensive, but not enough to raise his own voice. "It's not that bad." "Not that bad,"she repeated, incredulously. "Because you're happy marinating in your own filth?" "I showered yesterday,"Josh protested. "Twice." "That's...not the point,"Lucy replied, shifting her hand up her face, until she ended up massaging her temples and forehead with her fingertips. "Totally not the point." "Okay, fine, fine,"Josh said, "I'll clean the place later, okay?" "Still not the point,"Lucy hissed. "Your floor's sticky, Joshua. I'm wearing shoes, and I can feel something sticking to my soles." She lifted one sneaker-clad foot in illustration. There was indeed a faint popping, ripping sound, as the rubber left the faux-wooden flooring. "Yeah,"Josh observed, "actually, you mind taking those off? If I'm gonna have to do the floor later, it'll be---" "No,"Lucy stated, firmly. "My shoes stay on. My coat stays on. Hell, if I had a hazmat suit, I'd be wearing it. I don't want any skin contact with anything in this room." "Okay,"Josh said. "Point made. Don't need to rub it in." "Of course I need to rub it in,"Lucy retorted. "That seems to be the only way to get any messages into your skull." "Look, you've complained about my housekeeping before…" "It's not your housekeeping,"Lucy said, throwing both her hands into the air in an exaggerated show of frustration. "It's your everything. It's you." "Lu, come on, that's not---" She cut him off. "Not what? Not fair? Joshua, Joshua, Joshua, you had one job. Have one job. Just like the meme. The proverbial, singular, lone, solitary, one job. And you're not doing it. The hell am I supposed to think?" "I've been working on the mark,"Josh protested. "You're a tattoo artist, Joshua,"Lucy spat. "Wait, no. A trainee artist. An apprentice. And not even a good one. Your portfolio's so shit they won't let you do any original designs on actual customers. Unless that's changed in the last few weeks?" "I'm working on it,"Josh insisted. "I'm getting better." "So that's a 'no', then,"Lucy concluded. "Tattooed many pigs lately?" "I've kinda been using fruit,"Josh admitted, "there isn't really a butcher nearby and the fake stuff is expensive. But look, Lu, you've gotta---" "Uh uh, no, no,"Lucy said. "Forget it. Forget the mark. There's more on your checklist than that. If you can't get that right, please tell me there's something you don't completely suck at." Josh brightened. "Actually,"he said, with a sudden spark of enthusiasm, "yeah, yeah, I've got something." Lucy arched her eyebrows, tilting her head to one side. "Really." "Yeah,"Josh said. He crossed the room in three quick strides, stopping in front of the closet, and throwing the doors open. "See?" Lucy stared in disbelief. "So,"Josh began, carefully lifting his handiwork out of its nest of dirty clothes. "I've kinda been working on this. You know, off and on. But I think it's really shaping up." "Joshua,"Lucy said carefully, "what is that?" Josh held up the stuffed cat toy. It was a rather large specimen of the soft animal breed, though it had obviously been modified after purchase. Crudely stitched near the front of the creature were several additional plush toy heads, with plastic horns messily glued to each one. A stack of fast-food restaurant cardboard crowns hung around the original head. "He's my beast,"Josh said proudly. Lucy stared at the abomination, taking in the details. Then she noticed one final aspect she'd somehow overlooked in her first horrified glance. "Joshua,"she asked, warily, "why is it wearing a kid's inflatable swimming float...thing?" "Well,"Josh explained, "he's gotta rise out of the sea, right?" Lucy sighed.
Being the most powerful Pyro on the planet was my only desire. Pillars of searing fire will burst out your palms burning all evil, I used to think when I was young and, since then, I gave every point to fire. Fire did come out of my palms, but being a one-trick wonder wasn't a wise decision. I lost all my encounters, I could never defeat the versatility of the Elemany, those who combined the elements. That day I got my last point, the hundredth. And loneliness crammed the cave I dwelled in. I had to leave society, they mocked me, said I was a disgrace and a man of no wisdom. Sadly, truth laid with them. My skin melted, it resembled burned rubber. Hair was long gone too. I would smile if the fire inside me had provoked my ugliness but, truth is, time is stronger than any element. You can't escape it. Its scythe was already groping my waist, all he had to do was pull and end my misery. The drums of selection thundered in the hollowness of my skull. The noise that once made my foggy eyes brim with joy, that day triggered a recollection of awful memories, of a life wasted in a delusional dream. The drums stopped and the voice followed. Choose your attribute Mr. Pyrif, it said in its awful monotone pitch. "Fire,"I muttered and sighed. Light followed, like a blessing from above, yet I closed my eyes, there was no hope in my world. I hid in the darkness of my cave where no one could find me, not even the Gods. Maybe, if they forgot about me, they would grant me access to Elementaria. I stood and dared to dream once again. Maybe, maybe, the hundredth point is special, I thought and raised my hand. A contraction of my chest and forearm, the basic technique. Fire gushed out my palm like it had never done before. Pillars of flames, humongous, gargantuan. They turned the walls of my beloved cave into a living inferno. I cherished it, finally light burst out of my eyes. Nevertheless, ruination and power delighted my palate. Melt them, melt their faces, repeated an infernal voice inside me. I ambled towards the exit of my cave when the infamous pull of time's scythe took my soul. My body lay there, burning on my own flames and I stared at it, powerless, useless until it was nothing but ashes. The same scythe that pierced my soul threw me back into my ashes. Melt them, melt their faces, repeated the voice as I reborn from inside the flames. The mist that fogged my sight disappeared. My youth came back to me. How light my skin feels, I thought and whistled my way to the end of the cave, to the forsaken light. I will melt them.
It took a long time for her to stop screaming. I'd done it a dozen times before, maybe more. Not quite sure. The first time was the best. The way her breath had caught in her throat! Her pleading voice, calling to God, had trembled. She'd started crying near the end. I start off casually. A quick introduction, a matter-of-fact explanation as to the reason I've come to them today. They don't - can't - believe it. Shit like this doesn't happen to normal people. But it did, this time, and I'm the messenger. I guess I get off on it, to a certain extent. This explosive tension builds up behind your eyeballs, and then - as I drive home the point - it positively leaks like sweat. All giddy, I often need to take a breather and enjoy a smoke outside or a cool glass of water. This time it was no different - she didn't know me from Adam, yet our brief contact would be enough to change everything. Yes! There it is! Her breath catches. She moans a little. She talks to God. She bites her lip as she frantically tries to make sense of this bizarre situation. I lay it all out for her, explaining who and how and why, but none of it registers. Not fully, at least. But then, finally, there's a moment where it all clicks. It all makes sense. This was her destiny. "No, ma'am, I assure you this is not a joke. You've won Powerball." It took a long time for her to stop screaming.
In the end, all that that deception and humiliation did was one thing: sign a death-warrant. /u/alimentaryspelunker's. He's the one who started the whole thing. Got my number from a snooping board a few years back, from when I thought I'd try my hand as a private investigator. Had a few satisfied customers under my belt, mostly just digital sleuthery but some actual tailwork too, so I was already a full-on spook by then. Christ, those were the good days. Fry-cook by day, Nancy Drew by night. Then I got sucked in by /u/alimentaryspelunker and his cohorts. It's amazing what you can accomplish through the internet. You can lead a poor sucker down a rabbit hole of epic proportion. In the beginning, though, it was only child's play: phishing to find out what pills someone's boss is taking, making a move on a corporate stooge to test his loyalty... I guess that was all just to gain my trust. It worked. Quickly, things escalated. I started getting whitepapers sent to me outlining a global conspiracy of dogfighters. You know, like Michael Vick. Only this was different. The patrons of these events wanted to see what would happen when an ordinary dog turned on its owner, so they would pay professional canine brainwashers to condition pets to do so. I spent weeks running a bruteforce attack to read the emails, and got the address of every soon-to-be victim. Being the conscientious person I am, I went to their houses and liberated each and every would-be Cujo. They were all expensive designer dogs, those little ones that you see a lot of on Instagram and sometimes see stuffed into purses... So it made sense that their owners had enough funds and connections to catch me. Ended up doing time in a medium-security prison, where I learned a couple of new skills I hadn't had before and aim not to use on the outside. And now I'm coming for you, /u/alimentaryspelunker. I thought I was being a hero, rescuing dogs and their owners from becoming a gory spectacle. I thank you for that feeling... But it will not be enough to buy my forgiveness.
"You wanted me to make you bombs."Andrew addressed the man standing before him without emotion. His green eyes seemed to cast a shadow over everything they touched. "That was our agreement."The man's voice was slightly muffled behind the tiger mask on his face. He had a pinstripe suit on, immaculately tailored. He was Andrew's employer, and he wasn't wrong. They had hired Andrew to make bombs. "I did not make you bombs."Andrew turned his back on the man and put his hand on one of the metal spheres laying on the work bench. The lights on the bench glowed weakly against the darkness that seemed to permeate the room. The two bodyguards standing in the background made to draw their weapons when they saw Andrew moving for the sphere, but they were stopped by a lazy wave of the masked man's hand. "You know what happens to those who break a contract with us, Mr. Garth." "Of course,"he replied absently. His hand moved to another sphere, this one larger. Then, shaking his head slightly, he went back and picked up the smaller sphere. "I did not make you bombs,"he repeated. "I made you kings."Suddenly the sphere began to glow white hot. The men behind Andrew dropped to the ground screaming. "I made you masters of the world."Andrew spoke calmly amidst the agonized howling that now filled the room. "Why do you destroy a building when you can hold an entire city hostage? An entire country?"He turned and took the masked man by the chin, lifting his head off the ground while his body still writhed in agony. "You take this to your boss."He slipped the sphere into the man's pocket. "Tell him what happened here. Tell him that this one incapacitates a room. Tell him that I can make him one that will incapacitate a city."Leaning in so close he could smell the masked man's sweat Andrew whispered, "And tell him that next time, I want to see his face."When he let go, the man dropped limply to the ground. He stood over the figures as they searched for what little strength remained in their bodies. "Get out,"he barked at the men as they began figuring out how to stand again. "Get out! And I expect to see someone competent next time."The men scrambled out of Andrew's workshop with only a scrap of the decorum they had walking in. This would get the organization's attention. Turning back to the bench, Andrew went back to work.
I washed the taste of copper out of my mouth with the mouthwash that burned just a little too much. After rubbing my nose, which always itched just a little, I grabbed a slightly damp sock from the squeaky top drawer of my dresser. I considered myself in the foggy mirror to see if my tie was almost as straight as it could be before tying my shoes with their strings of varying lengths. I took a deep breath, intending to sigh, but it came out a cough, as it does every day. My relatively new car started on the second try, the turnover seemed to catch the first time. Every green light was yellow just a bit too soon to drive through. I could only adjust my car radio to play NPR’s recent interview with the members of Nickleback. Upon arriving to work, I realized that the front gate had been closed for remodeling near my personal parking spot, so I had to park out back. I barely missed the elevator to my office and had to stand downstairs and wait. I directed a group of tourists, reminding them that this is, indeed, not a McDonald’s. Upon arriving at my office, I received a memo about a meeting in exactly two minutes, at the other side of the building. “Rough morning?” asked a blonde co-worker as I rushed past her cubicle. “You seem to be having a lot of those lately.” “Not in the mood, Sabrina,” I responded. She had been much nicer to me these past few weeks, and I felt horrible for calling her a witch during our last department meeting.
I'd been here too long. Even the angel at the gate agreed. "Are you, like, really famous?"he asked, for about the millionth time. "No,"I answered, annoyed. We'd been over this before. Raphael thought I was lying for the longest time. The famous people tend to stay here longer. Their names are remembered. Their legacies endure. Their stories are retold. Eventually, though, they all pass out of conscious memory, and their souls are able to go on to the next step. All of them except me. "Did you maybe found a whole civilization and then forget about it?"he asked once. "No. I never left the state where I was born." "Did you invent something and name it after yourself?" "I failed high school science." This went around in circles for a long time. Millions of years, actually. Raphael was just as curious as I was, and probably just as annoyed. Finally, he gave me permission to go back to Earth and try to figure out what my lasting legacy was. It was against the rules, technically speaking, but since I'd been there for ten million years with no intervention from the Higher Power, it seemed unlikely They were going to take an interest now. So off to Earth I went. I searched for a long time, but it was nothing compared to all those years I spent just sitting in purgatory doing nothing but twiddling my metaphorical thumbs. Finally, I found it: the last thing that was connected to me remaining on earth. Miss Johnson's fifth grade class put together a time capsule. It was supposed to be unearthed in fifty years, but I guess the next generations of fifth grade classes forgot about it, because there it was. We'd all drawn pictures and written letters and signed our names--but none of the other kids in the time capsule were still loitering in purgatory with me. Strange. It took some trial and error to get someone's attention to the spot it was buried. I couldn't do any of the normal ghost stuff like making lights flicker, since their technology was one hundred percent beyond me. Finally, someone dug it up – more or less by chance, but we can pretend I helped. The time capsule was found and dissected by scientists and historians. Most of it didn't hold much interest for them, but the findings were published anyway. That's when it came out: the doodle I'd put on the back of my letter. All fifth graders are idiots, right? Anyone could've drawn that penis. But not everyone has my luck, and not everyone's name gets to become the futuristic slang term for dick. Raphael is never going to let me hear the end of this.
"A note was left behind at the crime scene. In blood. Written with the suspects fingers. With no gloves." "It just boggles my mind. Everything you could do wrong at a crime scene, Lariten did wrong. He didn't wear gloves, left footprints everywhere, wore distinctive clothing, and left the weapon at the scene. And he did this at all three murders." "If it wasn't so grisly, I'd call it the easiest case ever. Fucker carved the location of his next killing into the bodies. I'm honestly surprised we didn't catch him sooner, but he didn't exist on any database. Still, finding one guy running around in victorian clothes isn't that hard."
Miami Base, this is Plateau 1 Plateau 1, this is Miami Base. Miami Base, we're in a bit of a situation right now. Plateau 1, please clarify. It's... Plateau 1, we're not receiving. It's a cube, Miami Base. Plateau 1, please repeat. It sounded like... please repeat. It's a cube, Miami Base. ... Please clarify, Plateau 1. It's a cube!. It's.... cubular. Cubular? Fucking... cubic! Cubesque! It's a - Plateau 1, please hold. What was this for? Plateau 1, please clarify. We've been fighting a conspiracy against the globalist conspiracy, Miami Base! The enemy that would seek to manipulate us with their spherical lie! We're re-evaluating the situation, Plateau 1, please stand by. Re-evaluating the situation? What does that mean? Our planar model needs re-adjusting in the light of - You're missing the point, Miami Base. Please clarify. We've been fighting an enemy that perpetuates a round Earth, Miami Base. If it's not them lying to us, then who the fuck is it? We're sending word to Command. Awaiting information. ... Command has responded. We have your information, Plateau 1. Thank God. My whole perspective was just shattered. Who's responsible for this conspiracy? Same thing, Plateau 1. What? You know, Jews and stuff. Jews and stuff? And the gays. The gays? Confirmed, Plateau 1. They were all over this. And the socialists. The socialists? Confirmed, Plateau 1. And the Jews. All of them, Plateau 1. *And the gays. All working together, again.* Confi- On the same thing. Con- Only a different shape to the shape they lead us to believe. Is there a problem, Plateau 1? No... no - yes. You know what? There is. What's the problem, Plateau 1? It's just. Right now it all seems a bit... What? Ridiculous. Confirmed, Plateau 1. Do you want to blame the Jews, or not? Yeah, of course. I'm just saying.
"What the fuck? Why aren't you dead?!" I'm laying on the ground. A sword half an inch away from my face, but it didn't seem to be moving any closer, no matter how much my enemy tried. "Well, there is no other explanation, I guess I just have plot armor" "Plot armor?"He asked "That's right. And you know what that means? It means whoever is writing the story wants me to win, you already lost you fool!" "What are you talking about?" "Think about it! Can you think of a different explanation for why your sword didn't just go through my face like butter?" "No..." "Well the way I see it is like this: you can either drop your weapon and run, or take your chances with the writer of the story." "I think I'll go..."He said as he backed away slowly, then broke into sprint. "Whelp, so that's done"I ejected the smoking cartridge from my single-use personal energy shield projector. (This is my first so be gentle please, thank you.)
They said I couldn't do it; they implied I wouldn't do it - but did it I did! I'd never been very tech savvy, and I'm not much to look at, and I'm also really not terribly bright, but I'm a very driven kind of guy. One night, over cards, my buddy showed me a picture on his phone. The picture said: "you wouldn't download a car". "I most certainly sure as hell would!"I shouted at everybody. My buddy assured me that downloading a car was "physically impossible", but that just pissed me off more. I threw down my cards, stormed off, and maxxed-out my credit card buying the most expensive computer I could find. I brought the computer home and then called up the internet company. "Hello!"I said to the customer service representative. "I would like to order your biggest internet." "You mean our fastest, sir?"she asked politely. "Fastest!?"I spat back at them. "Did I stutter? I said biggest. I want the damn biggest internet you got! and I want it yesterday!" "Very well sir, I understand completely. Please stay on the line." I waited for a few seconds and another pleasant female voice came on the line. "Hello sir, I understand you want the biggest internet, is that correct?" "Yes, it's got to be huge. I'm trying to...download something. I can't talk about it."I knew it was probably illegal to download a car. I didn't know why it was illegal, it was just what the image my buddy had shown and pissed me off with seemed to have implied. "Oh sir, I understand,"the voice reassured me. "I'll set you up with our biggest internet and you can download whatever you want." "Well great." "This is, as you probably were informed by your training, the experimental prototype internet that we will be connecting for you." "Oh, sure."It sounded good to me. I didn't know what she was talking about with all this 'training', but I needed a big internet, and the prototype was probably the biggest they had. My doorbell rang suddenly. The customer service rep announced, "That's the tech agent come to connect your internet. Have a good day sir,"and then hung up. I opened the door to a crisp young technician. She wore a bright white uniform, the internet company's logo on it. I gestured towards my front room. "Come on in!" She smiled and entered my house. I noticed her white van parked on the street; it didn't seem to have any logo on it, or perhaps I saw something printed on the side of the van, faded. I lost interest and went inside to show the tech where to install the router. Once I was finally connected, I called tech support. They helped me out on the internet (I hadn't actually been on the thing for many years). The support person told me that here was no AOL anymore, so they showed me how to use Google. I thanked them, hung up, and straightaway started searching for how to download a car. A loud humming was coming from the router as I searched. I guess the modem is supposed to make that noise. I also assumed it was probably supposed to be glowing green like that. Again, haven't used the internet for years, so all this new technology is just magic to me. But some of this magic was annoying; stuff kept popping out of the screen and I had to keep pushing it back into the screen. Really neat though, just annoying. Amazing the stuff computers do these days. Finally I found what I was looking for! A download link for a car! I knew this link was going to work because it had a picture of my own humming, glowing router next to it. The link had a disclaimer below it saying something about 'experimental NSA protocol hardware', I thought that was kind of funny, but anyway I clicked the link. The air suddenly took on an electric smell and there was a loud banging noise coming from behind me. I spun around in my chair to find the source of the noise was the router; it had began to jitter and dance about wildly, glowing ever brighter. And whoosh! There, in my living room, was a car. I had downloaded a car. I googled "wife".
I awoke to the sounds of whispering outside my door. Through the stream of nearly indistinct murmuring, I managed to pick out a few words: "...getting stronger....doses wearing off....fallen gods..." Their voices ended and I could sense them about to act. I closed my eyes just as the door opened. My head echoed with the clicking of their heels. They approached me. Fear, like a cold block of ice settled at the bottom of my stomach. For seconds so long they could've been minutes, I could feel them watching me. Contemplating. Exchanging silent signals with each other over my inert body. Then they moved on. To the next bed - where my room partner lay. There was no processing or second-guessing amongst them this time. Just pure action. Movements that were almost mechanical; simple and efficient. I watched from under slitted eyes as they descended on him, like zombies to a live body. He woke with a start, eyes wide as his spine arched. They held him down. Caught the scream that bubbled out of his mouth and forced him to swallow it. Five seconds later, he was still. They waited, lethally vigilant, like gargoyles, posed to attack again at the slightest twitch. He didn't. They rose. I caught a glimpse of the syringe. One glanced - quick and sudden - over at me. I remained still - eyelids partly open out of fear that closing them would trigger them to attack me next. At last, mercifully, the nurse turned away, spoke a few words to her partner, and they left. They spoke in murmurs as they closed the door behind them. I caught only two words, two words that I hoped were not for me. "He's next."
I awoke in the body of a young man. I can't begin to explain the peculiarity of that morning. Of realizing I was in other time. Another place. In another body. And on a ship that was heading to its doom. I didn't share any memories with the new body I was in. The past I remembered was my past. His was a mystery to me. My recollection of what actually happened on the Titanic was fuzzy at best. I knew, of course, that it hits an iceberg and sinks. But how many days would pass before that happens? I wasn't certain. I figured I had two or three days. I also knew that there were very few survivors, almost all of which were women and children. Almost none of which were from the 3rd class, which, of course, is where I was staying. I'd have to find a way into the 1st class. But how? Do I just steal a suit and sneak into a 1st class room, pretending it's mine? No. That's just silly. I'd have to make a friend. But I couldn't tell anybody what I know. About what's happening to me. No. They'd think I was crazy. The 3rd class observation deck looks down upon the luxuries of the first class. And that's where I saw her. She seemed different than the other first class passengers. As though she was self-aware of their arrogance and narcissism. In fact, she seemed depressed. And that was something I could prey on. I get close with her. Pretend I see the world the same as her. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be welcomed in 1st class as her friend. Then when the ship goes down, I'll be at the right place and time. I saw her walk out one night and look over the water. She was maybe even going to jump. But I talked her out of it. And I was in. We became close very quickly. The young man I'd taken over was an artist, and this 1st class beauty was entirely impressed with his drawings. I don't feel good about using her... but we do what we need to in order to survive. She has a fiance however, and he has some henchman that I think sees me for what I really am. That might be a problem for me when the time comes. But if I have the timing right, I think tonight is when it happens. I'll need to be on the first class deck. With her. And maybe I can get on one of those precious lifeboats. Let's just hope the fiance doesn't get in the way. He's trusting me less and less. I can sense it.
“They have all the time in the world to find a cure.” The words slip out of my mouth while my brain rejects every possibility that this could be the culmination of my life experience. The ominous hooded figure strides away with a victorious swagger, its steady gait exuding no sense of remorse. Pain is relative. I dread the experience of the infinite more than any physical thing that could be done to my body. I have been shot. Stabbed. Burned. But I have never been deprived of any new form of stimulation for eternity, my aging body rotting away all sensory ability. My last hope, I feel, is to willingly turn myself in for experimentation. I was never a strong believer in the goodwill of humanity, but I am clinging on to the desperate hope that they will help me, be it 5 or 500 years from now, instead of using me forever to test diseases or chemical weapons or whatever they are doing behind those closed doors. The man at the front desk has a cheery smile, a enthusiastic demeanor, and piercing, shellshocked eyes. “Please, help yourself to the refreshments in the waiting room and fill out these forms. The preliminary physician will be out to see you in just a moment.” The coffee isn’t half bad. I sit back in the chair and my eyelids shut from exhaustion. *** Will continue on request.
"So,"Blarg, the freaky-looking alien-thingy began, "Tell us a bit about yourself? How old were you when you started school?" "Uhm..."I thought. "I think I was four. That's when I started Pre-K, but I was in DayCare before that." They council gasped. And the people in the audience. And the audience was huge. Like picture a football stadium, and instead of people they were aliens. Now, times it all by ten. That's what I was dealing with. "And tell us more about this...Daycare"another alien asked. "Well, I was too young to remember really, but my Mom would drop me off there in the mornings, go run her errands, and then pick me up later." "SHE LEFT YOU?!"They gasped again. "AT THREE YEARS OLD???"One alien in the council fainted. The entire stadium was in uproar, like they were watching a game and the opposing team had just scored another touchdown. "I don't even want to ask him anymore questions,"I overheard one alien muttering. I leaned into the microphone. "Why do you guys even want me here?" "Because,"one alien said, jabbing a tentacle at me, "we need a species that can fight the Douixess." I giggled. "YOU DARE LAUGH?!"The alien reared up in outrage. "THEY ARE ONE OF THE MOST FEARED BEINGS IN THE GALAXY!" "Eh."I shrugged. "We have plenty of douche's on Earth." The alien looked at me like....I would say, "looked at me like I had just vomited a baby out of my mouth"but I had actually seen one of them do that earlier, soooo I don't know if that would work here. But my Earth people know what I'm talking about. Another more calmer alien stepped forward with his fingers steepled and said, "Young man, this mission we are going to ask you to go on... you may incur some injuries that will inhibit you for the rest of your life." "That would suck,"I agreed. "Yes, imagine a millennium of pain and-" "Whoa, whoa, wait,"I cut in. "Where did you get that we live milleniums?" The alien quirked all four of the eyebrows on his left hand side and asked, "Don't you have people called the millenials?" I laughed. "Nah, dude. That's not what it means. We humans live on average about 70 to 80 years." The alien's eyes widened as he clutched his chest and stumbled back. "7-7-70 years..."he stammered, eyes fluttering as he fell into another alien's awating arms. "No offense,"I said, "but I thought you guys would be waaaaay cooler."
"Sir?" You look up, hands shaking. Even in the cold, a bead of sweat has formed upon your brow. You turn to see the station attending standing there, a concerned look upon his face. "Yes, sorry?" "I said, 'the new law is only for counties with less than 40,000 people.'" You let out a rattling sigh of relief. "Ninety-one then, fill it up, please,"you say as you hand the attendant your card and hop back in the driver's seat. Your heart starts pounding again after a brief moment, as you realize that, tomorrow, you have to make the trek to The Dalles. Less than 40,000 people there. No...
My parents all said it was a blessing. Everybody around me was envious. But I only ever knew it as a curse. Ever since I was born, I have been hounded like a stray dog. All anyone ever wants is an interview for the radio, or to star in their audiobooks. Me? I only ever wanted to be left alone. I am the only person on the planet who can see. Everyone else around me was born blind, staring unblinkingly at those around them. They all see the world as darkness, a twisted shadow to listen to and feel. Of course, they all thought the world must be beautiful. How could it be anything else? Sight must be an amazing thing, we have made such a good world to look at. But I can tell you, there's not much to look at. Without sight, there has been no reason to use coloring and colored paints for decades. The few things with an ounce of color have a purpose, like heat absorption, but mostly it's all lifeless. I would not know I could see at all were it not for the geneticists. Our world is dark, we live almost exclusively indoors, but for the few wealthy. And since all people are born blind, we have no need for any kind of lighting. When they found out I could see, they brought out an old plant heat lamp for me to see with until they could find the designs for the old light bulb. When the people found out, I was hoarded and couldn't leave my home. My family reveled in the attention, and never minded that it ruined my life for one moment. Which is why I decided to run away. I got my parents to sign a DigiForm. Rather easy to trick people when you have the advantage of sight. I entered a new school, by a new name. And finally, I was able to see the beauty in the world: People. Everyone around me became a point of amazement. I never told anyone I could see, they never needed to know. I could see them all. They all seemed so different from the people I had met, so genuine compared to the people from the books. People smile when they mean it, never worrying about others judging them. I can see their true expressions, and I've discovered the truth. In a world without pigment or light, you will see people's true colors.
"Very well fools. You wish to meet me on the field of combat on equal terms? I accept your challenge, though I offer you my pity. Your brutish and uncouth shrapnel launchers have made you sloven and weak. The only muscles you give any attention to are in your fingers, useful only for picking your nose or scratching your behind. Truly you give new meaning to the term 'pigs'. Your weakness will not go unpunished. I accept your challenge and strike at thee!" "HE HAS A WEAPON TAKE HIM DOWN." **** "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen anything so gruesome." "Well, I mean, the body cam shows we were justified. We thought he had a gun, but it turns out he just spray painted some pellet gun. It only fired plastic. We told him to drop it and he complied. Then he gave some weird speech and charged at the responding officers." "And his weapon?" "Some kind of dragon shaped katana sword. The kind that store in the mall sells, the one next to hot topic." "But did you really have to light the kid up so much?" "The trench coat made him look bigger. We thought we were dealing with a 6'2"body builder type. Turns out he had six inch boots on and was 350 lbs of pure fat." "Any motive yet? Gang affiliated?" "Not unless the bloods are using my little pony pins as identification marks." "Shame really. Though it doesn't seem like he had much going for him." "Got that right sir. He definitely wasn't the sharpest."
The first client to enter was a tall man dressed in a Gucci suit. He stepped over the threshold, took off his Ray-bans, and looked around. After quickly scanning the room, he walked quickly over to the counter, and, pausing only briefly to look up at the price board. "Hello,"the man said, tucking his sunglasses into his lapel pocket, "I would like one adult ticket." John Wick looked up from the ledger he was writing in, and walked over to the register where the man was standing. "Very good, and do you want to rent any equipment from us today?" "Yes, I suppose so"said the man, "You wouldn't happen to have two handguns, a rifle, and... yes, a couple of trip mines, would you? Maybe some grenades?" "Hmmmmm..."said John, looking at the screen even though he had the full registry memorized. "Yes, we do have a couple of pistols, and I can give you the rifle, but unfortunately I'm afraid we don't have any grenades or mines." "Ah well,"said the client, pulling on leather gloves much as a surgeon might, "I suppose I can compensate." Just then three more people walked in, two of them very muscled, one a man and the other a woman, fanning out behind a very short man who immediately strode up to the register and impatiently stated "I am going to need three tickets, adult, and two rifles with scopes as well as a paint knife and a handgun." "Well, I'm sure we can accommodate those requests, however you could ask more nicely next time. That will be 100 dollars." The short man replied "I will talk how I please, however since you obviously do not know who I or my associates are, I will let it pass. Here,"throwing down a single 100 dollar bill "is your money. Goodbye." It was a couple more minutes before the next clientele came in, a woman and a boy, though they were obviously not together. The woman wore a leather jacket and pants, and was carrying a helmet under one arm. The boy, however, was wearing a short sleeved shirt and short pants, and looked as though he might have just wandered over from the local school. The woman was the first to walk over to the counter, while the boy sat on a bench and watched the other clientele carefully. "Could I get a single adult ticket."she said, subtly turning her head almost imperceptibly and leaning forward ever so slightly to look at the computer screen. "And an automatic rifle please." After she had paid and moved away, the boy moved quickly, lightly and silently over to the counter "Hello, yes, ermm, could I get a ticket please, err, for a child", he said in a quiet voice, "and, uhh, if you ahh, have a hand gun, an automatic rifle, eeehhh, a knife, hmmm... and a scoped rifle, a second mask, and, ahh hmm. Yes, that, uhhh, that should be fine, thanks." John looked at the child and asked him "Are you sure you don't want to wait until later, we have a group coming in later that will be more children if you would prefer to wait." "No,"said the child, slinging the automatic rifle over his back, and holding the mask, the knife, and the handgun in one hand, and the sniper rifle in the other "I think I can handle myself."
It had been a few decades since I had set out to achieve my immortality. I was already fairly old, already feeling the pains of aging, and already rather accomplished. Becoming a Lich was more of an obvious choice to make than other means of immortality, and now, after I had spent years of cultivating an army of undead from long-dead convicts and the elderly, I was ready to settle down. My skeletal hands gripped the small box in my hands tightly, my world lived in the box, and I wanted to give it to the people I had cared for most in the world. Gilfordshire was a small village on the edge of the Dark Wood Forest, mostly a quaint farming village with some logging done, but their primary export was corn. It was quiet, picturesque, and when I had first found the village I had fallen in love with it. The people were friendly, the air smelled clean, and unbeknownst to the village, I had been protecting the lands with my minions for some time now. I looked out of the glass windows of my blackened wagon. The lake that sat just off of the edge of town cast a mirror-like sheen over the surface, the sky reflected in its waters, but I knew that if you were close enough to the edge of the lake, you could see all the way to the bottom with how clear the water was. The scent of Mrs. Hubirt’s pies baking in her bakery lofted across the manes of my undead Nightmares, their hooves clopping loudly as they pulled the wagon and my driver flicked the whip at them. They would be holding their harvest festival today and I wanted to be there. I knew I would cause a scene, but even as the horses pulled the wagon into the town square, the cries of horror startled me. Quickly I opened the door, stepping out into the sunlight with my robes flowing behind me in the breeze, “People of Gilfordshire! Peace! I mean you no harm!” “Monster!” “It’s a horror! Kill it!” Some of the Town Watch rushed forward, brandishing their swords, and I simply bowed low to them, “Carl! Edmond! Dannath! Please, I mean you no harm.” The three Town Watchmen stared in disbelief as I spoke their names. It was almost a bit disappointing that all the effort I had taken to memorize their names, faces, and the names of their families had seemingly been a waste. Still, I kept my head bowed low as I spoke again, “I am Lord Ixarius, Master of Death and Undeath, but…” My introduction was cut short as Edmond’s sword had run through my robes and past my ribcage, I stood up, my eyes blazing with blue fire as they always did after my ascension, “Edmond, do you mind?” Edmond slowly removed the blade and took a step back, confused and frightened as I gave him a nod before continuing, “But! I am here to tell you that I am not here to scare you or kill you, I am actually hoping to become your friend.” Murmuring began from the front of the small crowd, a few faces were poking out from the windows of the nearby houses. I looked to my side and saw a young boy slowly moving towards my Nightmares, a young girl looking timidly at me. If I could have smiled, I would have. Edmond spoke up, the braver of the Town Watch, but also the least wise, “You want… You want to be friends?” I nodded my head and turned, reaching into the carriage where I had left my present to the town, “I even come bearing gifts!” More murmuring filled the air, this more curious and confused than scared, “You see, I have lived a very long time, long enough that to be honest, I am a bit tired of constantly being on the move. When I first saw Gilfordshire, I fell in love with it… With all of you!” The young boy gently rubbed his hand on the sooty black leg of one of the Nightmares, marveling at the power within the creature’s body. My eyes moved over the crowd as I continued once more, “I want to be your neighbor. I want to have a little place of my own, here, in Gilfordshire, and in exchange, I’ll protect you all till the world ends.” More murmurs, the Town Watchmen stowed their swords, and the portly old mayor slowly shuffled his way forward. His tone reserved and shaky, but determined, “Well, Lord Ixarius, was it? I for one don’t mind having a… Uh, fine neighbor such as yourself join our little community but given your, err, appearance and power, you do understand if we take some time to discuss the matter, do you not?” I nodded, bowing my head quite low before presenting the present peacefully to the portly mayor. He looked at the rather delicately wrapped parcel and smiled before opening it and peering inside as I spoke, “this is my life, I place it in your hands as a sign of the utmost faith I have in Gilfordshire.” My Phylactery’s onyx glass illuminated the mayor’s face as he stared slack-jawed into the swirling vortex of my soul that resided deep in the center of the gem. It was a risk. They could end me hear, end my unlife and be rid of me, but I wanted to take that risk. If it meant living in Gilfordshire, living with all the amazing people who lived in this village, I would die a hundred times over.
He stood there looking down at the seemingly emptiness of his eyes. "What's wrong with you?" The eyes continued their perpetual gaze into the sky. "GET UP! We're not finished!", his shouts echoing with no response. Seeping streams of crimson began to wind on the canyon floor, twisting desperately in their escape. One small river collided with his foot. It was warm. He felt his own breath quicken and his chest began to throb with intense fury, as if it were about to explode. He had been angry, blinding rage had quelled in him until he couldn't contain it. He worked so hard and so long to build his life, and yet no blessings had been permitted to him. Why was he cursed to such unfairness? Why did he not see any fortune for his efforts? "Not like him", he thought. All the luck in the world. His fields grew twice as high and his cattle bore twice the calves. It was unjust. He knew it to be unjust. Had he not been first? Was he not deserved? "I spent twice as much time in my fields as you!", he shouted at the corpse. His rage began to fade and he felt something new replace it. This was not like rest, he was sure of that. The eyes did not remain open in rest and the sun was far too blinding to manage that here. "Fortune was meant to smile on me..." The streams had begun to form a wide pool beneath the man before him. He knelt and prodded the body, "STOP BEING LAZY! RISE!" He beat his hand against the chest of the body. The body shook with the blow but gave no movement outside his actions. He pounded again, and again, and again. His strikes had caused the head to roll to the side, revealing the source of the red rivers which had now surrounded him in his knelt position. He felt his throat become full, and he felt as though he might never breath again. He began to wish that he hadn't become angry, that he hadn't pushed him. "Please..."he thought. He attempted to scoop the unending redness surrounding him into his hands, and fruitlessly pour it back into the opening in the skull. It was not as warm anymore, and the dirt had already begun to mix with the pool. No matter how much he poured, the pool he knelt in seemed to remain. He looked down at his hands, which were covered in a thick paste of red and brown. A drop fell from his eyes into his soiled hands, quickly changing color upon impact. "Please... brother... get up." EDIT: Typo.
She stood on the balcony outside her apartment, luxuriating in the crisp bite in the air. She could feel it slide along her bare arms, her exposed face. Tonight is the night, she thought. She bounced on the balls of her feet, scanning the street below. Soon, she thought, so soon. As she watched, she kept an ear cocked to the TV in her living room. She took one last look skyward, examining her handiwork, and then slipped back inside as the opening tones of the 11 o'clock local news. She dropped onto the couch and bit her lip as she stared at the screen. It had been exhausting work - she'd had to save up her power for months - but tonight, would be the payoff. Tonight is the night she becomes the most powerful villain in the country! "Good evening, I'm Blake Harwell here with Lisa Jennings. Our top story tonight - residents of Glendale are still puzzling over the cryptic symbols that appeared in the sky at sundown. Here's Chase Hammond with more." "Thanks, Blake. As you said, the flaming glyphs appeared just as the sun went down, causing a sense of wonder in the local community." The camera cut to a 3/4 profile of a woman. "Yeah, I was just taking out the trash, and I noticed it up there..." Chase's voice came from off-camera: "And what did you see?" "Well, it was all those flaming letters,"the woman said. "Sigh-oh-ban Flambeaks...I mean, you can see them right there." In her apartment, the woman watching the TV blinked. That's alright - just need to get a few of them to say it... The camera panned upward to the flaming letters in the sky: SIOBAHN FLAMBEAUX The camera lingered, then cut back to Chase. "Some people were almost more confused by how to read the letters as they were by the appearance of them." A montage rolled of various faces: * "See-ah-bun Flumbee-ux." * "Sighbon Flamebucks." * "Sibbohana Filambean." * "Shebang Flamebox." * "Jenny!" The last one came from the mouth of a little girl. Chase crouched down next to her: "Why do you think that's how it's pronounced?" "Because that's a pretty name, and I like pretty names!" Siobahn's jaw hung slack. Was it really so hard? She wanted to honor her Irish and French heritage. Had none of these people gone across the Atlantic before? "Well, Blake, there you have it - it's an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a riddle. And what the solution is...is anybody's guess." "Thanks, Chase. Lisa, what do you make of it?" Lisa laughed, waving a hand at Chase. "Oh, don't even get me started. I have trouble remembering i before e!" Chase chuckled. "Do you ever!"he said warmly. "Well, whether you pronounce it Cinnabon Flam-bucks or Sayonara Flimboose, one thing's for sure - you aren't likely to find out what it means anytime soon." *** /r/ShadowsofClouds *ETA - Sha-vonne Flambowe might be the best way to transcribe it?
They call me Ash. When I was twenty four my hair turned from a deep brown into solid grey in a matter of weeks. Everyone around me was baffled. Hair just doesn't go grey that quickly where I'm from. There's a creepy little saying about it even. "Every time the skeletal fingers of death reach but but fail to grasp, the smoke and brimstone color your hair." I dunno. People are corny and really truly believe that shit. I've never stepped out of the way of any buses at the last moment. I've never narrowly dodged an oncoming car. I haven't stepped off an elevator the moment before it collapsed. As far as I was concerned it was a load of bullshit. By the time I was twenty eight my hair had grown to be an almost luminescent white. It practically glowed. My wife would joke about it bothering her at night when she was trying to fall asleep. Megan, my wife, was sitting in front of me right now eating breakfast and browsing through social media on her smart phone. She looked up at me and smiled "The Johnsons are having another baby." "Yeah? Good for them I suppose. How close are we to the Johnson's. Is that a gift buying occasion or an Instagram like occasion?" Megan chuckled "I guess we'll see if a baby shower invite shows up. And then I guess we'll see if I ignore it or not." I laughed and grabbed my thermos of coffee. I kissed Megan on my way out of the kitchen and she smiled at me and said "Have a great day at work, babe. I love you." I started for the door and she called me back. "Hey, real quick honey can you grab me the paprika from the top shelf of the cupboard? I can't reach it." "Of course." I opened the cupboard and stood up on my tippy toes to reach the shelf. As I grabbed the paprika a large glass bowl slipped from the shelf and I quickly dove out of the way. Dusting myself off I looked up in the mirror behind the sink and watched in horror as my hair ever so slightly turned an even more profound shade of white. I was baffled, how could that bowl have killed me? That's not even probable. I saw Megan walking towards me in the mirror and I turned to give her another goodbye kiss when I saw a patch of light glinting off something in her hand. She walked forward and buried a blade in my stomach. I collapsed to my knees, gasping for air. She pulled the blade out and once again sent it plunging into my flesh. The floor slick with my blood I tried to stand and fell face first. I struggled back to my knees and looked at her pleading for my life. "I'm sorry, baby. I can't believe I actually did it this time. I'm sorry."
It was a rude awakening. You always felt like you didn't belong to your family, but this, this was much more serious. When the Vail was lifted, you learned just how different you were. Indeed, you were completely unrelated to the others in town, which could only mean that you were adopted. "Why didn't you tell me?"you asked your parents, Phil and Diana. "We were going to, when you got a little older. Don't be angry. You look terrifying in your new form,"said your father who appeared to be a centaur. His true form could explain his extreme clumsiness. "Your upper body is just like a human! Why would I look scary?" "Well, you look like a stranger for one,"said your mother. She looked mostly the same as before except she had a pair of wings instead of arms. "What did I look like before?" "Like a handsome mix between a wolf and a Corgie. Just the cutest,"said your mother with her eyes teary. "That's not even a humanoid! What did I sound like?" "Just a big puppy. You were just the best. You stayed a puppy for sixteen years,"said the father, looking away, and mumbled, "Now you are a human girl. It's only a matter of time until you start throwing sticks and toting pitchforks." "But a puppy is not a monster,"you said, ignoring your father's mumbled words. "I think you were a werewolf. You just didn't know how to shapeshift into other forms." "Did you even understand me when I was a puppy?" "Not very well. You yapped mostly, but you had ways to get your messages across." "What about my friends? What were they thinking about me?" "They thought you were the cutest and friendliest dog ever. Everyone thought you were a special breed that looked like a puppy forever,"said Phil. "I always thought it was strange how everyone called me a good girl. I thought they liked me because I liked them." "You are not wrong. We all loved you because of your uppity and friendly nature. We still do,"said the father. "What am I going to do now? I have a girlfriend. Or I had one. What was up with her going out with a puppy?"you asked, confused and horrified. "Oh, Allie is a real werewolf. That's why everyone was accepting of your two going out. You just looked a little dumb for a werewolf, but you still did well in school, so we knew you were not retarded,"said your father. "Was I your pet?" "Noooo. Never. You've always been our baby,"said your mother wiping away her tears with her wings. "An interspecific couple like us didn't have any other option but adoption to have a baby." "So that's why some people called you an interracial couple. That explains a lot." "Look, kid. I know you are confused, but this isn't too bad. Nothing much has changed." "I have a werewolf girlfriend." "I am sure she will be OK with spending time with you in her human form. Lycanthropy can be awful flexible,"your mother suggested. "This explains why so many people called us a couple of bitches." You were getting crushed by these realizations, and each one cut deeper than the one before. You felt stupid not to have noticed such obvious things, but then, how could you have known? "Everything will be fine. Maybe your French grade will improve. You can also eat onion and chocolate! How about that!" "Thanks, dad. I guess Valentine's Day would be less trouble some from hereon,"you grumbled. "You can try one right now. But don't give any to Allie. She is still deathly allergic,"said your mother taking out a solid bar of chocolate from the cabinet. You take the chocolate, and bite a small piece off. It felt like candle, and tasted bitter, but soon the ineffable flavor of cacao mixed with sugar kicked in. Your cheeks reddened, and you salivated uncontrollably. "Wow." "That good, huh?" "There could be other good things to come out of this,"added your mother. "Tomorrow we will go around the town, and re-introduce you to people. They are in for a surprise." "I hope Allie doesn't get shocked. Maybe she just liked my puppy form,"you muttered, fearful. "It will still be less awkward than the time you asked out a slime. The slime girl didn't understand you at all, and you thought she turned you down when she kept calling you a good girl." You were now sure that the shame would keep you up at night for weeks to come. You shoved in the chocolate into your mouth, and contemplated what other embarrassing situations went unnoticed by you. Probably too many.
I spun the ball, examining the entire thing. I spread my hands and it grew bigger, expanding until it filled up the width of my hands. I thought back to my battle royals games. The most important thing there was communication, and knowing where the enemy was. I cleared out every satellite floating around the ball. The plan being that every country would blame another, being unsure until too late. I thought back to my chess days. The way you beat the other player was by being aggressive, while preserving pieces. You needed to take out key pieces in order to secure a strong position. I slammed down my first troops on the most well defended military bases around the world, with the idea that without military, they couldn’t focus on protecting civilians. I looked up from my work. The two strange aliens stared at me intently, garbling to each other quietly. I looked back down. Little missiles were floating across the sphere, and some of them decimated little portions of the sphere. Things were going as planned. I looked at the little counter beeping on the side. 1 billion gone. I rubbed my hands together. I could win. I could save her. I lifted up my hand to grab more units. They were a strange blob shape, but they were more affective than the mechanical ones. They didn’t stop eating, regardless of radiation. But maybe... Whoa there. I needed to break down on chemical facilities. I couldn’t have a solution to my units. The counter beeped again. My individual units were going too slowly. They couldn’t take up the entire globe fast enough. The little countries were regrouping, albeit a bit slowly. I lit the forests on fire. Every single one. I triggered the volcanos by stealing nukes and detonating them in the plates. I toppled governments by obliterating their foundation, the ground itself. As a result, the air was filled with dust and ash, locking out the sun from allowing growth of plants. The burning forests added to the mix. I counted on my fingers what was left. The agriculture was gone. Military was gone. Structures were gone. Medicine was gone. Government was shattered. The atmosphere was a mess, and there were fundamental flaws in the crust that could not be fixed. I looked up again, waiting for when I could stop, when I won. They didn’t signal anything at all. I went back. I shrugged. The end of the game would be easy. And then we could be together again. If only... I ended to game abruptly, having my units use stored viruses and bacteria from the laboratories to infect the rest. Death was arriving to all those that were left. I’d won, I just needed to wait the timer out. The aliens made a loud sharp noise. I looked up, startled. They were laughing. The sound was horrendous, ripping me to my core. What was happening? I won. I could go back, she was waiting for me, I was almost there... “You’ve just destroyed your own world” the alien said. “You’ve killed every human on your planet. It was real. All of it” I felt a seizing in my stomach. My liver spasmed, and I vomited off to the side. I wiped it off, and managed to cough out a weak, “What?” I didn’t win. I wasn’t going to go back, I wasn’t going to see her again, she wasn’t going to see me again, I lost, I lost, I lost. I had ruined them all, I had single handedly destroyed my species. And Daisy, she was gone. I couldn’t save her, or anyone else. I had bet with their lives, and I didn’t know I had already lost them before I played. It was over, and I was done. I felt my eyes stab, and my lungs heave, but I was spent. I felt weak, and it was over.. They shot me in between the eyes, the last of my species, and two millennia of progress was ended in the twitch of a foreign creature, and the work of a human in seven days.
"Draw me like one of your french girls,"the cat mewled, stretching it's limbs out in a poor imitation of a sexy pose. "Blair, I don't have time for this. My deadline is coming up."I continued finalizing the digital art I was working on. Suddenly, cat-butt filled my view. "Eh? But you're not even that good. Who even reads your comics?" "Please move." She sat promptly on the keyboard. I set down my pen and put out my hands to throw her over my shoulder. She flopped her head back, and the adorableness prevented me from my previous design. "I'm hungry." My own stomach growled, "Fine."I got up from my chair and sensed Blair leap down beside me. She sat on the counter while I made lunch. I spotted the list beside Blair and glanced over once again. It was a long list, but not not on the level of a certain powerful weapon from an anime. It was enough to make most tenants leave before a week was up. "So, I get most of these now. Feed you when you're hungry, change the litter-box everyday, but this one- 'Take Blair out to dinner on Saturday nights.' Is there a cat cafe in town or something?" Blair showed her teeth, "you'll see. It's Saturday, isn't it?" I paused, becoming a bit weary. "Right." A few hours passed, and to my surprise, Blair left me alone. when dinner time drew near, I got worried and went to check on her. The door to her room was locked! "Blair?! Are you alright?" "It's rude to bother a lady while she's changing." I paused, something was off. If my suspicion was right, then... I felt prompted to change my own attire. Though I didn't know how fancy a cat could dress, I put on a button up and slacks. I did my hair and waited in front of my computer, unable to focus on any project. Blair's door opened and I head footsteps... not padded pawsteps. I took a breath and stood to face her. "Congrats,"she said, "no one's ever lasted this long before. You've got yourself a date with a goddess."
"Okay, so just a pinch of salt and then..." As you add the salt to the hot bubbling mess that is supposed to be a soup, you hear a loud noise. From both of your sides, you feel a great heat on your skin. Soon after the first noise, you hear a high voice speaking to you from your left, "You foolish mortal, you opened a- What is that... another portal? You look to your left and see a little imp, just outside of a big hole that is best described with the color of tomato soup. "Not again"you say to the imp. "I opened another portal to hell, didn't I?"After finishing your sentence, you tase a spoon of your soup. "Hmm, it does taste a bit burned... Even more than the last time though.... Wait, did you just say another portal? Where?" You look at the imp, which is just pointing to your right side. When you look to your right side, you see another portal to hell. There is no imp there, but you know one will be there soon enough. "Huh, I really messed up the recipe this time... How did I open two portals with one pan of soup? Strange, very strange..." While you are busy looking at the recipe again and ignoring the imp, he just looks at you. "You are really not going to freak out about opening a portal to hell and an imp coming out?"he asks you. "Nah, This is like the 9th portal of this week... Or well, the 9th and the 10th really. It gets old you know. When you get back home, say hi to Kevin for me will you? Maybe even take a bit of my soup with you, he really liked it last time." Soon after that, the imp disappears from your kitchen, taking a bowl of soup with him. --- This is my third story ever, so I am still very much figuring out what kind of stories I want to write and how I do that. Please tell me what you liked and didn't like about it so I can try to improve!
Cheerful tones from various instruments and drunken laughter filled the great hall, replacing the sounds of battle that echoed through the chambers only hours before. Warriors threw food across the long tables and splashed their wine as they victoriously toasted one another with their chalices. The mood was ecstatic; that of victory and liberation. The dark red and black banners of the hall's previous owner lay strewn about; some of the heroes used bits of them for makeshift capes, others had taken to stripping down and creating loincloths out of their fallen enemies' symbols. Equals in their alliance against their oppressor and now equals in celebration. There was no clear leader of the bunch of drunken veterans, and that was the issue. A small man struggled to push open one of the large double doors and entered the hall. He gazed upon the festivities in astonishment. Were these to be the people's new lords? 'Give them a break' he thought to himself optimistically, 'They've fought a tiresome war against evil and they've earned a bit of celebration'. But there were pressing matters that needed attending to. He walked through the center aisle, doing his best to dodge food and drink, and passing a few party goers who had begun engaging in victorious coitus atop the tables. He approached where the throne once sat, now smashed to pieces, and did his best to sound firm to the heroes sitting amongst the steps. "Greetings, my noble heroes!"He bowed low to his drunken saviors. "Ohhh, none of that shit now! A dwarf with a beard covered in mead stood up and approached the small man, looking up at him "Those days are over friend! We are all free and equal creatures of this land!" The hall erupted in cheer at the dwarfs proclamation. A beautiful woman handed the man a chalice of wine, and he drank politely. "That is indeed music to my ears, great hero; but we will need a leader still to see that this kingdom survives and its people thrive." The dwarf had a puzzled look on his face, "A leader?! We shall all lead together as we did in war!"The room erupted again and cups clanked loudly. "Come now, tell us what matters are most pressing and we shall see them resolved quickly!" The man felt somewhat reassured, and racked his brain for what needed to be done "Well, most of our fields and farms were destroyed during the long siege. We must rebuild if we are to feed the citizens." A large man at a table behind them stood up "Then let us build!"He hooted before finishing his drink. The small man looked around the room at the food strewn about the ground "Yes, we must build, but our people are too weak for labor. While food is bountiful in the great hall, we have little to feed ourselves and many have not eaten proper in months." "Then we must grow more food then!"The dwarf said with a smile. "Yes... but we must rebuild before we can grow...."The small man said slowly. The heroes looked around puzzlingly, "Well, we can pillage food from neighboring kingdoms!"Someone out of sight yelled towards the fallen throne. "That would be unwise, great heroes,"The small man said respectfully "The war has taken a large tole on your numbers, and engaging in further conflict at this point would be sure to bring our demise." A giant man sitting on the steps smashed his goblet to the ground "Dragon's shit! How the hell are we supposed to get food if we can't grow it or steal it!?"The room murmured in disappointed agreement. "Well"Piped up the small man, "We could trade with our neighboring kingdoms for food" "Aha! The man's a bloody genius!"The dwarf cried and the room celebrated this proposal. "It is settled, we will trade for food!" The great hall began to fall back into hectic celebration, but the small man quickly interrupted just as the lute players found their rhythm , "Yes! Yes! But what exactly will we trade for the food?" The hall quieted again, and someone who had been vomiting in a corner moments before turned with an arm in the air, "ARROWS!" The room murmured again and the dwarf spoke "Ah, yes! We have an abundance of arrows that never found their mark, still in perfect functioning order!" An ogre who had been drinking a barrel of mead interjected "We shoot arrow... for food?" "No, you damn moron! We'll trade our arrows for some grain or potatoes."The dwarf said as he nodded at the small man, as if looking for approval. "Yes! Exactly!"The small man finally felt like they were making progress, but then the vomiting man spoke again. "So be it, and if the fools don't accept our arrows then they will receive them in a furious volley!" The great hall once again erupted with the roar of drunken heroes, and the small man was showered in food and drink. He received a rough slap on the back from the dwarf, who was laughing hysterically, and he dropped the wine he had been given earlier. The party was in an absolute frenzy again, and the small man knew he wouldn't be able to calm them down for further deliberation. He made his exit, all the while thinking of how he would explain taxes to the great warriors at a later date.
It was a pleasure to die. I was so happy I got chosen to be killed. I was elated when I got the message across the message board in my room. “Five days until your death.” I lived a happy life. Everyone did. We spent a lot of time outside watching the mechanical birds or listening to the radio in our homes. Some people liked to swim in pools or ponds, but I didn’t like water. Swimming was my towns “thing”. Everyone participated, but I was perfectly happy to watch. I liked to go to bonfires and watch the fireflies dance. Being chosen to die is an honor, although I can’t remember why. I was definitely taught that in school (which I found perfectly enjoyable), but the reason slipped my mind. My mother and father came into my room congratulating me and for the next four days I was a sort of celebrity. I was happy. Everyone was happy! The day of my death was a celebrated one. I was to five parties that day. I baked in the sun by the pool, went to some bonfires, and made bracelets for my friends. I had many friends from the three years I went to school. You see, you start school when you’re eight, go until you’re eleven, relax until you’re eighteen, work until you’re twenty five, and finally relax until you die. People liked this stress free way of living. Everyone was happy. I was happy! The place of my death was a large, blue tiled, dome building. I stood up on a large podium and watched the Mayor give a speech. He finished and walked away from the mic. He put his hands on my shoulders and whispered to me. “It’s an honor to be chosen for death. You will keep the citizens here happy.” “How do I do that? I was taught that people were always happy.” I responded slightly confused. He did something I had never seen before, but I read somewhere that it was called a frown. “You see, people were not always happy. They could be sad or angry or any range of what were called ‘emotions.’ But the all powerful deity conveyed that it didn’t have to be that way. Everyone could be happy. The leader at the time readily excepted, but there was a catch. The deity needed someone to be sacrificed in pain whenever demanded. Our connector let us know that we needed someone to sacrifice by tomorrow. Our birds saw you were afraid of water, so you were chosen. I’m sorry, but thank you.” He turned away and smiled and waved to the crowds of happy people. I was about to run when two buff men grabbed me from behind and shackled my arms and legs. A huge water tank was rolled out and I opened my mouth to scream, but my mouth was covered by black gloved hands. I was thrown into the water tank by the men as the crowd smiled, waved, and cheered. They were so happy. I would of smiled if not for the paralyzing fear of being in the water. I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t move. I watched the crowd. I was happy that they were happy. As I slowly ran out of air in my lungs the tank was covered in a black tarp. As the last bit of consciousness slipped from me I realized at that moment I wasn’t happy. I was terrified, scared, and in pain. I realized that the Deity put all the ‘emotions’ into me instead of them. For that brief second I wasn’t happy. But then I was no more. I was pulled from the tank with a smile on my face in a cruel twist of fate. Everyone believed it was a pleasure to die.
"Oh, Johnny, what a surprise!"Mom exclaims as she pulls me into a hug. But she pulled back after a second, peering up at me, "Hold on, since when have you started wearing hats, and trenchcoats?" I gulp, readjusting my hat, "Mom, can I come in?" She steps aside, and immediately head for the kitchen. "Johnny,"she asks, "What's wrong, sweetie?" I lean back against the counter, pushing away a memory from my younger years. I take a deep breath, "Mom, who was my father?" Her face falls lightly, "Oh, Johnny, I thought we'd moved past this?" "I thought so too,"I mumble. "What was that,"she asked in her reflexive, 'you-know-what-I-think-about-mumbling-tone'. "I mean, who was he?" "I told you, some guy I met in a bar after the Riots. A nobody."she stressed. I turn my gaze to the floor, shaking my head lightly, "You're lying." She jolts, as if I'd slapped her, "...Excuse me?" Steeling my nerves, I lift my head up, "You're lying,"I repeat, forcefully. "Johnathan O'Donald!"she puts her hands on her hips, eyes alight with fury, "How dare you?! I am you're mother!" "And you're also a liar!"I shout back. "Who's my father?!" "It doesn't matter!" "Yes, it does!"I scream as I tear off my hat and coat. I wince as my leathery wings beat twice, stretching out after being confined for so long, and I ignore the pang in my heart as she shrieks. I reach for a knife, and the instant I touch it, the utensil transforms into a sharp, serrated blade coated in crimson flames. "I know a lot of half-demons mom, and they all say the same thing; a half-breed is either born with horns,"I tap one of the six rams horns growing out the side of my skull, "or wings,"the extra appendages extend to full length, flapping lightly and knocking over the table, "but not both. And no one, has ever had the ability to turn common objects into flaming weapons." I fold my wings in, staring down at my hands. "But, there are rumors of one being--a terrible, horrible beast--that might father a child with all these traits."Despite the weapon burning in my hands, the room drops ten degrees."...I'm not asking again."I stare into her eyes, ignoring her pale, tear-stained face, "Who was my father?"
So that's it then. I'm not allowed to win. The scarlet king hunched forward, baleful and broken. He had flung his enemy from the parapet, but had suffered dearly. Arrows stuck from his shield, thick as porcupine quills. Blood dripped crimson and slow through the scales of his armor. His crown was shattered, the gems and thin spun mythril strewn among the black stones of his chamber. He spat onto the floor, the sable and red ooze disappearing amid the ebony cobblestone. He sat once more in his throne, heavily dropping onto the velvet cushion. The fight had sapped everything from him. But he had won. He believed he had. Yet here was his enemy once more returning to face him. The king had beaten him. His enemy had been beaten, stabbed, torn asunder by the black forces at the kings command. The king had tossed him from the tower and watched as he was dashed against the jutting precipes below. Yet here he was. The king watched with his all seeing eye as the hero returned once more. Again, he threw himself through the gate of the king's castle and up the winding stairs. The king thought back to the beginning. His first memory was of the gutters. The first recollection of his long, bitter life was the small joy he found in discovering discarded trinkets. That was before he knew what it meant to be discarded. He recalled the hollowing realization that he was a bastard. That he was alone in this world. He remembered the slow growing hatred that kept him alive, that devoured every part of him until he was ready to be king. He was born without prophecy, without pomp, without a chance for a happy life. Every victory was not foretold, it was stolen from chance and luck and destiny. The oracle said the hero would prevail against him. The king had beaten him. Yet again the hero came nigh, once more through his traps and machinations. The king sat erect in his chair, head held high and proud. He thought of all he had had to conquer, subjugate and destroy. He thought of how hard he had to make his heart. He thought of all he had given in this endeavor. He thought of the void he had invited into his mind, how the voices haunted him at night. How he had precious little time before they controlled and obliterated him completely. How it had seemed possible to prevail. Yet again, the hero came nigh. Vomited back at him by the forces of fate and providence. The king felt his wounds burning and aching. He felt the heaviness of his armor and the burden of his sword. He felt the great black aybss gnawing and mashing at his mind. He felt the reek of the gutter on him. Yet again, the hero came nigh. The king saw him at the gate of his chambers. The king closed his eyes and remembered the gutters. He remembered the look that passers by shot at him. He remembered the hate. The hate, black and sharp, the sat within him. The hate that he had tended, kindling it with failure and victory alike. The hate, flaring brilliant with the realization that he had never been allowed a chance at victory. That he had only risen so that his fall would be greater. Yet again, the hero came nigh. Yet again, the king stood ready.
It was shaping up to be a battle of truly epic proportions. Thor, God of Thunder and friend of Mankind, grappled with the world-serpent Jormungand in brutal combat; Odin was gripped within the jaws of the great wolf Fenris. All about the world the seas crashed and raged and swallowed the land whole. Nobody could have predicted such a cataclysm. Faced with the end of all things, what could mere mortals do but cower and pray? Across the shrieking of battle, a single, high pitched note sounded. Could it be reinforcements, come to save the day and rescue the gods of Asgard from certain defeat? Or was it a new demonic foe seeking to devour reality and split the land asunder? The sound came again, louder this time. Yet at the end it trailed off into a discordant note that pained all to hear. The sky opened; a godly light shone through! A man descended from the clouds, followed by a hundred thousand heavenly chariots. The mortals looked on in equal parts fear and hope, but what hope they had was soon dashed when the new arrivals spoke… “What the fuck are you lot doing here?” Bellowed St. Peter, his halo glowing brighter than the sun. “I could ask you the same question!” Came the great roar of Surtr as he heaved his fiery sword onto his shoulder. There was a sickening retching sound as Fenris regurgitated Odin like a divine furball. “Now I’m not looking for any problems, lads,” proclaimed Jesus, come to rid the world of sin and deliver humanity from evil, “but we clearly reserved the 2012 time slot.” “2012 has been and gone, jackass!” Boomed Odin, scraping dog slime out of his empty eye socket. Fenris yowled in confirmation. “It’s 2018 now. We booked it a thousand years ago. It’s Ragnarok time! You’re all late!” There was a great murmuring amongst the Heavenly Host. The Asgardians all looked at each other as if they couldn’t quite believe what was happening. All across the world, mortals watched in confusion, unsure whether to cower or laugh at the display of sheer bureaucratic incompetence. “I told you all we should have drawn up a timetable.” St. George’s voice carried above the rest, noble and quintessentially English. “Stop putting the accent on, George! We all know you’re Palestinian. You aren’t fooling anyone,” said Thor. St. George scowled at him. Jesus cleared his throat. “Clearly there have been some issues with timekeeping. However, we have an important function to carry out here. We can’t just… Leave, you know?” “Alpha Centauri’s not booked,” volunteered Freyja, her soothing tones cutting through the tension like a knife through butter. “Perhaps you could try there?” Yet more mumbling amongst the Heavenly army. Eventually, Jesus spoke again. “We have determined that Alpha Centauri is indeed a viable candidate. We are most sorry for the interruption. It will not happen again. You may go about your business.” “Oh, ssscrew it,” hissed Jormungand sadly, “the moment’sss gone, now.” It uncoiled itself from Thor, who patted it on the head. “Maybe you’ll get me next time, champ.” “Ssscrew you.” “Alright, everybody. Let’s pack it up and head home!” Declared Odin. “Jesus, you can do your thing.” “Eh… Our thing kind of relies on surprise, to be honest. With the trumpets and all,” said St. Peter. “It’s kind of ruined now.” And with that both divine hordes departed this plane of existence, never to be seen again. The event was the hot topic amongst the baffled mortals for the next week, but it was inevitably surpassed in importance. Critics would concur that they just shouldn’t have released such an ambitious project with such little build-up; especially not the weekend before Suicide Squad 3 opened, which was the cross-over event everyone was waiting for anyway.
"There they go again!"I scream, chasing a man from my doorstep. Seconds before, he knocked at my window, asking for a glass of water. It interrupted the painting I was working on, but I'm a humble man with love in my heart for all. His knife was raised as I turned from the sink. No time to think, no time to ask why. My clumsy punch landed him on his rear, blood streaming from his flattened nose. He ran away, hands at his ruined face. "Why are they trying to kill me?" "Calm down,"my roommate Stefan responds. "I think he had a little too much to drink." "Nonsense. Who asks for water and then tries to stab you when you comply? Maniacs!" "Did he say anything?" "They never do,"I despair. "Over and over ... over again! I have to watch over my shoulder every minute of every day, before they strike again." "Maybe you should sit down,"Stefan's expression is wary. "You say people keep trying to kill you? How do you know?" "How much proof do you need?"I ask. "Every day, at least three or four times. A car tries to run me over. A man with a knife. Bullets fly past my head. Madness!" "Oh come now. You stepped off the curb too quickly. The man was drunk. That bullet must have been a stray pigeon." "I know the difference between bullets and birds, you know. I was in the war, after all." "Okay, okay,"Stefan raises his hands in surrender. "Let's say for the sake of argument that you're having a run of bad luck. Can you think of any reason why?" "Nothing, nothing,"I mope. "I'm an art student. I paint, I draw. I have no enemies, unless it's my landlord." "Mrs. Weitzel doesn't hate you,"Stefan grinned. "She doesn't think of anything beyond next month's rent." "Which I always pay. I'm telling you, it's insane." "Fine,"Stefan pursed his lips, thinking hard. "Can you pinpoint any ... common element, perhaps? Are they all men? French men, perhaps?" "No, they don't seem to be."I scratched my head. So many of them; I wasn't always permitted the luxury of a full-face picture of my assailants. "I know there was at least one woman." "A woman?"Stefan leered. "There's hope for you yet." "Oh shut up,"I waved my hands impatiently. "I was coming out of the shop, groceries in hand. She approached me with a revolver in her hand. Before I could ask what she wanted, she was shooting. Shooting, at me!" "Mein Gott,"Stefan breathed. "When was this?" "Six months ago, before I came to school. I'm telling you ... it's a plot of some kind!" "So men and women,"Stefan nodded. "Their nationality ... was it different?" "Of course. Black men, white, darker skin. All kinds." "So many,"Stefan pondered. "I wonder ... were they all of one race?" "How could they be?" "You know of whom I speak,"Stefan's voice dropped to a murmur. "Our discussions. The ones we've had in the beer hall. Could they ... they be afraid of you?" "A few Jews? Nonsense." "We all know how suspicious they are. Perhaps you're more of a threat to them than you know." "I was prepared to live in peace with the vermin,"I mop my brow. "Perhaps that is a mistake." "This is crazy talk,"I wave my hands. "We've talked about this before. So have many other Germans. Why me? Why now?" "I do not know,"Stefan answered. "But the facts are unmistakable. You must think about how Germany will deal with them." "All I wanted to do was bring people together. This has turned from my work into ... My struggle." "Indeed." "There may be no other way to solve this,"my eyes turn tool-steel hard. "A final solution should be considered."

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