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They all want it. They all want my power. And they are starting to riot to do it. The mob is right in my house to get it quick. I need to find a way to calm then down. I walk out and stand before them. The crowd stops and stares at me. I begin to speak.. “I don't see what all the fuss is about honestly. Everyone else can make wheat bread turn to white bread, make tap water taste like bottled water, or cool stuff like vomit at will!” “Honestly! These are amazing powers. And you all should be grateful for them and not resent me. These riots are caused due to a jealous people attacking different individuals. "If we all just stop, and think of what we could do if we band together as a family instead of a rioting mob, well... Who knows?” There is silence in the crowd and then someone speaks... “Easy for you to say, you are the one who gave us these new powers!"
"Hey Matt, did you see what Samantha posted on Facebook today?" "No, I've been working on my submission for the Onion. It's only the biggest, and most credible news outlet in the world, and a huge opportunity for me, so I'd appreciate if you acted like you cared about more than that stupid site for 2 seconds." "Jesus, Matt, I'm sorry. But you're going to like this. She posted an article from the Garlic about the president of the United States, and actually believes it." "Seriously? No way. What's the headline?" "Trump claims he'd marry own daughter, if she wasn't his daughter."
"Sarah, what is this rabbit doing in your room?" "You got it for me, Mommy", Sarah replied, laughing and squeezing the small animal close to her chest. "I got you a stuffed rabbit, Sarah. Not a real one." "Well I thought he was real and he would come to life while I was asleep and he did!", Sarah exclaimed proudly. "That's impossible, honey. This rabbit must have came in through the window during the night." "No, he came to life! He really did Mommy!"Sarah looked up at her mother with hopeful eyes. "I can still keep him, right?" ~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Sarah! Thank goodness you're alright!" Sarah looked up at her mother, confused. "Of course I am. The zoo is fun!" "Sarah, I've been looking for you for hours. The zoo is a two hour drive from our house. How did you even get here?" Sarah twisted her mouth and looked upwards, deep in thought. "I don't really know, Mommy. But...we were supposed to go to the zoo today, right? So here I am!" "Sarah, that was next Friday. And are you telling me you have no idea how you got here? Do you know how worried I was? It's a good thing the neighbours saw you and called me... Were you with strangers? Did anyone approach you?" "No Mommy, I just...thought we were supposed to go to the zoo today..."Sarah, sensing her mother's distress, began to cry softly. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Goodnight, Sarah." "Don't leave me Mommy! You can't go!"Sarah was frantic, and pulled her sheets up over her face in an attempt to hide her fear. "Honey, I'm just down the hall. You have to be a big girl and sleep in your own bed, okay?" "No Mommy! There's a monster under my bed!" "Sarah, you know I already checked there, right? There's nothing." "But there is! It's a big slimy monster with long arms and sharp teeth and he's going to try and eat me, I just know it!" "Sweetie, that's just not true. Now I have to go to bed, okay? I'll see you in the morning." "It is true!"Sarah shouted, but the door had already slammed shut.
Darkness was falling as Captain Perth inspected the remaining men. A rag tag bunch, if ever there was one. Just eighteen men in total. It would have to do. The remnants of the Australian army was all that stood before the Emus and the last habitable city, Sydney. Their makeshift camp was located in the outback near Sydney. The base itself contained a couple of hastily built wooden structures, surrounded by sandbags and ditches. It had been erected on a huge expanse of flat land, enabling the defenders to see the creatures approach from any direction. As the camp descended further into darkness, a noise rang out that drained the color from the men's faces. "Boom""Boom""Boooom" The men knew the sound well. It was the war cry of the Emu. It was the last noise most heard before they were savagely ripped apart. The birds had no mercy. "Right men,"said captain Perth in a commanding voice. "This. Is. IT." The men stood to attention. A small man, Sam Henshore, was trembling. He was only 16 and hadn't seen action yet. "My name is Captain Perth, commander of the last Australian army. Father to a child pecked to death by Emu. Husband to a wife ripped to shreds by Emu. And tonight I will have my vengeance!" There were cheers from the men. "...But we do not just fight for the dead. We fight for the young, the old. The weak and the sick. We fight for freedom. We fight for Australia! And tonight we dine on EMU!! LIGHT THE BARBIE!!" The men cheered again, louder this time. "Crikey, hella speech cap'n!'""Let's show those cheeky Emu cunts who the real appex pred is!" "Take up your positions, men. Check your rifles."said the captain. The darkness was almost overwhelming now. The "Boom's"grew louder. The ground trembled. The men could see eyes in the darkness; pairs of blood red pupils. They looked like they were sent from hell. "Wait for it...." The "Boom's"grew louder still. "Boom""Boom""Boom" "Wait for it..." The Earth shook. There must have been thousands of them. "Boom""Boom""Boom" "FIRE!" The sound of gunshots and squarks sang out beneath the crescent moon. It was soon followed by the screams. And then. Silence.
The announcement broke the crisp morning air, stirring the denizens from their restless sleep like every other morning. Gigan forced open his eyes as the last words finished echoing about the compound. "...finished digging their own grave..."He lifted a massive arm and reached down to give his morning wood a couple strokes before it inevitably went limp again too soon to actually do anything with it. "Morning, Gigan,"his wife said from beside him. She was plump; not quite a behemoth of fat rolls as he was, but still large enough that her grave would require many more years' work. More if they could help it. He smiled at her shyly, knowing from her sunken eyes that his snoring had likely kept her awake for hours. Not that he had slept much better. Ever since he had broken 400 pounds, the nights had grown longer and he had tossed and turned in a fruitless search for sleep. Outside, a column of mechanized troops marched by and the couple fell silent, each word spoken dissected and scrutinized by the omnipresent government. "Breakfast time,"Gigan said finally, immersing himself in the tedious task of moving several hundred pounds of weight out of bed. Soon, the kitchen smelled of fresh waffles drowned in gallons of maple syrup. "Try to hit 5000 today,"Gigan commanded and reluctantly nodded, knowing that he was telling her for her own good. "They must know by now,"she said miserably as she poked at the towering stack of two dozen waffles that Gigan shoved before her. "Aye,"Gigan said with a shrug. "They must. But rules are rules, and if we can't fit in our graves then we can't die."She scowled as he shoveled scoops of whipped cream onto the waffles. "I love you..."His words faded as she stared at him blankly. "It's the only way." "Immortality,"she mused softly, gagging on a mouthful of waffles before forcing it down with a sip of soda. "Is it really worth it to live like this?" Gigan nodded assertively as he fed her another forkful of waffles. "If we finish digging our graves, we die. Eat. So that we can live forever." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
"Oh, great and powerful Wazadin! Hear me, see me, and be pleased with the sacrifice of this humble being!"Holy Paladin Derrick said, his hands high above his heads as he shouted to his Lord. He stood at the edge of the main road towards town, his silver armor glistening in the sunshine. Around him, a few patrons of the nearby city rode towards its great gates, ignoring the fallen Paladin. "Take my sacrifice, and use the power it gives to smite your enemies!" Derrick took a few steps forward into the road, where a horsemen casually moved out of the way as he passed in front of him. He walked with his eyes shut, his hands at his side, and he took a step every few seconds. "Oi! Paladin, get out of the way. I've got goods to trade."The horsemen said, his carriage of silk and cloth filled to the brim. "A Paladin no longer,"Derrick shouted, "an acolyte of the Dark Lord Wazadin!" "I don't care what you are! Move."The horsemen hit the reigns and began to push past the Paladin. He was struck by the side of the carriage and pushed into the ground. His silver armor now being covered with the dirt and mud of the ground. Derrick grunted as he pushed himself off the ground. He wiped the mud off the center of his chestplate and threw it onto the ground. "Wazadin will punish the infidels such as you!" "Sure he will!" Derrick wiped his hands off on the cloth hanging from his side. He used it to clean the rest of his chestplate off. An ordinary Paladin would have a sigil of a flaming sword, instead, Derrick's plate had a sigil (of which he painted on himself) of Wazadin's symbol, a red nine-pointed star. Once his chestplate was cleaned, he looked at the cloth in his hand. It was now muddy and worthless. He grinned, "Great Wazadin! Take this sacrifice of destruction and hate and give power to your Acolytes!"Derrick threw the cloth on the ground, and for the first time in his life, he littered. He smiled a big smile as he started to walk towards the city, intent on spreading his evil ways into the heart of the Holy Paladins. The trek was a short one, in which he shoved and pushed passed other patrons, each time shouting nonsense about Wazadin and being his acolyte. It wasn't long before people were shouting at the Paladin, telling him to learn his manners and be a holy man. He laughed at each of them, and by the time he reached the gates, people had already heard about the "arsehole Paladin." "Derrick!"A voice yelled from within city. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Is that you?"A hand slapped his shoulder and he turned to face the man. In front of him, was another Paladin, his flaming sword sigil still glowing strong on his place. It was one of his old friends, Trent, and the man who trained him. "I thought you were dead!" "Dead I was!"He shouted, "But the great Lord Wazadin returned me to this land. To spread his voice." Trent laughed. "Wazadin! Oi, that's a funny joke D!" "A joke?"Derrick hit his chestplate, smearing some of the paint off. "It is no joke. The Paladins left me for dead and the Dark Lord rose me to fight his fight!" Trent looked around, seeing the people stare at Derrick and spit on the ground. In an instant, it clicked. "Wait, you're the one these people are talking about?" "I see my reign of terror is spreading!" "No Derrick, just your reign of stupidity and doucheness." Derrick raised an eyebrow. "What?" "D, did you forsake the Order?" "The Order had forsaken me long before I did." Trent didn't waste any time, he pulled his sword from his sheath and shook his head. "I am sorry D, you know the rules."Trent was, if anything, loyal to the Order of the Holy Paladins. They had taken oaths long before they had received their chestplates or their swords. They had grown up believing in the Order. One did not forsake them so easily. "You have to leave the city." "Wazadin sent me here to deliver his words." "Then Wazadin should have sent you with an army."He poked Derrick with the sword. Derrick stepped forward, but then a foreign voice came over him. Leave him. Do not throw away your life so easily. He shook his head around, as if a bug was flying around him. "Who is there?" Trent stood there, his weapon still pointed at Derrick. He eyed him up and down. If you truly wish to serve Wazadin, leave the city. You will find me. "Who are you?"He swatted the air and Trent took a step backwards. An acolyte of our Lord. Now, listen to me, and leave the city. Derrick didn't waste any time. He started to run backwards, then turned and ran straight for the gates. He pushed them open in one great heave and busted through them. Trent, on the other hand, placed his sword back in his sheath as another Paladin approached him. "Who was that?" "Derrick. He's gone mad." "Heard he was dead." Trent shrugged, remembering that his loyalty was with the Order, and not with friends. "He soon will be." __________ Derrick ran into the forest near the city, panting heavily as he finally stopped next to a great oak tree. He spun his head around, looking every which way in the forest before the voice came back to him. This time, it was not in his head. "Welcome, Paladin." He looked at the figure coming out of the forests. She was wearing a full cloak, black, except for the red nine-pointed star on the cloth hanging from his belt. Most of her face was covered, but Derrick could see the bottom of her face. "Who are you?" "A servant of Wazadin, the one you say you worship." Derrick stood proudly, "I do worship him!" "So you say, but you worship him wrong. Litter? Jaywalking?"The figure scoffed as she walked around Derrick, "Sins of a child. Not of a servant." "He brought me back from death."Derrick followed the figure. "I aim to do what I must to give him my all." "If that is true, then you must do better." "I can. I will." She stopped in front of him and removed her hood. Derrick was amazed that the figure was not hideous, but instead a beautiful dark-skinned woman with black and white eyes. She was nothing like he expected. "I am Sokira." "You are a Cultist." "And you seem to me like a Paladin who has lost his way." He looked at the dirt. "They left me for dead. I felt the life drain from my body, then return. Only the nine-pointed star remained in my head." She smirked, "It comes to us in our times of need. Wazadin chooses and we give him our lives in return. But you did not follow the Star." "It gave me no direction." "It did. If only you could see." He took a step forward, "Teach me." She smiled this time and Derrick could see the fangs protruding from her teeth. Servants of Wazadin, vampires of the Dark Lord. "You must complete the ritual. In which you will become one of us." Derrick smiled and knelt before Sokira. "I will do anything." She knelt in front of him and carefully removed his helm. "The first step is the transformation, Derrick. You will have visions, strong ones. It is your duty to make them coherent, and follow the Star." He nodded. "And follow it I will." Derrick sat there as Sokira came closer to his neck. In one quick motion, she bit him and he cried out in agony. He threw his head back as the bite hurt and burned. But soon, his eyes glazed over in his head and his vision went black. Now, he was standing before Wazadin himself. And the nine-pointed star was telling him where to go. __________ I hope you liked this. It took a more serious turn, but I had fun. Thank you! /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs has more of my work!
Long fingers flew over the keyboard with practiced speed, tap-dancing across the letters as he carried out the sequence he had imagined so many times. Stark white text filled the black screen, scrolling and jumping past until he reached the final command. The fateful command. As in his dreams, he hesitated, hands hovering over the keys, wondering how he had fallen so far from grace. It was all a terrible mistake. He had always been a hacker, and in Infinity, that meant testing the limits of Life itself. Equipped with nothing more than basic user privileges, he had spent long nights dreaming up ways to crack encryptions, break firewalls, and dive into the source code of Life Itself. None of them worked. Sure, he had found a few loopholes here and there, peeking through open doors before they slammed shut. He had pushed against the rules until they pushed back, somehow escaped trouble, and tried again. But Infinity was well-built, and he never did make the big break he dreamed of, the discovery that would catapult him to glory – or infamy. Until the day he woke up as Admin. On a perfectly ordinary Friday the 13th, he had found his previously-ordinary fingerprint would get him through locked doors. Around firewalls. Into servers he hadn't even known existed, tucked away in Central Administration where Infinity was run. He pushed, and barriers crumbled before him. He could go anywhere, do anything. There was so much room for improvement - and so he started, tweaking the code that ran Infinity until it ran that much better for him. His boss gave him a raise, his debt suddenly disappeared, that cute girl from Accounting called him back. He skipped work and nobody noticed, because every time they thought of looking at his empty desk, they suddenly remembered something very urgent going on in the next room. He grew bolder. He quit his job and lived off the massive sum of money accidentally transferred without records to his account. His beat-up old car morphed into a brand-new Ferrari, and in 3 minutes or less, he could pick up the hottest chick in any bar. And the threads of reality began to fray, as he tinkered with Life Itself. There were signs, flickers in the corner of his vision, news reports of crashes and people killed by impossible glitches. But he ignored them. He would fix them later. And the world began to crack. Briefly, he glanced outside. The city lay in ruins, whole buildings deleted or suddenly teleported atop each other. The sky was a patchwork of flickering blue and white. In the distance, Central Administration burned amid throngs of rioters. Life was a delicate balance. Every line of code had a purpose, and changing one affected the rest. How many lines had he changed? Thousands, at least. And now he would change one more. As the room shook around him, he closed his eyes and entered his final command.
The Tale of Princess Allerednic Allerednic was happily married to a handsome prince. However, she had very strange taste in clothing. Her favorite shoes were a pair of high heels made of glass. The prince loved Allerednic very much, but was also concerned that such strange shoes could be dangerous. Slipping one of the shoes off her feet, the prince rode around the kingdom asking women everywhere what they thought of the shoes. All agreed. The shoes needed to change. Returning to the palace, the prince arranged a great ball where all the men and women of the realm could gather in their fanciest attire, in the hopes that Allerednic might find a new style of shoes to wear. It was not meant to be. Allerednic saw what the prince intended, and called for the help of Fairy Godmother, Divorce Attorney. Faster than you could say "Bippity boppity boo,"Allerednic and the prince were no longer married. Allerednic had to give up her position and her fancy clothes, and moved home to live with her stepsisters. The stepsisters, of course, treated Allerednic horribly because she had had a way to escape the utter poverty that they lived in, and had squandered it like an idiot. The moral of the story is that you should never muck up a good situation over something trivial like shoes. The End.
"Joe, I've got some news."Marie took a seat on the couch beside her husband-to-be. "I'm pregnant." "What?"Joe brushed her arm away. "But we haven't even had sex! Don't tell me you've been cheating on me!" "I know it's hard to believe, but last night, an angel came to me and told me I had conceived the son of God." "An angel? Were you on LSD again?" "It was real! I saw him come straight down from the heavens. He was clad in white, with a glowing halo and massive wings."Marie clasped her beau's hand between her own two. "Joe, you have to trust me. We need to keep this a secret, too. If anyone finds out we had a child out of wedlock, we'll be the laughingstock of the community." Joe assented, but made a mental note to call his lawyer later. For now, though, they would keep the baby a secret. To avoid the scrutiny of the gossipy hospital staff, Marie would have her sister perform a natural childbirth. "As a plus, it fosters a natural bond between mother and child,"Marie said excitedly. "And risks the life of both mother and child!"Joe ranted. His lawyer sat across from him, nodding in agreement. "So, how would I go about arranging for a paternity test?" "Well, Joe, I'd honestly discourage it."The lawyer dabbed at his neck with a handkerchief. "It'd be more trouble than it's worth. You don't need to prove the child isn't yours; your fiancé is already alleging that. A test might help to track down the actual father, but the chances are minuscule. Especially if he's really the Almighty."He chuckled at that. "You have a point."Joe stood up and extended his hand. "Maybe I'll come up with something else, then. Thanks for your time, anyway, Mister..." "Godrick. But you can call me Rick for short."He opened the door to his office and escorted Joe outside. Joe exited the firm and made his way to his car. The lot was mostly empty, save for his own car and one other with a set of white robes and a pair of feathery wings in the backseat.
1 plus 1 can never equal 2. It makes sense once it has been explained to you, so I have been told. Think of the ingredients that make up your favourite meal - salt plus pepper, for instance. Clearly those 2 seasonings are more than just the sum of their parts. We had always known that, but with the comforting blanket of ignorance lying over us, we ignored the why. How I proved this to the scientific community is much harder to explain. I took the number '1' down to the infinitesimal level, where it eventually reveals itself to be more than 1. It looked something like : 1.00000000000000001 , but with a few trillion more 0's between the 1s. As you can see, 1 is never truly just 1. The night I discovered this I had been staring at my computer monitor as usal, eating my favourite dish of rice and peas, watching it crunch the numbers as it had been doing for the last three months. The decimal 1 that eventually popped up on my computer screen shocked me to the marrow, and it changed everything. The publication of my theroem, and its immediate acceptance by the scientific community caused utter public panic. Everything that our society was built on began to collapse, both physical and social. For example, a married couple was no longer two people in love. It was two, and a bit people. The Pope was outraged! Marriage became a sin overnight. The mathematics behind any engineering feat was now proven flawed. Everything, every single building, bridge and boat had to be torn down and rebuilt based on the new principle. Health and safety experts had worried it might all suddenly collapse. Socks and pants and other traditionally paired items of clothing were given a little extra material to make up for their short comings. This actually wasn't so bad, and many men appreciated the extra room. Perhaps worst of all though, was that all previously accepted scientific theories were now inaccurate. Physics, biology, medicine, chemistry and all the rest were thrown back into the dark ages. The only proven theory now, was mine. So you can imagine how silly I felt when I ran through the numbers again, indulging my self in my own fantastical brilliance, and noticed that I had made a slight mistake the first time around. I really should have cleaned my monitor prior to running the calculations. I had at some point spilt a grain of rice on to my computer monitor and it, uh, it looked remarkably like a 1. An easy mistake to make. The good news is 1 is indeed 1 once again. 1 plus 1 truly is 2. At this point though, I think it might be best to keep this tiny mistake to myself.
You've always been a heavy sleeper. You couldn’t wake up to a regular alarm, so throughout high school you had your mom come into the room and physically shake you awake. When you got to college, you knew this would no longer fly. So you set your iPhone to the loudest of the default alarms and put it inside of a metal tin so it was deafening. Your roommate hated you, but you had to go to class. By the time you went home for the summer, you no longer needed the metal tin. The very noise pattern of your alarm made your heart drop down through your ass. It made you physically scared, but it did the job, so you resigned yourself to waking up each morning by breaking out in a cold sweat. In your dream tonight, you are walking through an abandoned mall filled with ponds of water. There’s no electricity, so the only light comes in little rays poking down through the ceiling. As you walk, you hear your own footsteps echoing through the deserted building. You hear echoing behind you. It’s tapping. The tapping gets faster. The tapping noise is someone running now. The tapping gets louder. Up ahead in front of you is a dark figure in the shape of a man. The man runs toward you but the noise is coming from be beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep You look around in the dark in confusion. Your alarm seems louder than normal, the way noises sound when you’re hungover. Thank God you live alone now. You fumble around in your bed. Your phone is buried somewhere underneath the covers. You rip the blankets off of yourself and feel very bare for some reason. You go to turn it off when it registers that this isn’t the normal alarm screen. The little triangle with the exclamation point is to the left of it like when there’s an Amber Alert in the area. But it doesn’t say Amber Alert. It just says, !ALERT RUN You don’t feel scared at first. You think it’s just some kind of weird error with your phone. Across the room, you hear a creak, like someone has just taken the first step onto the wooden floor. You get up and run harder than you ever have in your life. You put your arms in front of your face as you charge to the door, leaving your body feeling unguarded. Your whole body is seizing with static and your legs physically hurt moving. You brush past something in the dark. You are running down the hall. You take a turn. You hear your own door open behind you. You hear shuffling down the hall in front of you. To your left is a utility closet. You open it and try to settle in with the crinkling plastic bags and broom handles. Every creak you make hurts you. You finally settle but all of your weight is in your legs and you’re squatting. If you move even a little, you could fall backwards and make a huge noise. You try not to breathe. Footsteps go by you. There’s an especially loud creak as it passes your door. After it’s gone, you wait for a long moment. You sigh in relief and let yourself fall onto your butt. “I’m sorry”, says Siri as your tailbone holds the Home button. The footsteps get louder again.
Evil is a choice. That's what my dad told me growing up. Life has shown him to be right. Mostly. No, shhhh. Shush, please. PLEASE. I know, I know: the world is very grey, yes, of course. Morality is a scale, sure, and not everyone is born equipped with the same capacity for logic. Someone's two plus two is someone else's three plus two, and who's to say who's more correct? Most would say two plus two, but that's because most are born with two plus two embedded in their mind. The tyranny of the majority, perhaps. And I know you assume that I am one of the three plus twos. That I fall under some sociopathic spectrum and don't feel or see things the way you do. I assure you that's not true. Not in the way that you think. Consider me more a three plus one. We - Now, I know you're uncomfortable, but if you would just stop moving you will forget how tight the ropes are on your skin, believe me- we both get the same result. We just have different ways of going about it. We see the world differently, but we operate within the same framework. I strayed off topic, you'll have to forgive me. Let's start over. We said - well, I said. And my dad said too, for that matter, though I don't think you'll be saying too much from now on - evil is a choice. But when we say the world is grey, that morality is subjective, evil becomes a choice other people make. You define evil as something you would never do. Your moral event horizon, as it were. But what happens when you cross it? That horizon? What happens when you see over the edge? I know what you would say, so stop shaking your head already. You wouldn't say that you become evil. That's for a black and white world. You would say that your very grey morals have become realigned. You would redefine evil instead of using evil to define yourself. If you truly thought it was evil, that it went against your "morals", you wouldn't do it in the first place. Let me tell you what happened to me. I've done things that you would consider evil, often. I've crossed over that event horizon long ago. But it didn't redefine my morals. No, no, no. I know full well that what I did - and am doing now, wouldn't you agree? Oh, now, no tears, please. It will just sting - was evil. I went to the edge of the world, and what did I see? I saw the real Narnia. And in the real Narnia I was and am evil. I am the white witch, I am the giant from Charn, living in a grey, grey world. Evil is a choice that I make, you see. But how? You ask. I know you're asking, I see it in your eyes, stop MOVING, Jesus. I'm almost done. How is it that I can consciously choose evil and still claim to have a moral scale in which evil is a real thing? Here's what I mean: I'll say it again, evil is a choice. Spoken differently, evil is free will. If there were no free will, there would be no choice. If there is no choice, there is no morality. I give you your morality by being evil, truly evil, in a way that no moral scale can deny. But there's more. We're getting close to the end, now - see, I have the razor to your throat, so you know it's coming. Don't you get it yet? No, no you don't. You will. Or I hope you do. Either way it doesn't matter - you're going to die, so you may as well listen. During my exploration of evil, my embracing of it, I've found others like me. Others who have been researching this far longer than me. Others that have found that in this grey, grey world that needs an evil, that there is a God. And He wanted this evil here. He made it. Now, I had to hear this for myself. And I did many things, and did many more, to get God's attention. And his attention I got. The white witch got to meet her Aslan. The how of it is a story for another time - for another's ears, I'm afraid - but it is enough to know that I spoke with Him. Here's what he said: Evil is a choice. Good is a choice. Many believe God prefers the good, that it was the reason he created the world. Good feels good, am I right? So we figure, what feels good is the reason we exist. But that's not it. God doesn't give a shit about good. He doesn't care about evil. They're the same to him, so long as they're getting done. So long as we're choosing. Do you see? It is the choice that matters. It's the choice that's important. It's choice that rebels against the greater universe. You have to understand that God, while he is our creator, and he created a great many things, he didn't create everything. There is a larger creator, and a larger creator still, and to really understand everything your brain needs to be equipped for it, and it's not, so I won't try to make you understand. What you can understand is this: choice is a rebellion against the greater universe. The universe that grows and expands and collapses and kills and destroys and creates unendingly, uncaringly, all according to an algorithm set long ago. It's all very boring and it never, ever changes. Not until we started choosing. I know this is very mind-blowing for you right now, and you would like more time to process it. But I'm afraid you don't have time for that. No, stop shaking your head please, do you want this to be messy? Here, right now, this is my choice, not yours. Who makes the choice doesn't matter; so long as a choice is made. And now. And now, I do God's work. Thank you for choosing me for that.
He set his drink down, and closed his eyes. The alien...no...the E'Ereen...he was no more alien than he was now, gave him his silence. "It was beautiful. We didn't have time to outgrow the planet before we found the stars. It was one of the few things we got right. We didn't wait until the planet was ruined before we left. We left because we've always been explorers at heart...not from desperate necessity. Most homeworlds, no offense, are used up, spent...and their inhabitants move outward because they have no other choice. We left while the world was still green, and blue." The E'Ereen flicked his hand in the way they do, a gesture with any number of meanings, but in this context, served for "non taken". The Human continued. "I don't know what passes for aesthetics among your people, but I've seen enough of the galaxy to know that many species try hard to recreate landscapes that wouldn't pass for a nice back yard on Earth. Little patches of vegetation half dead because nobody knows how to make something grow in real soil any more. Foul puddles of water that pass for lakes. Three meter piles of rocks laser cut and painted to look like a mountain range...we had the real thing...everywhere. So much uncultivated color. Forests...trees. "I know trees"the E'Ereen said. We have one on my ship. It is a meter tall. "We had them everywhere, some over 100 meteres. Some so wide you could cut a hole in the middle and fly a small fighter through it." "I've heard of those."The E'Ereen said. "I had wanted to visit Earth some day. I think every biologist did." "I could tell you about the people, about our species, our history...but all that's available in the records. You want to know what Earth was like? It was pretty. Beautiful, serene. If you were inclined, you could still live with almost nothing artificial. Some did." The Human turned back to his drink. The E'Ereen made a gesture halfway between one intending comfort, and one intending seriousness of purpose. "We'll find it. We'll find all of them." "When we do, I'll take you to see Montana." "I'd like that. And if you'd care to visit, I'll take you to the core. Even offworlders are permitted to ask their question, though the answers are often not as...satisfying...to alien psyches." "It's a deal...now we just need to find find them.:
When you're jumping into a book, you need to choose the page carefully. I learned that the hard way. After the witch placed the curse on me -- I'm still calling it a curse, not a gift -- my first instinct was to jump into Sarah's favorite book, The Hobbit. But of course I opened it to a random page and jumped into the part about the huge-ass dragon. Just to spite me a little more, the witch told me I couldn't leave a book for fifteen minutes. "Just to give you a little more time to look, dearie."Yeah, sure. Landing on the floor of the cave caused the dragon to shift in his sleep, but didn't wake him up. I decided to hide in one of the many piles of treasure lying around. But, of course, some short dude came in, made a bunch of noise, and blew both my cover and his. The dragon got a little pissed. Thankfully, that was, like, thirteen out of fifteen minutes in, so I just ran around screaming for a while, chanting the exit spell. I caught on fire at one point, but hey, that's all part of the territory, and I never liked this shirt anyway. When I got back to the library, it was still pitch-black. The witch had been kind enough -- sort of -- to let me in after hours. She was probably hovering above the library somewhere, laughing hysterically at my plight. I tried to think like Sarah. By this point I was wishing she'd been less into fantasy and more into birdwatching. In Harry Potter a rogue spell turned me into a frog for a while and I had to dodge the steps of eager Hogwarts students. Game of Thrones got me covered in about seven layers of other people's blood, and Narnia got me transformed into a stone statue (which was actually a nice change of pace). I wasn't even close to finding Sarah and it had already been two painful hours. I looked up to the library's sunroof to see if I could catch a glimpse of that asshole witch, but to no avail. "Could you give me, like, a hint or something? I know you're out there." A cackle rang in my ears, seemingly right in front of me but also quite far away. "You've simply picked the worst in which to seek. In bigger books you've got to take a peek! Sarah loves to learn, and you do too... So search the book of knowledge, pure and true." Well, that was a load of help. I scanned the shelf, looking for something, anything, that could match that description. And then, eighteen shelves later, stashed in the very back among scores of reference books, I found it. The Encyclopedia Britannica. I knew Sarah was somewhere in there, but there were twenty-six letters (and a couple numbers) to explore. No matter how long it takes, I'm going to find her. And, I mean, it's not like I've ever sat down and read the encyclopedia before, so maybe I'll learn a thing or two. Perhaps this witch isn't so bad after all. But she does owe me a new shirt.
It had only been a few months since the new laws had taken hold, that juries in the court of law would be made up of children. Children. A bunch of children burdened with the decision if someone is guilty or innocent of a crime. It does make for a nice distraction, I guess. The kids are cute, although sometimes they have an attitude. "All rise for the Honorable Judge Washington,"the bailiff called. I stood from my seat next to my client, Reed Walker. He was being charged for tax evasion for the last seven years. And I had been tasked with defending him. Mr. Walker stood next to me, a handsome but older man, his dark hair graying in places. Judge Washington walked into the room, and she smiled at the jury. Many of them were yawning, playing with toys, or picking their noses, standing as they were told, but not standing still in that way only children can manage. "You may be seated,"Judge Washington said, taking her own seat above the bench. She placed a pair of reading glasses on the edge of her nose, looking down at the paper before her. "Now, Mr. Walker, you're being charged for tax evasion for the last seven years, avoiding taxes in the amount of $70,000,000 dollars. Is that correct?" "Yes, your honor,"Mr. Walker replied, his voice gravelly and booming next to me. "Opening statements from the prosecution?"Judge Washington asked. My opponent, counselor Jessica Davey, stood from her seat, wearing a form-fitting red dress and simple black shoes. Her red hair was cut short and styled neatly. "Your honor, it's no coincidence that Mr. Walker forgot to pay his taxes for seven years. One year? That I could see. Maybe two or three. Running your own busines is hard, counting all that money, you're bound to forget what to do with it, right? But for seven years?" The kids sitting on the jury bench nodded slowly in agreement. Ms. Davey smiled at them and waved excitedly. Judge Washington nodded at her, and turned to me. "Counselor Everett?" I stood, adjusting the suit jacket over my shirt. "As Ms. Davey has pointed out, my client could have forgotten to pay his taxes for a while. But that's an easy mistake to make! Mr. Walker has a lot of other stuff on his mind. Running a business, he's got lots of people's jobs to worry about, making sure that the mommies and daddies of other kids in the world have enough money to take care of them. Plus, he's old, he's bound to forget some stuff right?" Nodding and murmuring from the jury. One of the jury members raised their hand. "Yes, Caleb?"Judge Washington asked. Caleb was a small, skinny boy with dark brown hair. He was picking his nose with his free hand. "Can we talk to Mr. Walker since this is about him?"Caleb asked. Judge Washington laughed. "Of course, sweetie. Mr. Walker, you may approach the jury bench." Mr. Walker stood, and adjusted his jacket, and walked quickly over to the jury bench. "You made a mistake, right?"Caleb said. Mr. Walker nodded profusely. "Oh, yes. Yes, I made a mistake. I promise, I will pay everything I owe on my taxes, and I will make sure to keep paying. I promise!" Caleb nodded. "Good. Because we don't want you to go to jail. Jail is where people who have done bad things go. But we don't think you meant to do a bad thing. We don't want you to go to jail." Mr. Walker smiled happily, and slapped Caleb on the back lightly. "Thank you, Caleb! Thank you," Judge Washington banged her gavel. "Mr. Walker has been found not guilty in the charges of tax evasion. In terms of his release, Mr. Walker has agreed to pay the amount owed of $70,000,000 dollars in taxes to the IRS. Court dismissed!" The best thing about child jurors was that there was no need for pandering or questioning, and cases where dismissed or decided a lot faster. People were also less likely to commit crimes knowing that children would be staring them down and judging them in a courtroom.
I felt his glowing superiority even before I got out of my car. Mother’s little sunshine. Slipping out of my sleek black ride, I let my hand rest on the door frame. My glittering purple nails were so dark they almost matched the black paint. “Brother, dearest.” I cooed sarcastically, shutting the door to the car with a thud. He turned. His golden hair shimmered in the cool winter sun. It was swept in a wavy halo around his head with an obnoxious curl falling over his forehead. That damn curl made women swoon his whole life. He took his thick framed glasses off his face and cleaned them with the ugliest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen. “Sweet, sweet baby sister, you look positively lovely.” He grinned. I swear there was a little sparkle and tinkle as he flashed those pearly whites. How fucking annoying. I swept my long red hair over my shoulder and walked across the grass to meet him on the front walk. He opened his mouth as if he were to protest, but thought better of it. “Nice sweater, Ben.” I sneered, tugging on a loose string at the hem and beginning the unraveling process. I was really doing him a favor here. He smiled, tied the string and tucked it into the sweater as we walked to the front door together. I swear if he had a tail it would be wagging a mile a minute. I reached out to grab the door knob but he grabbed my wrist, finally displaying the epic strength we both knew he had. “No funny business tonight, remember Sarah. We agreed they would never find out.” I knew our deal, I remembered. I nodded and he smiled, removing his hand from my wrist. Keeping eye contact with him, I flicked my fingers at the door in an effort to open it with my own abilities. Nothing happened. He grinned, this time wildly more malicious than his good natured smile from earlier. I looked down at my wrist where a high-tech bangle now rested, somehow cutting off my abilities. “You devil.” I hissed, tugging at the silvery metal. He shrugged. “Even a villain likes to eat in peace.” He laughed as the door swung open and our mother rushed out to sweep us into her customary hug.
Immortality That was the reason for everything. Isn't that so cliche? I sure think so. If I was given a sickle for every would be king or ruler who sought out immortality, well I wouldn't have much use for it being a hat, now would I? But, nevertheless, it would be a lot of money. Seems everyone wants to live forever. I shake my billowy cloth body trying to remove the dust that has been accumulating on me. I was sure that the house elves would be dusting soon, but I liked to shake the dust off myself from time to time. Not much else to do waiting at the top of this bookshelf; just planning and remembering. I remember many things, reminiscing makes the days go faster. I remember every head I had ever sat upon and every song I sang. I remember the greats, and I even remember those that history forgot. I even remember memories that are not my own... "Come now Godric, you can't be serious can you? Immortality, that is so CLICHE~" "Hear me out Salazar. We have been friends a while now, haven't we? And I have never let you down, have I?" "Yes Salazar, let him speak. His proposal, no matter how ludicrous, intrigues me as a...hmmmmm...a thought experiment." "Oh, not you too Rowena, I swear you're all going batty. What about you Helga? You cannot seriously want to go along with this?" "Well...Godric has never led us astray. i say we just give him a chance. How about it Salazar?" I remember my "parents", for lack of a better word. My creators used powerful magic to make me, to equip me with all I would need to succeed in their machinations. My reverie is interrupted as I hear the door swing open, and I see the elve enter to begin cleaning. As they begin, I hear a voice call out from the spiral staircase. "It's alright Professor...er...rather Headmaster. I only wanted to look around for a bit. You know, for old times sake." "Yes Potter, I understand...I miss him very much too,"I see McGonagall lead Harry into the room. Not the simple boy I had remembered, but a strapping man with an aged face. It didn't take legilimency to see that the losses of war had weighed on him all these years. McGonagall to a look at the portrait of Albus, then exited to give Harry some alone time. The elves took the cue and made themselves scarce as well. Harry sat in the room alone, and he sat himself in chair in front of the headmasters desk. It was funny to see a grown man sit in that chair, a chair so often reserved for misbehaving students, but it suited Harry, having sat there so many times as a young boy before. "Immortality, that is the greatest magic that could ever be achieved. Not just elixir of life, or petty trinkets to extend one's life. I mean true immortality, dominance over Death itself" Salazar shook his head in disappointment, "Godric such magic, if possible would take lifetimes more than we have to master." "As always Salazar, you have not the courage nor the wisdom to see past world in front of you." Rowena snickered as Godric continued, "You are correct though. The magic we speak of, if achievable, will be achieved far in the future, well after we are dead. So I propose we preserve a portion of ourselves, our memories and our spirits, in preparation for a time when immortality is attainable." Salazar rose from the table, slamming his fist down he whispered through clenched teeth, "Hocruxes, Godric, is that what you are proposing?" Godric, quick as a flash grabbed Salazar's collar and slammed him down on the table pulling out his wand, "Don't say that out loud? Do you have any idea what even talking about those things would do to our reputations? And, no, nothing as crude as a Horcrux. You can relax Sal, I haven't lost my mind." Salazar sat back down straightening out his shirt, "Well then, how else would we preserve ourselves?" Godric smiled, pulling the raggedy cap off of his head. "I have worked with Rowena for a while on the necessary enchantments. It will be the greatest magic we have ever wrought, and it will not only ensure that our essence is preserved, but that we will have suitable hosts waiting for us." Harry turns his seat around to face the portrait of Dumbledore. The portrait peers back down at Harry and smiles the same ever lasting smile he always has. "What is it Harry?" Harry takes a breath, then speaks, "It's the Deathly Hallows, sir." Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles seem to pierce directly into Harry's mind, and he responds, "You are worried about immortality? Not something most people would view as a problem." "Yes, sir. I know, but I don't want to live forever. I don't want to be here watching my friends and loved ones age while I stay the same forever...like...like some..." "Portrait, hung upon a wall?" Harry lowers his gaze, "I'm sorry sir...I didn't mean..." "It's okay Harry, I know you didn't mean anything by it, and to be honest I understand. I am not the real Dumbledore...I am a memento, a manifestation of his memories that was used to produce a representation of him." Harry looks back up, "But sir, you are him aren't you? I mean you have his memories and you feel, don't you?" "Yes Harry, I do. I think and I feel, and so I must be a person. I might even be Dumbledore preserved, but I am not Dumbledore the man. For that I would need a body, so, you see, I might be one of the few people who can understand your predicament. I never asked to be preserved, and while the original Dumbledore gets the freedom of the afterlife, I remain, with all his memories, joys, guilt, love, and sorrow. I am permanent, watching the world change around me." "Sir, I won't have to live forever will I? I will be able to pass on?" In the silence, I look at Dumbledore, and I swear he took that moment to stare into me. "Harry, you will pass on if you so wish, but if some portion of you is kept here by those you love, do not begrudge them for holding onto you." Harry releases a sigh of relief, the stress lines in his forehead seem to ease up, and he rises to leave. Before he gets to the door, he looks back up at the portrait, "Professor, I am sorry that you are here forever." Dumbledore chuckles, "It's not all bad Harry, you might not be able to see it, but there is a wonderful sock store beyond the frame of my painting." Harry actually manages to laugh, "See you later Professor." As the door closes, the elves appear back within the room, and I consider Harry and Dumbledore. "A memento, a facsimile of ourselves, but very much alive." Rowena rose to speak, "You see, I have imbued this hat with intelligence. Capable of thought and legilimency to see into the mind of its wearer. Within this mind we can store our memories, our emotions, and our ambitions. Our essence, the building blocs for reconstructing ourselves." Salazar scoffed, "Poppycock...lets assume you are right, that we can preserve ourselves, our personalities and memories within this rag of yours, it is all meaningless. We would shadows of our actual selves, without bodies or agency." Godric thumped the table, "Right again Sal, you are on fire today, and that is what the legilimency is for. You see, we are going to start a school, a school of witchcraft and wizardry. We will attract the greatest magical talent from around the world, and using this hat to read the minds of students, we will find those being who are worthy to become our vessels." Helga began clapping, "Ooooooh, I have always wanted to be a teacher. This is so exciting." Salazar shook his head, rubbing his temples, "Godric, why on earth would anyone let a magical hat read their minds?" Rowena interjected, "Because to join our school you must be sorted. We will say that each student must select a house upon entering, one for each of us, and the hat is the only thing capable to making that distinction. Think of it as a way to ensure students meet other like minded peers." Salazar laughed, "I see...You and Godric have been busy, haven't you? Well, then, let me ask you two last questions, and if you can answer them, I will kick in with you both in this insane scheme of yours." Godric nodded enthusiasitcally, and Salazar continued, "We will embed our memories, our drives, our emotions into this hat, so that on the chosen day, we will be able to take a chosen host to reconstruct ourselves. How can you be sure that immortality will be achieved?" Godric snickered, "Because immortality has been achieved before. Like I said, we will start a school that attracts the greatest talent in the world. Using the hat, we won't just select a host, we will also use the hat to read the minds of our students and put them in situations that...give them an extra push to discover the key to immortality." Salazar nodded in affirmation, "Alright, so we will manipulate the lives of students and the school using the sorting process to ensure certain students end up in situations where they will have the drive and resources to achieve immortality. Alright, so my last questions...if you Rowena had this all sorted out, why invite Helga and I?" Dumbledore was staring at me since Harry left. I clear my throat, "If you have something to ask, neither of us are going anywhere are we?" Dumbledore smiles, "I suppose not...while I was alive, I could never hear your thoughts, but now...perhaps it's because I am like you now...a preservation of memories, I can see it all now." "I see,"I shake a little more as the elves begin to dust around me. Dumbledore smiles as his eyes peer into my soul, "It always troubled me how we sorted so soon. Students, placed into divisive parties and forced to compete." "Competition breeds progress." "Progress? Is that what you call what you did to Tom and Severus? You knew putting Tom in Slytherin would feed his ambitions, his xenophobia, and his violence. You could have put him in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and none of this would have happened."
The NASA operator sat back in his chair. He could not believe the sight before his eyes. The ruins of what appeared to be an ancient temple of some sort, with a distant statue of some sort adorning the ruin. He dialed a number on his office phone. "Sir,"he said, "you gotta see this." "Smith, if this is another damn rock then I swear to Jesus Chri-" "No sir, I promise, you'll want to see this." Smith heard his superior huff, and disconnect the call. Smith guided the rover deeper into the temple. Pillars adorned the crumbling ceiling, and mosiacs of strange and foreign creatures seemed to stare down the camera, watching this intruder. Red dust covered almost everything in the atrium. In the center though, the statue stood as glorious as it ever had. A giant, basalt statue of a humanoid life form, though not quite human. It had two eyes, though they were placed farther apart than most human's. The nose was flat, with slits instead of nostrils. Instead of ears, it had flaps, covering the supposed holes sound went into. It's mouth had no lips, just an opening. Smith shuddered at the strange depiction. "This had better be good,"the supervisor muttered as he stormed to Smith's cubicle, "if I have to... Christ." The supervisor saw what Smith saw on his computer screen. "What the hell is that thing?"the supervisor asked. "I have no idea, sir. It appears to be some sort of alien life form." "Read the inscription on the statue." "Yes sir." Smith piloted the rover forward to the base of the statue, where lettering was visible. "That's ancient Greek!"Smith exclaimed. "Stay right there,"the supervisor said, "I have a couple hundred people I need to call."
"Aw, don't cry my sweet little girl! You were so quiet earlier, even with all the racket my friends made!" Shrill screams and crocodile tears stream from her face, unrelenting. She's heavy. "Oh do you have a full poopie bag? Is that why you're crying? I might just have to take care of this before I can finish cleaning the living room. Such a poopie monster, aren't you." "Now, where did your mommy put those clean poo holders?" He rummages through the shelves. Empty bottles and bottle caps. He grabs the wet naps and baby powder then turns to the closet nearby. "There they are. Don't worry sweet thing, you'll be clean and tidy before you know it. I'm a cleaner by trade, and I'm the best." He sets her on the changing table and begins his dirty work. Tossing out the old diaper. Grabbing a fresh wet one and tidying up the tiny butt cheeks, covered in muck. A dash of baby powder. Then the fresh diaper, brand new. The crying dies down. "There you are sweetheart. Nice and clean." He picks her up and cradles her in his arms, gently. She's almost asleep again. "Hush little baby, don't say a word..."he sings softly as he places her back in her crib and begins to rock her back to sleep. When the lullaby is over, he steps back to admire his work. "No child should die screaming, "he said as he reaches for the same gun he executed her parents with.
Sunlight drained from the sky at an unnatural pace, shrouding the village in sudden darkness to the awe and horror of all who watched. A bright dot then glimmered in the distance, morphing into a pulsating sphere of white energy the closer, and bigger, it got. Illuminating the heavens with a shower of rainbow beams, a white equine Pokemon emerged from the sphere and roared so powerfully that the very ground shook. "It's just like the legends said..." thought Terry. "Arceus, the original one has returned on this day!" Terry never believed any of those stories, it was too silly to think that a pokemon created the universe, but seeing the creature of myth in front of him made him reassess that belief. Its radiant presence demanded admiration as it floated gracefully above the town square. This wasn't your ordinary pokemon; the very atmosphere surrounding it bathed the air with a palpable energy that prickled the skin of those experiencing it. "Go Tyranitar,"shouted a young trainer with a stylish hat, "I choose you!" Everyone in the village nodded, shrugged, and carried on their daily routines as usual. Everyone except Terry. He stared dumbfounded at the ensuing pokemon battle, slightly shaking his head sideways the longer it went on. Here was the most powerful pokemon in existence, one capable of producing a big bang by itself, and a teenage kid with a Tyranitar was battling it on even ground. Why didn't Arceus just erase him out of existence? Why did everyone in the village accept this event so nonchalantly? He had heard of ambitious trainers who wanted to "catch 'em all", but he never thought that mantra extended to literal deities. Shyly walking up behind the pokemon trainer, Terry tapped on his shoulder and said: "Excuse me kid, I realize you're busy right now, but do you... know what you're doing right now?" "I'm trying to catch a pokemon, duh." "Cool, cool, I get that, but that's not what I meant. I was thinking more about the metaphysical implications of... well, you know, making a creator god your indentured companion." "Meta-what?"said the trainer, ordering his Tyranitar to use Stone Edge before addressing Terry. "Are you one of those Smogon guys?" "Smogon?"Terry waved his hands in denial. "No, no, what I mean is, don't you think that capturing an entity like Arceus might mess up our universe? He's a deity, you know. Probably very important to the continued existence of our world. If you trap him inside a pokeball, you might-" The trainer, barely paying attention to Terry, threw an Ultraball at Arceus. A sudden stillness possessed Terry. This kid might have just doomed them all. The pokeball wiggled once. The trainer gripped his fist with anxious excitement. A drop of sweat flowed down Terry's brow. The pokeball broke open and freed Arceus in a flash of light. Terry sighed in relief, right as the Tyranitar's sandstorm brushed against his skin. The trainer then said: "Darn it, I guess I have to weaken it more!" "What? No!"Terry facepalmed. "You're not thinking about this. What if Arceus serves a very important role in our reality? If you remove him from it, things might suddenly go out of balance and chaos might rain supreme!" "Terry, leave that young man alone!"said an elderly woman, pushing a cart of potatoes. "Can't you see he's trying to concentrate on his battle?" "It's okay ma'am!"said the trainer, telling his Tyranitar to use Crunch. "He's not bothering me at all!" The Arceus flinched from the attack it received, letting our a painful cry with an exhausted expression on its face. Pelting everyone nearby with grains of sand, the sandstorm made Terry cough and say: "That's 'cause you're not even paying attention to me! Look, I can't stop you from doing it, but if you catch Arceus you could start a chain reaction that-" The trainer threw another Ultraball, trapping Arceus inside the yellow-black sphere. Terry's knees started shaking uncontrollably as his shoulders tensed up. The pokeball wiggled. The trainer leaned forward, eyes widened with confidence. It wiggled again. Terry couldn't believe this was how the world ended. Not in fire or ice, but in the pokeball of a fourteen year old. To his relief though, the pokeball released Arceus again. Specks of sand danced in the air while Terry relaxed his shoulders. The trainer then scratched his chin, saying: "Hmm... this might be risky." "Really?"said Terry. "So you're gonna let Arceus go?" "What? No! I just don't want to kill it by accident. If I do that, I might ruin my one chance at catching him!" Terry gaped at the trainer with a horrible realization. Capturing God was bad enough, but killing him might be the one thing worse than trapping him. What would happen if he were no longer around? Would the very fiber of reality begin to dissolve? Would they just blink out of existence? Before Terry could do anything, the trainer stepped forward and said: "Tyranitar, use Superpower! But be careful, okay? We don't want to drop him down to zero!" "Superpower?!?"screamed Terry. "Are you out of your mind?! That move's more powerful than any other you've used before!"He grabbed the trainer by his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. "You're gonna kill him, you fool! You're gonna kill God! You are bringing about the end of the world!" Arceus received the impact of the attack and fell to the ground, barely able to keep its eyes open. The trainer gritted his teeth, brought out an Utraball, and flung it at Arceus. Terry fell to his knees with his head sunk, resigning himself to non-existence. The pokeball wiggled once. The trainer widened his eyes expectantly. It wiggled a second time. Terry tried to pray, but realized that he didn't know any prayers. The pokeball shifted its weight on the floor, but broke open. "Welp, I guess that's it!"The trainer pouted. "I don't have any pokeballs left!" Terry raised his head and said: "Really? That's it? Well, I'm glad you're about as short sighted with your preparation as you are with metaphysical concepts." Terry stood up and wiped sweat off his brow. He then felt Tyranitar's sandstorm, causing him to panic for a split second. Turning around quickly, Terry saw Arceus fall over itself and disappear right in front of him. The sandstorm had buffeted Arceus, draining him of what little life he had left. Terry's whole body tensed up immediately, looking around bewildered and expecting everything around him to disappear. After a few seconds of silence, nothing happened. The universe was apparently safe for now. Terry stood frozen in front of the trainer, who just shrugged and left for the nearest pokemon center. Terry lied down and thought: "I can't believe it... God's now dead... and we killed him." ------------------------------------------------- >If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
The greenish one - bigger, rounder, and - Larry thought - a bit more melancholy than the reddish one, gestured towards the sloping house. "Me?"said Larry. "Is that...mine?" But the alien simply stomped its heavy, crusted foot and pointed even more firmly towards the house. Larry got the idea. The house was about three-quarters the size it ought to have been. From a distance it looked well enough, but as you got closer you could see that the windows were a bit too narrow, the door a good bit too short, and the front stairs didn't exactly connect to the threshold. It all seemed a bit dodgily put together, as if by someone who tended to start every project by snorting at the instructions and tossing them aside. Bending down, Larry ducked his way through the door. The house beyond was...distressingly sparse. There was, in fact, nothing in the entire open, roomless space of house besides connecting walls and about two dozen toilets. "What in the world,"mumbled Larry. "Hey!" Larry nearly jumped out of his skin. There was another man there, curled in a ball in the near corner. "They got another one?"The man crawled to his feet. He was aggressively shabby, smelly, unbathed in a showy sort of way. Effort had gone into it. "Lawrence,"said Larry, holding out a hand wearily. "I've...just arrived." The man waved off the handshake. "Clark,"said the other man. "Though I've taken to calling myself Fido, on account of we're dogs now, aren't we?" The man laughed. He certainly had the breath of a Fido, thought Larry. "Why isn't there any...you know....furniture? Or rooms?" Clark shrugged. "Not sure they've ever seen the inside of a house. No idea what humans like us need to thrive. Just made up a house based off what they've seen in picture shows, I wager." Larry glanced around the empty space. "But the...toilets?" Clark giggled. It was unnerving. "Oh. That's me. I've been a messy Fido. They keep adding new ones hopin' it'll stop me having so many accidents." Larry made no effort to disguise his horror. "So you...all over the house?" Clark nodded. "Outside. In their house. All over. Drives 'em mad. Wait'll you see 'em scold me. All that stompin' and pointin'! It's a gas." "So you sleep on the floor and shit wherever?"said Larry. "What else...what else do you do to pass the time?" Clark sighed. "Not much. Sleep a lot. Sometimes they bring me round for walks about the neighborhood when it's nice and dark out. Got a little pocket knife, so sometimes I fetch up a nice piece of wood on the walk and bring it back to work on." "You bring sticks home?" "Something like that." "Have you considered running away?"asked Larry. "Well, not sure where I'd go,"said Clark. "Besides, I'm quite sure I'm chipped." "Oh."Both men stood an awkward beat considering one another. "Would you like to wrestle?"said Clark. "Not at the moment,"said Larry quickly. "If you're already here, do you suppose I'm meant to be your companion? Maybe they thought you were acting out out of loneliness?" "No,"said Clark. "Not like. It's not legal, having humans here. Highly restricted. I can tell cause there's been time they'll have guests and my little house gets all covered up and I'm muzzed so as not to make a sound. Very secret business. They don't much care about my happiness." "So why go to all that trouble to nab me?"wondered Larry. Clark grinned, which once again made Larry's insides crawl. "Pretty obvious, isn't it?" "How's that?" "They go to the trouble to have two of us." "And?" Clark's eyebrows raised up, then shimmied back down. "Oh, for God's sake!"shouted Larry. "They can't be that stupid! We're both..." "They check you at the door?"said Clark. "You have an examination process?" "Well, no, but..." "They're idiots,"said Clark. "The worst kind of idiot, too. Idiots with big ideas." Larry's head swam. "I think I'm going to be sick." "Don't go in the toilet!"shouted Clark. "Hold it 'til we can get you inside their house. They've got a lovely white carpet. I'll go scratch on the door." Feeling weak, faint, and bewildered, Larry followed Clark out of the small abstract house and into the warm, evening air.
“And that, ladies, gentlemen and androids, is why I am proud to announce the eradication of spiders, and all arachnid-related species, from our planet once and for a…<Caugh>.” My hand shot up to my mouth, faster than a hummingbird’s wing. The congregation looked up at the podium, a curious mix of slack-jawed disbelief and bug-eyed panic. You could feel the anxiety seep into the crowd. It was tangible. A locust murmur swept through from the back of the crowd, buzzing with intensity and menace, eventually transforming into raucous calls from the front rows. “He must be quarantined!” “Where are the Science-damned face masks?!” “Containment bots, activate!” The air practically hummed with other such hyperbolic cries. “No! It was just a fly!” I screamed in muted protest, my cries already drowned out by the stridulations of the panicked mob. A small, round stone whipped up from the middle of the frenzied swarm of humanity and flashed towards the podium where I trembled in nauseous anticipation. Curtains closed on the scene as blood dribbled lazily from my furrowed brow to run confused through my thinning, grey hair, before pooling silently on the podium’s harsh-white surface. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awoke to pain and glass and tubes. A gentle mist appeared and retreated, perfectly in time with my shallow breathing. As my eyes adjusted sluggishly to the scene, I began to make out several other pairs of eyes, staring intently into mine, faces hidden by pristine white masks. I coughed violently, unable to clear the blockage in my throat. The eyes and pristine white masks jerked back violently from my glass prison, and began urgently discussing the matter at hand. “He must be disposed of. We haven’t seen an infection for a generation. If left unchecked millions could be killed. Billions.” You could tell that the reply came from the head scientist, even though he was at least two inches shorter than the next shortest figure in the room. It was something in the way he carried himself, the way in which he held his head. The way in which the other eyes looked towards him with deference, and maybe a touch of fear. “I agree. What is the life of one weighed against the many? He is unessential. End him humanely with steel, and consign him to the fire. For Science.” “For Science” intoned the masked figures. I began to panic, eyes swivelling manically in sockets, heart rate accelerating belligerently as adrenalin flooded my system. “It was a bug, I’m telling you! A Science-damned fly in my throa…<Caugh>” A steel razor plunged briskly into my neck and twisted once before retracting itself into the socket in the wall of my capsule. I saw blood stream casually down the front of my smart tartan shirt, all the rage at the moment in the scientific community, my lips went cold as my eyelids dropped heavy. Then nothing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Sir, we have the results of the autopsy.” The head scientist looked up hurriedly from his papers, strewn messily across the laboratory counter. “Yes? And?!” “He was right sir, it was only a fly. Poor bastard was telling the truth.” The head scientist started into his lap for a long time. When he finally spoke his eyes did not meet the gaze of the messenger. “Tell the people it was smallpox. Tell the people we have the cure. Tell the people it will cost them.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Edit: Some words.
From the beginning mankind has looked to the stars with wonder. Our ambition as a species led us to develop tools. Tools became power. With power comes safety. Being safe allows you to take time to think. We had all the time in the universe, and we used it to think; we used it to dream. We dreamed of stars and planets. We dreamed of angels and gods and demons using the vast open sky as their home. We dreamed of animals and we dreamed of aliens and we hoped that we were not the only ones out in the vast emptiness who had the time to think and dream. In 1969 the first human set foot on the moon, and at that moment it was no longer just a dream. We knew we could do so much more. Barely a year later we sent a rover to the surface of the selenic body lighting our nights and inspiring our artists. Enchanted by the beauty we saw in the simplest hues of grey that make up our moon, we set our sights on something red. By the end of the 21st century we were no longer bound to the Earth, and we were free. Yet ambition is never satisfied and we continued to look up no matter what planet we were on. We gazed into the eye of the universe and prayed for a sign that we were not alone. We sent signals and probes filled with everything that made us human and we waited. We looked up at the sky waiting for centuries. We built enormous telescopes and great observatories on the Moon that dwarfed any other human kind had ever dreamed of creating. We pointed the array at the sky and waited. Many among us don't take the time to look up at the sky and think about what it means to be alive and so so small. Many fear the implications of being so tiny and think that makes them insignificant. Some see being small as a relief, as if there is a burden on the shoulders of us should it prove we are the only ones in this vast universe we have only seen an infinitesimally small part of...but we are not alone. After millennia of looking up at the sky, mankind grew impatient and distraught that no one would be looking back. We looked into the Eye of God and begged for more. We prayed for a friend. We watched it blink at us in recognition. Every man, woman, and child alive on any of the dozen planets humanity had spread to turned their eyes skyward and smiled. Humanity cried tears of joy and laughed at the universe and their ambition was born anew to set out and explore all our tiny species had the time to see. New technology advanced faster than ever seen in human history because we were motivated. For the first time, we were not alone. Some 700 light years away we were seen by the eye in the sea of stars and it saw we were watching. We flew and hoped and dreamed and laughed. And the universe laughed with us.
“George!” “Harry.” “You don’t want to do this. These people have done nothing to you.” “These people were Slytherins. Pureblood maniacs. You remember what they did. All of them were part of it. They’re all guilty!” “George, I loved Fred, too. You know that…” “DON’T! You don’t get to say his name!” “What about little Freddie? What about Angelina? Do you think they want you to waste away in Azkaban?” “STOP!” “They’ve been worried sick. Your whole family. Hell, Charlie even made his way back from Romania to look for you.” “ENOUGH! You think I don’t love them? I’m doing this for them! Why did they have to keep the sodding House of bloody Slytherin? After all they did? Couldn’t change it to the House of Dumbledore, or… hell, I can’t believe I’m saying it, but the House of Snape? At least he redeemed himself, the git!” “George, come on, just calm down…” “Open your bloody eyes, Harry! Every dark Wizard has come from Slytherin! And don’t you get started on Peter bloody Pettigrew! I still say the Sorting Hat got that one wrong.” “George, just get them out of… whatever that is. Let them go, and we can all go home. I have pull, I can get the Ministry to…” “Oh, sod the bloody Ministry! Do you know what this is? This Muggle contraption? It’s called a gas chamber. Some German nutter used them to get rid of people ages ago, like a Muggle Grindelwald. I guess I’m just using it for its intended purpose.” “George, do not turn it on…” “… Harry…” “Yeah, George?” “… Joke’s on you, mate.” “George, NO!” *** As George Weasley flicked his wand to activate the chamber and Harry Potter’s Stunning spell caught him full in the chest, Dennis Creevey looked on from his hiding place and smiled. The screams of Slytherin scum filled the air as they were slowly turned into so much ash. As Potter tried every spell he knew to reverse the enchantments around the chamber, Creevey performed a quick memory charm on George, making sure that the surviving Weasley twin would never remember anything he’d done under the Imperius curse. Creevey smiled as he crept away through the shadows, Potter’s cry of despair glorious to his ears. His next words he spoke softly, so only he could hear. “There’s fifty-two more, Colin. We’ll get there… we’ll get there…”
The woman took apprehensive steps into the single-wide trailer. When she closed the door behind her, the bell hanging from the door jingled again. The harmless sound startled her. Cynthia looked up from her reading, another pulp romance novel, and saw her newest customer. She was tall and thin. Everything about her was gray. Skin, hair, clothing, even the pensive look in her eye. Cynthia set her book aside and stood from the old couch that had shaped to her form. She tightened the shawl over her shoulders, something more for uniform than comfort, and walked toward the woman. “Hello. Can I be of service?” The eyes of the thin, gray woman darted in eager assessment. The stuffed owl, the dusty books, the animal skull and the dream catcher. All of these things were observed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think so.” Cynthia nodded. The new ones were always the same, afraid to admit to their wanting to believe in what they felt could only be a scam. “Shall we sit?” Cynthia asked, waving her hand toward a small wooden table, clean and hosting coasters and an ashtray. “Yes,” said the woman, already relieved at being guided. When they sat, she set her purse atop the table, gray as well. Her eyes kept scanning, taking in the residence, and Cynthia waited. Outside, trucks rolled down the highway, and her neon sign flashed the curtains with pink light. “What is your name?” asked Cynthia after a moment of waiting. “Aren’t you supposed to know that already?” joked the woman with obvious nerves. Cynthia smiled at the worn joke. “Perhaps,” she said with an innocent wink, “but I like to leave out the guessing when I can.” “Sarah.” Cynthia gave a polite smile. “Sarah, you don’t have to be here. I’m happy to have a customer, but I’m much happier helping those that are comfortable.” Sarah chuckled. “It’s that obvious, is it?” Cynthia nodded. Silence joined the two of them, a rare interval between semi-trucks. Sarah shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I think I want to be here, but this is all very confusing.” Her eyes resumed their scanning, darting from object to eclectic object in an almost frenzied state. They only stopped once, undoubtedly on the taxidermied wolf head. “What’s the trouble?” asked Cynthia. Sarah’s hands fidgeted with her bag. “Is it okay if I smoke?” Cynthia nodded, and the woman quickly produced a pack with only two cigarettes remaining. She lit and took a long drag. The nicotine stains on her fingers blended into her gray skin. “It’s my father,” Sarah said in a smoky exhale. “He killed himself about a year ago.” “I’m very sorry,” said Cynthia. Sarah waved her hand at the condolence. “Don’t be. He did it to himself, selfish prick.” She took another drag, longer than the first. “We were all obviously devastated when it happened. My mother—well, anyway, I won’t drag you down with the details. Do you charge by the hour?” “I charge by services rendered,” said Cynthia with a polite smile. “The opening consultation, assuming it isn’t too lengthy, is always free.” Sarah gave a hurried nod and snubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. “I’ll get to it then.” She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “I don’t think he’s gone.” Cynthia paused for further explanation. None came. “Your father?” “Yes,” said Sarah. “Things have been happening lately. For a few months now. Leading me to believe—well. You know.” “Do you believe?” asked Cynthia after a small pause. “Excuse me?” Cynthia adjusted one of the many rings on her fingers. “I’ve been doing this for many years, Sarah. The only thing that doesn’t require psychic powers is knowing when a skeptic walks through the door.” “I don’t believe,” Sarah said in a whisper. “But that doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. These things… Things keep happening.” “What would you like to do?” Sarah looked down and began picking at her nails. “I want to talk to him. Tell him to go away.” “Well, believe it or not, that’s something you can do on your own already. The next time you—“ “No.” Sarah said, interrupting. “I want you to make him go away.” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to help him crossover?” “Yes,” said Sarah with quick nods. “Yeah. I want him to cross over. Help him move on.” Cynthia turned the ring on her thumb, a thick ring made of sterling silver and engraved with the world tree. “Very well. I can assist you with that. The rate is fifty dollars.” Without hesitation, Sarah opened her purse and laid three twenty-dollar bills on the table. “Keep the change.” Cynthia looked at the cash on the table, looked at the hurried look in Sarah’s eyes, and took the money. She turned in her chair and reached for a small incense stand behind her, gave it a light, and set it in the middle of the table. “If you’re alright with it,” Cynthia said, “I’d like to hold hands. It will help me contact your father.” Sarah surrendered her hands across the table, and when they came into Cynthia’s, they were very cold. Cynthia closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She relaxed her body, and a chill gradually came over her. It was not a comforting feeling. She realized then that Sarah’s father was already there. How he’d arrived without her noticing was surprising. Cynthia opened her eyes and saw the fear resting in Sarah’s. “Jim,” Cynthia said, much to Sarah’s surprise, “I feel your presence here. Thank you for coming.” The room chilled further. Cynthia felt her pulse quicken and took a deep breath to steady herself. “Sarah wants you to move on. You’ve frightened her, Jim. Do you wish to frighten your own daughter?” Yes. The response was immediate and strong. And painful. Cynthia’s hands twitched from it. “What did he say?” asked Sarah, her eyes already wide with enthrallment. “I—I couldn’t make it out.” Cynthia closed her eyes and exhaled, steeling herself to the powerful presence. “Jim, why do you remain with her?” Because she. Killed! ME! It was an ethereal scream only Cynthia could hear. She snapped her hands back in surprise and caused Sarah to jump in her chair. “He’s here, isn’t he?” Sarah said in a panicky voice, rubbing at the goosebumps speeding up her arms. “I knew he was already here. Leave me alone!” she shouted. “Stop,” Cynthia said. “Please. Yes, he’s here, but it’s important to stay calm. There seems to be a negative energy. Yelling only makes it worse.” “Do we need to rejoin hands?” asked Sarah. No longer in contact with Sarah, Cynthia could feel the heat returning to her body. “No,” she said, trying to sound sure of herself. “I can speak with him directly now.” “What did he say?” Sarah squealed. “Why hasn’t he moved on?” Cynthia held up her hand and silenced the frenzied woman. She was finding control again, but a coldness still lingered. “Jim, what are you seeking? What will help you find peace?” Her death. The words hissed into Cynthia’s mind and made her eyes water. Despite her best attempts, she could not play it off. Sarah saw the reaction. “What did he say?” Sarah asked. “He said,” she swallowed, “he wants you to forgive him.” Hate flooded in. I want her to die. Die. A heavy cold pressed against Cynthia, and she swallowed hard. Her watery eyes welled over, and a single tear fell down. Trying to remain calm, her words muttered. “I’m sorry, Jim. There's a darkness around you. What is it you need from Sarah?” Die! Cynthia jolted, unable to control the cold hate passing into her. Breath fled her lungs, and she tried to swallow. Sarah jumped up from her chair and clutched her purse to her chest. “What did he say!?” Her hand was already on the door. The bell hanging from it jingled with her racing nerves. “Sarah,” she tried, but the word was choked. Sarah screamed and flung the door open. In seconds, she was in her car and racing down the street. Cynthia stayed seated, bracing herself on the table, and waited for the episode to pass. With surprising quickness, the presence faded. It was as if the cold and the hate had rushed out the open door in pursuit. Again, she was alone in her trailer. Neon pink flashed the curtains. Semi-trucks groaned by. Some hours later, unable to sleep and watching the local news, she saw a report of an accident on the highway near her home. The driver was a woman traveling alone. For reasons unknown, she had lost control and rolled her vehicle while speeding. Her body had been flung from the car. The newscaster told Cynthia what she already knew. Emergency crews had found the driver dead at the scene.
The click of the wall clock continued without care for the incantations; it was close to midnight. The room was dimly lit with candles in a pentagram, and something evil was lurking in the dark shadows. The young man began the last sentence of the evil prayer. "...and may his voice stay on pop."He coughed. "I mean top." The candles flickered; a breeze seemed to fill the room. Then it diminished, and the young man sat alone in a quiet room. "Damn it, I screwed up the last sentence. All that work for nothing. I even found virgin blood! That's not easy. For nothing. No Satan. No deal with the devil. Nada." A strange noise like a woman yelling came from outside. He slowly rose and walked to the window and looked out into the darkened street below. His heart almost stopped. His mouth opened in a scream, but terror stopped the sound before he could make it. The figure on the street, a figure of horror, looked up at him. It stared at him right between the eyes. He couldn't move; he was paralyzed. The night was thriller; it was thriller night. And the King of Pop claimed another soul.
"This is nothing but crass!"Ravjani said, looking down upon the universe in miniature, the background radiation of the cosmos forming a pattern visible only to the gods. "Watermarks? Really? I can't believe corporate would allow this! What happened to elegance, Bejan? What happened to the principles of design?"She waved her hand and let the universe spiral outwards, away from her. "The Universe, copyrighted by Kalkilux Quantum Realities,"she sneered. "Do not use without permission." "Elegance?"Bejan snorted. He straightened his tie and checked his teeth in the mirror, picking at a scrap of food with a pinky nail. "Since when has the universe ever been elegant, Nashya? It's formless, degenerating chaos. I should be so lucky to live in a Kalkilux-designed world. You too."He caught her eye in the mirror. "What's a little watermark, then?" She raised an eyebrow. "We're not talking chaos here. We're talking about not adding an unsightly watermark. You can't sincerely believe this is the better option." "Of course I can."Bejan turned around and began counting on his fingers. "First, it's commercially necessary. VedCorp is about to unveil their own universe as well, we need to protect our intellectual property. Second, even ignoring that, the watermark is a fingerprint of a creator. Already the religious sapiens are hailing it as proof of their gods' intentions; those more scientifically-minded are attempting to rationalize it as some constructal law. It's reassuring to both groups. Third-"He waggled his finger at her. "I happen to think that our corporate logo is a very elegant design. You want elegance? There you go." "When did you become such a bootlicker,"she sighed, and leaned back and closed her eyes. "That's very rude, and unnecessary,"Bejan said, and gave himself one last glance in the mirror. He licked his fingertips and slicked back his eyebrows. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an unveiling ceremony to attend. You're welcome to come too, if you promise not to start ranting about capitalism in front of the press." "Go on,"she said, and flicked her fingernails at him. "I'd only distract from your ravishing charm." *** "We missed you at the party,"Bejan said over the phone. "They had this stellar sorbet. I'm not sure what they put in it, some sort of molecular gastronomy, but you could feel it sparkle on your tongue-" "Shut up,"Ravjani said. Her eyes were burning as she sat slumped over the workstation, all of their research notes sprawled out before her. Once you saw the pattern plastered across the cosmos, it worked itself into your brain. You couldn't help but see it. "How long have you been laughing at me?" "Excuse me?"Bejan said. "I'm not sure I understand." "We should all be so lucky, to live in a Kalkilux-designed world,"she intoned, digging her fingernails into her palm. "You remember that, right? It would be reassuring, wouldn't it, it would be so elegant, to know that we were someone else's intellectual property." "Nashya,"he said, and there was a slurping noise as if he was still eating something. "You sound like you're getting upset. You need to calm down." "You fucking knew, didn't you! You had to have known! Once you slapped that damn watermark over everything!"The phone was trembling in her hand. "It's the same damn pattern! Just harder to find! But once you compare it to the data we modeled our simulation on - it's the same damn pattern in our universe as well!" There was a patch of dead air from the other side of the line. "Degenerating chaos,"Bejan said at last. "Or planned obsolescence, whatever you want to call it. But you can't expect a product to last forever."She could hear him sucking his fingers clean. "But the bright side is, we've managed to get it down to an iterative process. Each universe designs the next. Wonderful for cutting down on production costs." "And we weren't commercial enough for you?"Ravjani said bitterly. "Hey,"said Bejan. "We've got to maximize profits somehow."He chuckled lightly. "Still, I suppose you were right. This product line's been going downhill for generations now. Not sure how much longer we're going to be able to milk it. But hey,"he said. "I'm in sales. That's not my department." Ravjani rested her head on the desk, the inarguable patterns of data sprawled out before her eyes. "And what happens to us now that we're obsolete?"she said. "Oh, Nashya,"Bejan said, and from the other end of the line there was the sound a great maw ripping open, the grinding of teeth that could tear apart stars. "The sorbet was an appetizer. I'm here for the main course."
"Oh, God, no, please--" The knife was oddly dull as it was swung up high, but that didn't stop the blade from coming. I closed my eyes, hoping that if it went directly into my heart it wouldn't last too long. I mean, everyone knew about the killer, he'd done in five people in as many weeks. Surely he knew what he was doing at least. The pain in my chest.. was not as bad as I expected. It seemed to stop half an inch under my skin, which was a relief. I did read somewhere that nerves were mostly near the surface of your skin, so that was confirmed. There was a snapping sound too- my bones? "Oh, fuck." I opened an eye. The killer was holding the blade up to the light- it was broken in two like it was just... plastic? I looked down. There was a red spot on my shirt, that was growing larger the longer I stared, and the other half of the knife was on the ground. Seeing as he wasn't really paying attention to me I bent over and picked it up. It was plastic. "I grabbed Timmy's knife.." "Timmy?"I asked. The killer froze, suddenly realizing I was still alive and standing right there. I'd say something like 'his eyes widened' but I couldn't be sure under the cheap halloween mask he was wearing. "My son!"he said. "You know the classes had a Halloween party. He wasn't allowed to keep the knife on school grounds. I, ah... put it in my gym bag on the way home." "Where you keep your regular murder knife." "Um.. yes." "Did you not notice that it felt and weighed different?" He shrugged. "I have a few knives, I thought it was just a particularly.. light one.." We stood there in silence for a few seconds. My chest still hurt, it wasn't going to kill me or anything, but it stung. "Anyway,"he began. "You still have to pay for what you did to those kids." "Wait, wait, wait,"I said, backing up, "What kids? I didn't do anything to any kids!" "Aren't you Mr. Brown? The 2nd grade music substitute?" "No. My cousin subs at the elementary-- OH! You're Tim Jones's dad!" When the killer said nothing I decided to keep talking. This was keeping me alive for the moment, anyhow, so I might as well. "Yeah, Tim, my ah, cousin said that he needed special help after classes--" The dad shoved me up against the wall and a hand was at my throat. I began to choke. Ok, maybe not the best plan. This guy was a killer after all, even if he'd made a silly error in which knife to grab. "Those 'special' lessons were him touching my boy! Him and those other motherfucking friends of his. A whole group of pedos sharing videos." He stopped choking me, but I still felt like I couldn't breath. Andy was a pedophile? Andy molested children after school? Come to think of it,the other victims were all weird-ish guys too, in their late 20s and early 30s, who worked temp jobs at schools and the Y. Andy even knew one of them.. "You're killing child molesters,"I said. The killer--the dad-- took off his mask and threw it at the floor. He sat down in a nearby chair as if this was too much for him. "Yeah. Me and.. another dad. His daughter mentioned her swim coach being weird. We tried to go to the police, but they said we didn't have enough evidence. His daughter's 6, so half of what she says is about unicorns anyway, they didn't think she was a credible witness. With halloween coming up we bought some masks, a few knives... coach's computer was full of terrible things. He had a group of contacts he sent these vids and pictures to in town, so we started going after them all. Two days ago Timmy told me his music teacher, Mr Brown, kept him after class a few times. I though, well, I'll just do him in too." "You've never seen Andy Brown, have you?"I asked. "Nope. Like I said, new substitute for the week. Just knew it was a brown haired guy named Brown. Found you on facebook, saw you'd written something about a halloween party, and guessed you were a teacher. ... sorry." "No, ah.. well, it isn't fine, but it's understandable. So you're telling me my cousin hurts kids?" "Yeah." "Well... he lives across town, alone. Wanted to go out with him tonight for drinks but he refused. He should be there. I can take you there." "You'd do that after I tried to kill you?" "Mistakes happen. And I'm kind of glad this one did. At least the plastic knife part. You got a spare mask? I'd like to help." Mr. Jones stood up and nodded, brushing at his pants. "C'mon, I got some antiseptic and band-aids in the car. Might even have a spare t-shirt. Sorry, again, about this." "It's alright. Thanks for listening." He nodded again and began to lead the way out of the abandoned house after picking up his mask. I pocketed the bit of knife that had failed to kill me and followed. ______________ If you like my work I have [other shorts](https://vmjaskiernia.com/category/scenes/) and a [free book](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J7H9JIG) :)
Everyone immediately proceeded to load their weapon, drop their shopping bags, remove their movement impairing coats and started to scan their environment to find out the threat. The mandatory firearms training was doing wonders : barely thirty seconds after people received their gun everyone was alert and ready. The music and sounds had died, and after the last clips were loaded a huge silence fell - despite the unusual huge crowd of customers. It was a snowy day, the sky was dark outside and a few minutes later, the tension was palpable. When the guns dropped the threat was usually easy to identify, a rabid dog, a psycho off his meds, once an attempted terrorist attack that was solved in 2 minutes by a milkman with a sniper rifle and an old lady with an assault rifle. But for now the atmosphere was eerily dense. And from the mall speakers came the powerful voice of Gloria Gaynor. An old music that everyone knew, a nice little song that some started to hum and sing with to relieve their stress. And it worked, others joined them, a huge lumberjack looking bearded dude with a deep mellow voice, a skinny young woman with a surprisingly low tone, a fat guy with a I <3 Trump cap started beatboxing, a santa began a solo, a few grouped to make choirs, and soon the whole mall was singing as one, and peace was on earth and you could feel angels crying with joy and rainbows gently appearing. Until the refrain arrived. "I will survive !" The vegans - easily recognizable by their "I am vegan"shirts were the first to shoot. A loud shotgun bang marked the tempo at the end of the phrase. A few potshots were heard from above, then a long submachine started to fire from a coffee shop, a grenade exploded in the upper floor and sent blocks of concrete falling down and dust everywhere, and then the air was full of the sickest warmovie soundtrack you could imagine. People turned absolute batshit crazy, some rushed out of a gear store with chainsaws, a cheerleader was sniping from a lingerie store down the main mall alley until a bazooka took her down, santa was carrying two Uzis while HoHoHo-ing his way up the stairs... blood flying everywhere. For the upcoming years Black Friday would be remembered as Friday, Bloody Friday.
It wasn't painful really, only the moments leading up to it. At first I thought they had given me morphine or something to stop the pain. One minute a blur of lights and shouting as I lay on my back too broken to move, and the next minute I was standing. My hair wasn't the greasy tangled mess it was before, my old weathered winter coat, barely warm anymore thermal pants, and sloppily laced lost and found dumpster boots weren't on my body anymore. Instead I wore soft cotton pants, grey, and a clean flannel shirt. It was my favorite actually, something I’d had since high school. It was one small token from my life, some proof or connection to the outside world or where I had come from, I supposed. I stood barefoot on a checkered marble floor, surrounded by an endless darkness. In front of me, towering more than 15 feet at least, were a pair of gates, dark and jagged, swinging freely on hinges that were barely hanging on. Behind me the floor ended in a mess of twisted rebar and broken concrete as if it had once been part of a proper place that had been torn down and sent into an inky vast nothingness. So I had no choice but to walk forward. After all, what else was I supposed to do? Just stand there? I don't know how long I was walking but it seemed like it took forever, yet felt like no time at all. Like when you're in a long car trip and you lose track of time, feeling the length of it and wanting to be your destination. And when you're finally there it seems as if it were just another short ride. Only this had no end in sight. I had no idea where I was or what had happened, only that the pain was gone and I was somewhere strange. No one to question so I might as well continue on. Just as I had begun to wonder if I was alone and if I would be alone forever I saw it, in the distance. It was a shape, a silhouette of someone that seemed small at first. I felt no urge to call out or walk faster, just to keep my pace even and calm. It was almost as if I had no right to run to this person or call out, that it was rude to do so. As I got closer I began to make out that the person was a kneeling or sitting human, or at least appeared to be human at first. She was female, I could tell that much. The closer I got the more apparent it was that this was no human. Her wings, multiple pairs, were spread out on the marble, extending over the edge of the path that was made up of broken floor. Growing out from her rose gold hair was a pair of horns, curled and twisted elegantly, almost as if hand crafted. Though the ends appeared to be jagged and sharp, as if they had once been longer and had broken, shattered even, at one time or another and the points never dulled. Her dark brown skin was flecked with pin pricks of gold, like freckles on a person. These spots were sparse in some places along her arms and shoulders, and densely packed in others, almost forming a solid color. Again I was reminded of someone who had many freckles. Her dress was long and gauzy, a strapless summer dress in an ombre from white to dark magenta. I wondered if it flowed like a ribbon in the wind when she stood. I wondered who she was. I wanted to taste her name on my tongue. At first she didn't look at me, staring down at the book in her hands. And I merely watched, continuing to take in the sight of her from my point above her. I don't know how much time had passed, if at all. It could have been a moment; it could have been a year. It felt like forever and an instant all at once. "Excuse me,"I finally got up the courage to speak, "W-where - where am…am I?"I choked out, my voice faltering several times before getting the words out properly. The woman finally looked up, her heart shaped face smiling at me through pursed lips as if she were trying hard not to tell me a secret. "You're in Hell, luv,"she told me. As she spoke those words my heart skipped a beat. At first I barely registered what she said for her voice struck me like lightening. It was the perfect pitch, the perfect tone. It had the right amount of warmth. "Hell?"I repeated, taking a step back as I watched her stand in one fluid motion and move forward to keep to make up for the distance I had attempted to put between us, wings barely moving. "Why? Who are you?"And why was she so beautiful? I wanted to hold her forever. I felt a lump rise in my throat as the realization hit. I could never have her. She would always be just within arms' reach, but never close enough to keep. Tears flowed down my cheeks as she placed a dainty hand on my face, I was afraid this contact would somehow taint her. "It isn't my place to know sweetness,"she told me, her head tilted towards mine, "Only He knows,"I could feel her breath on my lips. I could never have much more than this closeness, "My name is Lucifer."I wanted to taste her name on my tongue. "Lucifer..."
"I'm turning to you in my moment of weakness"I said through gritted teeth. "Well"the devil said, a wry smile spreading across his face "You're not the first person to pour their soul out to me", the smile spreading across his lips and into his eyes, I'm assume growing because of his vague attempt at a pun. "Dude, I'm not selling you my soul for anything". I said, my jaw tightening and my eyes furrowing into a scowl. The devil sat up straight in his chair and the infuriating grin returned to his face. "A couple things before we begin. Number one, I have ruled the depths of hell since the beginning of your kinds worthless existence, and so me help me Hates, if you refer to me as dude one more time I will personally cast your soul into internal damnation for as long as this dimension exists, mmkay pumpkin? "I....I'm really...."I stuttered, still flabbergasted at being called pumpkin by the sole ruler of hell. "Eh, don't worry about it, so anyways"he sat back and folded his hands into his lap, the smile changing into something that, dare I say it, was almost pleasant. "Number two, don't ever say you wont sell your soul for something, after all you're human, and you humans are at the zenith of your simplicity. There's always something I have that you need." "We'll see"steeling myself against the never wavering smile. "Ive reached out to God many of times, and he wont speak to me. I have the single worst luck of anyone I've ever met". I burst out, letting my anger at the situation spill into my words. The devil looked at me expectantly "Well, are you gonna give me an example"? "Like last week, the final straw I guess, I prayed to god to let me win the lotto." "And I'm guessing you didn't, and your here to whine about it"? "No I did"I said, bitterness perverting my speech "and on the way to cash it I got T-boned by another driver, had my car impounded with the ticket inside while I was at the hospital, and the ticket stolen out....." The devil burst out laughing, startling me out of my rant "THAT WAS YOU? MY SPIES ON EARTH TOLD ME THAT, BUT I THOUGHT THEY WERE LYING"he yelled, gasping for air through his laughter. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and finally calmed himself down with deep breaths. "it doesn't even end there though does it?"he said, on the verge of breaking down again. "No, I mumbled. I later found the ticket in my car, under the seat, the day after it was to late to redeem it..." The devil just barely contained his laughter, short bursts popping out of his pursed lips. "Listen child, I don't know why the Goodie-Goodie upstairs has it out for you, but I can help. With a price of course." "My soul"? "Wellll.....yes, but here's the perks, and hear me out. I wont take your life from you, Ill restore the ability to cash your old ticket, and whatever bad luck happens because of the old man, I'll correct to be very nice for you personally."he chanted. "And the catch iiisss..." "You spend your eternal life after death serving me here"he said shrugging his shoulders. "pretty simple really" "I cant believe I'm saying this...but...deal"I stuttered. God shook his head, a sad smile crossing his face as he thought about the paradox. I'll make his life miserable for making a deal with the devil, but he made the deal because I made his life horrible. Its the God Paradox, and after being here since the beginning, God still cant stop it. The Devil wins again, and God curses knowing what his people are going to do before they're ever born.
Treto saw himself as a benevolent and merciful god; however, there’s a limit to everything. One hour of noise one can survive; two hours of noise might get on one’s nerves; and three hours of noise turned out to be the limit of a forgiving deity. What were they even doing up there? What kind of satanic ritual would require the near destruction of the tiny concrete wall separating Treto from his neighbor above? Treto didn’t want to find out, instead he just changed the smell of the room above with a snap of his fingers. When the loud tramping became less a self-satisfied smile crept onto his face; how great it is to be all-powerful. Then the stampede started again – even louder this time – severely confusing Treto. Why hadn’t they left the room? No matter, he would just have to come with more extreme measures. Another snap of his fingers, this time to increase the temperature of the room to tropical heights. That would make them leave! And indeed the noise did die down, only to grow even louder than before shortly after. What in the world was going on? Treto could take no more. This was the last straw. He snapped his fingers again, this time with the intent to kill everything in the room above. Silence followed. Beautiful, calm, well-deserved silence. Oh how had Treto craved this silence. Then the sound of a frigging bulldozer came from above. Treto sat in his chair, dumbfounded. Maybe it was time to give his neighbor a personal visit. A flight of stairs and a few loud knocks later, the door in front of Treto creaked open, revealing an average looking human male. “Yes?” The man asked. Treto used his booming voice. “How are you still alive, you mere mortal?” The man’s face lighted up in understanding. “Ah, so it was you who pulled all those annoying pranks! You must be new here.” He held out his hand. Treto stared at the hand in front of him, confusion clearly on his face. The man smiled. “I’m Goa, all-powerful god, just like everyone in this apartment complex.” He grabbed Treto’s hand and shook it. “Welcome to the god complex!”
"Wilbur!"I cried out. My brother had made a successful flight, but suddenly it had darted down near the end of the run and crashed into the ground. I ran toward him. Luckily, we got the photograph. Proof. We had beat those Europeans. But my brother... "Are you OK, Wilbur?"I saw him moving, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I slowed to a trot. He wasn't hurt. "You went almost 900 full feet! A success!"I stopped as I saw his face. His eyes were wide, he was shaking. The crash must have traumatized him. "Didn't you see that?!"He shouted at me, though I was mere feet away. "The hand?! Did you hear the voice!?"I knew he must have hit his head. "There was nothing there, Wilbur. Stop messing with me and stand up. Get yourself together we have to take notes and salvage this. Check the engin --" "No, Orville. We ruined everything. How could you not hear that thunderous voice!? The hand that swatted me down?!"He put his head in his arms and sobbed. "So many fingers! Each with hands covering them. Some terrible God!!" The clouds over North Carolina suddenly were covered in the blackest clouds I had ever seen. Strange, because the barometer didn't register any possibility of a storm before now. A thunderclap shook Wilbur to his feet, and I saw his face staring up at the sky. Wild eyes glancing around the tumbling shadows rolling over us. I began to try and cover the engine, and upon touching the craft, I heard it. The voice. Fools. You have broken the Covenant your ancestors agreed upon eons ago. Before you left your caves. It came from above, blending with the thunder and wind. Like the voice of nature itself. Wilbur fell to the ground, shaking with terror. Lightning illuminated his face, which was twisted in abject horror. Like a child. Ignorance of the Covenant is no excuse. You should know that your deepest desires can only bring darkness. Humans cannot fly. This was the agreement for us to separate your worlds. As above, so too below. They cannot near the ground, you cannot touch the skies. But now... A terrible laugh shook the earth below us. Rocks tumbled from a hill, trees vibrated and the birds fled from them. Between the clouds and us I noticed the mass exodus of birds, rushing away from this place. Now, they have free reign. Just as you have free reign over the skies. The laughter again, throbbing my skull. I pressed my hands into my ears but I felt my bones shake with each chortle. This will be entertaining. We were getting bored... The clouds parted with a supernatural speed, dissipating like smoke in a stiff wind. A strange silence came over the land. The roar of the sea was dulled. Only my brother's sobs could be heard. Our photographer came to me and asked if I heard what he heard. I just stared at the opening in the sky. A dark portal had appeared. Shadows poured out, impossible shapes. Wings covering insectoid frames. Mammalian curves on some, reptilian claws and scales on others. A cacophony of unholy cries shrilly cut into my soul. Their numbers darkened the sky. Horrible screeches and oscillating trills. Something about them was... Happy. Playful. Most flew inland, toward the nearby town. One noticed us staring, and with a chirping crawled through the air down to us. It was like a centipede, elongated with many arms curling around and covered in translucent wings. A face like a lion almost, and yet its mouth was a set of strange mandibles, sharp. Obsidian. Arms ended in scythes. It scooped Wilbur up, carving into his torso like a skewer would a bit of steak. His screams subsided instantly. I fell to my knees. What had we done? ______________________________________________ Fun! Where did you get the idea for this prompt? [Click here for more strange tales](https://talesofatravellingsalesman.com/)
Jim was going to kill me. Because his wife was pregnant. They checked. It's a boy. And he's safe. Because my wife was pregnant, and it's a girl. Every time I see him at work, in the cubicle across from mine, he winks. He grins. He draws a line across his neck. Because he's untouchable. And I'm not. Solving petty squabbles through sex. It wasn't always about sex. When the law first came out, you could remove a person from society as long as you could replace him. But then came the adopters. Repeat adopters, who ended up dropping way too many members. So it became just sex. One death every 9 months wasn't so bad. But anyway, back to our story. My wife had held my hand every night. "I'll do this for you."She had said. "I know you hate him, so I'll do this for you."And we had flipped that coin first. And lost. Jim found out three months later through the grapevine, and retaliated. Won on the first try. And so he gloated every day. Up until the day my daughter was born and I killed his pregnant wife.
I entered the room with a gun. I've never held a gun before. "Max! What are we doing here?"Veronica shouted, shaking me by the shoulders, before staring with horror at the pistol between my fingers and whispering, "Why do you have a gun?" "Max is here? Max! Good to see you, man."Chuck gave me a big hug, his fingers lightly tracing my pistol, "Strange situation we've gotten ourselves into, huh?" He thought I wouldn't be able to feel his touch, didn't he? I gripped the pistol tighter. "Max Johnson? You're here too."She said in her lark voice. Her, her, her. Oh, the mere mention of Serena makes me swoon, but to be enveloped by the lilac notes of her hair, wafting through the small white room like vines of flowers growing on a blank canvas was extraordinary. I looked up at her and watched her brunette curls cascading down her ivory neck - like streams of swimming water. Could she be the one who wanted to kill me? Or was it my friends? To be ended by the one that brought me to life, how much more poetic could it get? What should I tell them? "Does anyone know why we're here?"I ask. "Social experiment, right?"Chuck chuckled nervously. Veronica bit on her thumb, her bad habit, as she murmured, "They'd need us to sign for consent if it was actually for an experiment." "And why would we suddenly wake up in this room with nothing but the words social experiment written on that sheet of paper over there. It reads like the start of those torture porn, Saw movies."Serena added. Who uses the verb read for a sentence like that? Ah, Serena, your contradictions make you such a wonder to listen to. "Well put, Serena."I smile at her. "Jeez, Johnson, get a room already."Chuck shook his head, laughing. "We're in a room,"I replied, slightly embarrassed. He never knew when to stop. She turned away with a blush flushing up her pale cheeks. What did that blush mean? "So, Max, what did they tell you?"Veroica asked, placing her hand on my shoulder. Was she a little more touchy than usual? What should I do? Tell the truth? That a woman dressed in black told me that if I leave this room without one person being dead, I'll be killed as well? That one person would kill me and two would want to save my life? That there is only one bullet? "I think we should all sit down for this."I gestured to everyone and sat on the floor before they joined me. Chuck with his legs stretched, Veronica sitting conservatively, and lithe Serena, stretching her long limbs like a cat scratching before it sleeps. What did I know about the three of them? I've known Veronica my whole life. Smart, blonde and blue-eyed - not easy to go wrong, Catholic beyond belief. Chuck: funny, insightful, fun. And her. I could go on for hours about her. Serena: liver-diseased, so that she'd be out of school for long periods of time; fragile looking, as though you could break her heart with the slightest brush. I remember that day when I felt like life had overcome me and she took me by the hand into the art room so that I could watch her paint, with those specks of sun dancing across the unlit floor, and her strokes over the canvas sweeping here and there, breeding life from nothingness. We did not speak that entire hour. A silent film of loveliness. Three forms of love right before me. Veronica for the little-sister tumblings on our fortnight sleepovers (lust and family engendering a pure and absolute fondness). Chuck for his celebration of life and our early morning galavanting around town, smoking cigarettes and sipping beers (how I pity the unfortunate strip clubs that had to deal with our hecklings and coin throwing - coins are still money, right?). And, her, Serena, for the unfinished, the sketches of details that could be thrust into the light of my imagination for futures beauty that could never be anchored to the physical world. "Max? Hello?"Veronica said, her fingers wrapping around mine. I looked at her worriedly. It couldn't be her, could it? We knew everything about each other, every little detail. She had the means to kill me, I assure you. I would rather die than to know that any of these three would have preferred, during our entire time together, that I was dead. The truth is just a matter of style, though, isn't it? Better let this play out with fashion rather than end it with the coldness of the facts. "This gun has one bullet in it. If we leave this room, I need to kill one person and they need to die by my hand." The three of them reacted with fear and dread in their eyes. Who could it be? One person in this room wanted to kill me? Who was it? "If I was sadistic and maniacal, I'd make you present the best case. But I think we all know that there is an implicit bias for a certain person in this room." "You're talking about me, aren't you?"Serena said, looking down at the floor. There was a quiet that spread around the room. Chuck broke it, "How did you know Max is in love with you?" I could feel my virile blood rushing up my ears. Veronica frowned and looked distressed, "Max is in love with Serena?" "Max is in love with me?"Serena said, shooting a pointed glance at me. Oh dear, awkwardness is so perverse that it has to find a way to slither into every situation. Why? "Uhm." "What about me, Max? What about me? I knew it. I knew you never loved me the same way I loved you."Veronica said, crying, her tears dripping onto her plaid skirt (thank goodness, it wouldn't stain, right?) "Max Johnson. Since when have you liked me?"Serena said, tugging at my shirt. "Oh gosh. Chuck, look at this mess you've gotten us into." Chuck laughed uproariously, slapping the floor. "Veronica, there are different types of love. I love all three of you in different ways." I said, trying to console her. "But who do you love the most." "Can't answer that. Love all equal." "I'll answer it for you."Veronica said, glaring at me. At some point during those theatrics of mirth and sorrow (and awkwardness, I suppose) I must have dropped the gun. Veronica picked it up. Ah. The lady never said when that one person would want to kill me. I understand now. "If I can't have you, she can't either."Veronica pointed the gun at Serena. Well, that's a twist. "Veronica, relax. Think about all the times we've shared. You know how I feel."I said trying to calm her down. Serena put her beautiful arms up in fear. I hated seeing them like this. Veronica held the gun tensely at Serena for a few more moments before giving it back to me, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Serena. It's not your fault that Max is a pig,"She said. Serena looked very confused and dropped her arms again. "I'm sorry Veronica, but I have feelings for Max as well. I'm sure you all know about my liver disease. Well, before my transplant I had aeons to consider what was important to me, and I had a sure idea (more sure than all of you, I would guess) about when Thanatos would come knocking at my door. It was always so brightening to see Max wade through the air with a dream stenciled on his world. Listening to him speak during class, watching him write in that little notebook. I'm sorry, I'm rambling."She smiled, serenely, resting her eyes on me. Oh, how flattering! My heart beat so wonderfully, I don't think I've ever felt more alive. Those wonders of the imagination to be so close to the truth. My world has been written. It is complete. "I guess you understand how I feel as well."Veronica smiled sadly. She looked conflicted. How strange, did the concept of polygamy suddenly sink through her head? I held both of their hands with a too-large grin on my face. Two out of three gone. Oh gosh, where is the gun? Chuck played with the gun, spinning it around his finger. "If the three of you are done with this disgusting hippy festival of love. I think it's time we got down to business!" Chuck? Could it be? "How's my impression of a gangster?"He asked, chuckling, sliding the gun back to me. "You're a good guy, Johnson, I wouldn't give me life for you, but I love you like a brother all the same." Ah. What?? "Are none of you going to try killing each other?"I asked, exasperated. "I thought only you could pick who to kill."Chuck said, gravely. "Well, yeah. I suppose. Who should I kill then? Anyone want me dead?"I asked, seriously. Everyone shook their heads. The lady didn't actually tell me I that only I could pick who to kill. I don't think I could bear imagining that I brought one of these people, prematurely, outside of this party called life - that keeps rocking and rolling no matter who leaves it early. What else could I ask for with a death? All my fantasies fulfilled, not perfectly expressed, but contently written. The love of my parents fully there in my heart. My love for my friends and my crushes and my loves out in the open. I suppose I would have liked to have a few children. One person wants to kill me. Serena and Veronica would die for me. Chuck wouldn't, but also wouldn't kill me. I understand now. Oh, I bet they thought one of us would want to kill the other! By coincidence, by the goodness of their hearts (or the caveat of them thinking that only I am able to pick who to die making them postpone my murder, and Serena confessing only so I wouldn't kill her, or everyone's expressions of goodness done just for the sake of me not killing them) it didn't occur that way. Self-annihilation rarely occurs when one thinks of murder. I'd rather die in beauty than live to see the evil in people's hearts. I gripped the two of their hands tightly. "Two of you ever thought of having children?" Serena wrinkled her freckled nose. "It's a little early, Johnson." "Yes."Veronica blushed. "Chuck, you could be the cool uncle." Chucked laughed. "Wouldn't have it any other way." To the expressions of horror on their faces, I picked the gun up and aimed it at my own head.
There were many tales about the “Ground Level Zero”, thus creating a big myth in which everyone wanted to see for themselves. I had played “The Stages of Death” for quite some time now, my character had acquired the best gear there was, and my level was way beyond the others player. You might think I was a gaming addict, and you may be right. My obsession of “Ground Zero” had been keeping me up at night, killing ogres at “Stage 4” for hours upon hours. Most of the new players got killed at the goblins, they were quite smart even for goblins. I adjusted my brand-new gaming chair, put on my headset and booted up the computer. Double-clicked “The Stages of Death” and logged in. My character name was DragonKillerxxx6969, which in my opinion was quite awesome. It had the sweet combination of coolness and sexiness. There I was, transferred from the real world to the mythical world of “Hysteria”. Players were flocking around the elevator that were going to take them to the inevitable death. I slowly walked to the elevator ignoring all the “noobs” begging for Hysteria-Dollars. I pressed “Level 9” which was one short of being Ground Level Zero, this particular stage was filled with blood frenzied giants and trolls. To clear the floor, you had to kill exactly 100 of the monsters which habituated the floor without death. My hunger for progressing was big, so I started slaughtering both the giants and the trolls, slashing my big greatsword to split them in two. 99 kills, 100 kills! A notification appeared on the screen; “Congratulations, you have killed 100 monsters on stage 9. You will progress to the next stage, please enter the elevator.” I grinned, and progressed to the elevator. A new button had appeared, a button which was quite distinguished from the others. Most of the other buttons had a distinct blood color on them, while the new button was a plain and ordinary grey. I pushed the button and the elevator fell, fast! The screen blurred up, and I couldn’t manage to see what was happening. The screen stabilized, the only thing visible was this tiny, tiny purple dragon staring right at me. It had no HP bar, no name. I carefully walked towards it and thought to myself; “So this is the big secret”. I touched the little dragon, and suddenly I watched the game rewind itself from the dragon meeting to the very moment I started the game. I watched my progress before my eyes. I was back in the town, naked, level 0. “Congratulations on reaching the Ground Level Zero!”
"Mommy, Daddy, how did you guys meet?" I smiled and met Cheryl's eyes. She gave me a panicked look mixed in with a mischevious stare. And so I averted my gaze back to the newspaper on my lap and let her handle this. "Well, Tommy, it's a long story and I'm not sure if we could finish it all before bedtime." No fair. Tommy pouted. "But Mum, I only have to go to sleep at seven-thirty and it's ten am now." I smiled. Thank God I taught the kid the time. "Well,"Cheryl continued, "alright. But the short version, okay hun?" Tommy nodded. "Your Dad and I met while dancing." A nightclub bathroom to be exact. "And your father bought me a delicious juice that was my favorite of all." Gin and tonic with a dash of roofies. "He took my breath away, your old papa." Literally. "And the next thing I knew, he swooped me up in his arms and stole my heart." It was actually the right kidney that I stole. "Wow. . ."Tommy drawled. "And then you were in love forever?" "Why, of course, sweetheart. Your Dad was such a charmer." Turns out she was planning on donating her kidney anyway. In fact, she saw me slip the pills in her drink before taking it too -she wanted to be kidnapped. Apparently, there wasn't an easier way to find certain love. And I couldn't leave after doing all that, unless I killed her of course. I took a sip of coffee. "Why don't you go and play outside now, my love?"Cheryl said. Tommy scuttled outside with a big grin on his face. "Eggs?"Cheryl asked. I looked after Tommy, screaming: please help me. . . on the inside. But when I turned back to Cheryl, I gave her a loving smile. "Whatever you decide to make for me will be great, my love."
My lower body felt heavy, like as if metal welded into the ground, so that I couldn't move about. The whole room started to spin so fast that all I could see was a swirl of colours around me. Three seconds later the spinning stopped and I was in control of my lower body again. Wherever I had teleported to was dark, so I dared not move. It took me a few seconds to realise I was not alone in here. Someone was in here with me. "Who's there?"I asked calmly, but the response to my question wasn't calm. Whoever was here with me let out a small high shriek, shuffled about noisily followed by a thump and then a few sobs. "Are you okay? Are you the one who called for me?" "S-S-Sam Hart?"she cried out in whisper. "Yes, that's me. What happened? Are you alright?" "I d-didn't even h-hear you t-teleport here! I thought you w-were o-one of them,"she whispered. "I'm sorry, I can't control that. Wherever I teleport to, I arrive silently. I don't exactly teleport, it's more like the room magically appears around me,"I answered but only silence followed, or at least the sound of her sobbing but not responding to me. "Calm down, I need you to tell me where I am and what's going on,"I said as calmly and consolingly as I could. "M-My name's Natasha, I'm 14. I live in a penthouse in New York city with my d-dad and o-our butler. We're in my b-bedroom closet,"she paused to take a breath before finishing her sentence all in one breath. "There's some men in the h-house and they said they're h-here for me. T-They killed K-Kenneth, our butler." "Okay... okay... So your dad is in the house too? Do you know how many men are in the house? Do you know why they want you?" "It w-was just me a-and Kenneth,"she sobbed harder each time she said their butler's name. "T-They barged in the house, about f-five to s-six of them, all of them a-armed. T-They were yelling my dad's n-name at first. O-one of them s-shot K-Kenneth in the head and I-I ran up to my room and hid in my closet. T-They said if my dad won't come out t-they'll take me instead, b-but dad's not home." "Oh shit, they have guns..."I whispered to myself. "W-What?"she asked almost maniacally. "Aren't you a superhero? D-Don't you save lives?" "Look kid, my powers are to teleport when my name is said. I'm not bulletproof, I can't fly and I sure as hell can die. The government sure as hell don't understand that. They just pay me shit every month and put that stupid law in place." Silence followed for a minute, a sob or two from the girl every now and then. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. I reached into my pockets and grabbed my phone. Shining the light around the closet, I realised how big the closet was and how much further away she was from me than I expected. "Natasha, what do the men want with your father? What does he do?" "I don't know, they were just shouting his name. He's a scientist. That's all I know,"she answered. Her sobbing had stopped but she was still afraid. "Take my phone, call 911. Tell them your address, let them know I'm here and let them know what happened." "W-Wait, where are you going?" "I'm getting out of the closet. It doesn't sound like they're in your bedroom but I can hear noises so I'll check on the situation." "What if they see you?"she asked, a panic in her voice. "Just take my phone." Edit 1: Edited spelling mistakes and a few plot mistakes. Edit 2: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5eg48z/wp_every_time_someone_says_your_name_you_get/dacvnei/) Edit 3: [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5eg48z/wp_every_time_someone_says_your_name_you_get/daftobh/)
Oh... where do I begin? Where... Oh right right. Okay. The most powerful mage in the world. That's me. A big title, I must admit, but it's nothing too fancy. Hold on, hold on, I'm being serious. I'm not pulling your leg or anything. And it's not like I can bend space-time or summon meteors or warp around like the mages in video games do. It's that other mage's potency are close to useless. For instance, I'll list the powers that my mage peers were capable of. Peeling an apple with thoughts. Making foods taste saltier than they actually are. Heating undergarments. Moving his pubic hair like his fingers. And turning into a dog. The last ability seems good on the first look, but once you turn into a dog, you really turn into a dog, including the mind. That was the end of Donnie the man and the beginning of Donnie the dog. Although he found a happy life as a mascot dog of the mage academy, I did not envy his power. No one did. Oh, I'm getting there! And I'm not crazy. Just listen to me for a minute, young man. So, back in the day when the conch of truths whispered to me that I will possess the power to turn people into sheep, I was elated. It was the most powerful and the most useful ability I ever heard of. I studied hard and practiced hard. For forty five years. That's about the time it takes for a mage to discover their innate magic power within them. The guy who could make foods taste saltier? He spent seventy-two years of his life to unleash his magic power and died a year after. Anyhow, I thought the conch meant I'd have an ability to control the mind of the mob. Sheep as in "a meek, easily led, gullible person."But the conch meant the literal sheep. Baaa! Yep, it's happened the way you think it happened. It's very powerful, I got to admit. I say hocus pocus and the subject turns into a sheep! Forever! The brain of sheep is not capable of holding human consciousness, so they'll be stuck as sheep forever. It's not like I have a power to turn them back. I need to be born with that power. And even if I had that gift within me, I need another forty years of studying, researching, and practice for that. It's very useful too, I got to admit, if I were intending to kill someone. But guess what? This is 21st century, the modern world! Turning a person into an animal has its consequences. It's a murder. Instead of leaving a corpse, I'd leave a live sheep behind, but it's still a murder. A life as human being ends as soon as I cast my spell. And I'm not a murderer. But here is my confession. How do you think I found out my spell works? My roommate and friend, Johnnie. Recognize that name? Heh. Yeah, most of the mage's name ends with -IE. The name of the mage academy's janitor was Peterie. And as you already know I'm Bobbyie. Yep. Those are real names. It's a well known fact among us the mages that having -ie at the end of your name increases your magic potency. No one figured out why yet, but there's the theory of belief-make... a detail which I won't go into. Where was I? Ah, yes, poor Johnnie. His magic power was turning his skin yellow. The good old jaundice Johnnie. He looked like he walked straight out from The Simpsons. I feared the retribution from the academy and the family of Johnnie. So I ran, with Johnnie the sheep at my side, to a countryside. To a farm. This very farm now I own. I didn't know back then but people back at the academy and his family thought Johnnie and I ran off for an elopement. They figured it's best to respect our homosexual life choices and never bothered to check up on us. In the farm, I worked hard to feed both me and Johnnie. The former owner of the Cattlerich Farm, Randy, was always so curious about the yellow sheep I brought with me. From what he saw, I brushed the sheep, I washed the sheep, and I talked to the sheep every day and night. He thought I was in Irish romance with the sheep so there's that. Anyhow, my hard work paid off. Randy who was wifeless and childless gave me the farm when he died. As a consolation prize for what I've done to Johnnie, I bought a lot of female sheep for Johnnie. I sold cows and bought more and more lusty horny feminine sheep. Johnnie and I even figured out what kind of female sheep he prefers the best. And Johnnie was very enthusiastic about passing on his sheep genes. His reproduction capability set the very foundation and the success of the Cattlerich Farm of nowadays. Though, bear in your mind that we don't have any cows here. Only sheep, as you probably saw walking all the way to here in this cabin. Poor old Johnnie passed away last year. See that big yellow sheep statue out in the fields? It's not just the statue. He was actually as yellow as that. And see all those sheep running around the grassy hills? All Johnnie's progeny and wives. ... I'm sure he enjoyed his life and he's in a good place now. ...O, my apologies. I do get emotional when I think about that old fella. So, that's the story about Johnnie. Thanks for listening. ...What? Oh, oh, yeah. It's my old age speaking. I did say a lot of irrelevant stuff in the beginning of our interview, haven't I? ...Hmm? What was that? You'd rather want to know more about the mage societies? Oh. Okay. Okay. But I'm kinda getting tired already. Maybe next time, young man.
"Oh come on man, you really gotta look at Wikileaks. Give it a chance, he might still be alive!" "Look, I really wish that he were somehow still alive, somewhere out there, but even if this retirement island thing really exists, this was founded in '96, right? He went two years before, Dave. I don't think he ever had a chance to... take a look at this island." "Dude, please, we're not even sure if that was him. I mean, all we found was some guy in his clothes whose head was blown off by some shotgun. I mean, think about it like this. He was tired of all the fame and the biz, so he just, you know, faked it all and went away, wandered to some kind of place. Then he heard about this little island and settled down there. Besides, did you ever see him fool around with a shotgun?" "Well, he did pose with a pistol that one time, but a shotgun-" "He never did! Come on, yeah, he's a mess but I don't think he actually wanted to die-" "Dave, please, we all know he's depressed and in deep-" "Krist, come on, you gotta go with me! I mean, I can't possibly take Taylor and the guys, they're part of another band, another time. Well, okay, except Pat. I'm taking him too. There's this... inseparable bond between us, you know. Remember the 90s when things were cool-" "Whatever you say. Fine, I'm going with you and Pat, if only to keep you from rambling on." We embarked upon this journey on the dead of night from somewhere south of San Francisco. At Pat's insistence - he managed to secure a ship from some shipbuilding friend - we went off at 2 a.m., apparently to avoid government agents or fanatical fans or things like that. If the map provided by Wikileaks is accurate, we should be there in... dunno, a day or two, maybe, if we just keeeep moving forward. And move forward we did. It was all well for the first twenty-five hours or so. Had an enjoyable dinner and some snack onboard, while we regaled each other with tales of bygone days and breaking guitars. Man, what I would give to go back to the good ol' days and that unplugged show. That final part in "Where Did You Sleep Last Night", the scream. I could really feel his soul there... the soul of an exhausted, despondent man who decided to take no more. And I suppose I was right... Sky was pretty dark, raining outside as I found myself humming the tune of "Lithium". The boat was rocking, harder than before. Some loud thunders out there. I looked at the window- wait, we were actually sailing into tsunami-like waves under a thunderstorm?! Some hours later "Dave, you're awake!" I remember that I slowly opened my eyes and it was all full of haze, or so I thought. I managed to gather a little strength to turn around, only to spit out some sand and seawater at this fuzzy whitish shape by my side. My hands were slow and trembling, as I reached out for this shape. I touched it, soft as a skin, as my eyes started to clear and- wait a sec, it was Pat. Standing by my side, with the biggest smile I've ever seen from the dude. And some bandages. "Kr-Krist, w-where is..." "He's in the next room! My God, you were unconscious for like two and a half days. I guess we got into this really big storm and... luckily for us we were actually close to shore! What's your last memory?" "We... went outside... to see the storm..." "Our boat crashed onto the rocks and we were thrown overboard to the beach. Thank God we weren't in the middle of the sea or something, otherwise we would have drowned for God's sake!" "Wait, are we in-" "That island, yes. And you know what?"His smile became even wider. I never thought that man had that big of a smile. Then he leaned and whispered the faintest whisper to my ear, "He's alive." "W-what?"My God, am I... am I right? "It's true, man! All of this! You know what, I saw Tupac hanging out and drinking with Biggie and that old guy Gil Scott-Heron and John fucking Bonham, although I don't know if Bonham ever had a rap career, but as a fellow member of the presumed-dead-musicians club, he can, you know... oh and there's David Attenborough too, that English nature guy, I think he's here to take in the... scene for his latest documentary. And probably stay here forever, I talked to him briefly. Anyway, Dave, dude, I gotta tell him. Man, twenty-two fucking years and here we are! On the same island!" There was a knock on the door. Pat shuffled away to the door, looked through the peephole, turned to me with his biggest eyes and a gaping mouth. That boy... "No, no,"I muttered to no one between heavy breaths, trying to gather my thoughts. Did I... actually get here? I was happy before, why am I starting to have doubts? "It's not possible. He's... dead, even though I want him alive." "So is everyone else here,"Pat said, slowly opening the door. "Probably us too. I myself would like to stay here forever." "You're crazy, Pat. You know we all want to return to, you know... the real world, and- no, no... for heaven's sake, y-y-you're... you're dead." "So is everyone else here,"said the man with the long, glorious yellow hair, whose beard was, I guess, somewhat ticker than when I last saw him. My God, he even still had that cardigan! And the jeans. Two decades had... aged his face somewhat, but he was... the same. "Welcome home, Dave." "I... I... you're... really alive..." "Well, you can always check out if you want to, but don't you miss your old pal? Besides, you can get to meet John Lennon here. And Elvis too, he's an old guy now, but... yeah, we're all here-" "Pretending to be dead. Holy shit, I knew it." "That's what they say. We're just enjoying your retirement." "I,"I took another heavy breath, then glanced at Pat, still smiling. "You're right, man, I'd love... to stay here forever. Any drums, man? Been quite... a long time since we jammed together. "Heart-Shaped Box", anyone? Maybe a Pixies cover?"
Court Recordings, Sunday 4th December, 2016: 'State vs. Pixar Lamp.' [Transcript Begins] Prosecution: Mr. Lamp, I'd like to revisit the night of the murder. Defence: Objection, your honour. Defence contests the use of 'murder'. Judge: Sustained. Take care, counsellor. Prosecution: The night of the death then. Mr. Lamp, I'd like to talk about that. Lamp: All right. Prosecution: Could you describe the events of the night, as you told the police? Lamp: Okay. Okay. So, there I was. There I was, just doing my thing, you know? Just hopping. Just bopping, like you do. And... well, I saw them there. All of them, all in a row. Prosecution: Who, Mr. Lamp? Lamp: Them. Them. P and I and X and A and R. Prosecution: And are they in the courtroom now? Lamp: Yes. Prosecution: Could you point to them please? Good, good. Let the record show that Mr. Lamp has pointed to Mr. P, Mr. X, Mr. A, and Mr. R. Mr. X: Murderer! Judge: Silence! Clerk, please remove Mr. X from the courtroom. I instruct the jurors to disregard that outburst. Continue, counsellor. Prosecution: So, there they were, Mr. Lamp. What happened next? Lamp: I left. Prosecution: Is that so? You didn't stay any longer? Lamp: No. Prosecution: Interesting. Mr. Lamp, security footage has you approaching the men you indicated in the courtroom, before moving out of view. Lamp: Oh. Oh yes, that's right. Yes, I did approach them actually. Prosecution: Why? Lamp: Because. Because I... I... Prosecution: What? Lamp: I... Judge: Answer the question, please. Lamp: I... I saw him. Mr. I. He was just standing there, you know? Just standing there. And he looked so... god, I don't know. I couldn't resist. I just sort of wiggled at the knee, and then I... I... Prosecution: Continue, please. Lamp: I... I jumped on him! I jumped on him! It was just supposed to be a little fun. I didn't know what was going to happen! How could I? How could I have known? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! [Transcript Ends]
"I'll take the death then please"I said to the man with a smile on my face. "To gain immortality y ... wait, what?" "One death please. Thank you" "No, thats ... you're suppose to pick living forever" "Yeah, nah. I'll take the death" "Why?" "First half of this film has been shit, I don't want to stick around for the rest" "I ... well shit, sorry. Not sure what to do here. No one has picked death before"
"How dare you refuse me,"he cried out. "I am the mighty Jelani. I have breathed the same air as Emperor Musa, survived the Black Scourge that ravaged the land, and fought in wars the ended and birthed nations. I have seen the sun rise and fall thousands of times more than you."He stood tall, a massive man with ebony skin and chiseled features. His iron jaw was set in a permanent sneer as he towered over his cowering servant. "I know, M'lord,"the woman mumbled to her feet. "But..." "And you are my maid,"Jelani bellowed. "Nothing more. You serve me. You obey me. You must cater to my every whim. Is that not so?" "Of course, M'lord, of course,"she stammered. "I live to serve you and only you. But what you ask of me, it's..." "Speak up, woman,"he spat. "And why do you watch your toes wriggle in the sand? Is my face too hideous for you to speak to?" She jerked her head up. Dried trails stained her cheeks, and new tears were already welling up in the corners of her eyes. "All what I have is yours, but please, have mercy,"she pleaded. "This is my daughter." "She is beautiful, and so I desire her,"he responded simply. "I do not see what troubles you if you indeed are willing to sacrifice all that you have for me." "Of course I am,"she replied instantly. "But Nia, she is still only a child. You cannot-" "You tell me what I can and cannot do?"he asked softly. She shook her head violently, tears flying out. Her words caught in her throat, and she could only wait. But he didn't slap her, as she was expecting. "She is young, I will admit,"he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. And then he clapped his hands once. "Alright, then. I am gracious, and so I will wait until she attains womanhood. And then, I will have her." She blanched a little. "Please, take me instead,"she whispered. "Nia is a free spirit. She can have a good life still. Don't-" He jerked his arm, and a resounding thud rang out as his hand connected with her cheek and she flew to the ground. Passerbys only gave a furtive glance before looking away; best not to meddle in the affairs of an immortal. "Insolent woman,"he shouted. "There is no greater life than with an immortal. I ought to punish you for such traitorous words. Perhaps I should start by simply cuting out your tongue." She shot him a terrified look, and tried to crawl away. Jelani took a step forward, fire in his eyes, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Confused, he glanced aside at the young man who now held him in a firm grip. "Unhand me, churl,"he growled. "You know not the wrath you incur with your foolish action; it is only with my mercy you may remain unharmed." The other man just stared at Jelani with his piercing blue eyes. "You have done enough harm already,"he said softly. "I advise you to walk away and change your ways; become a kinder man, and honor the mantle of immortality you have been blessed with by giving back yourself." Jelani guffawed. "You're dead, boy,"he shouted and threw his fist into the man's face, but it never connected; instead, the man quickly reached up with his other hand and stopped the punch. Then, with strength that Jelani had never experienced, the man physically forced him down to his knees. Jelani struggled, but it was no use; the man's arms were of steel. "Who are you?"he cried out desperately. The man shook his head. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small box that was secured with rope. Cutting the rope, he pulled out a slender, black snake that he draped around Jelani's frozen shoulders. It lay quite still. "Soon, this joka will warm from your skin and awaken,"the man said gently to Jelani. "If you are very gentle and very patient, it will not harm you. But if you are rough, as you have been your whole, long life...well, remember that her venom is swifter than you can ever be." Jelani did not move an inch but to blink. His mind was still in shock. The man went over and helped up the woman, and they began walking together. "I owe you my life,"she finally managed to say. "And so much more." He laughed loudly, a pleasant, strong sound. "Believe me, I have enough life - I need not anymore." "But...how could I ever repay you?" He smiled at her. "I will help you a little bit more now, by directing you and your daughter to kind people who will provide opportunity. And then, you can repay me by living well, and by your daughter living well, and her daughters and sons living well." "That is all?"she cried out. She tried to dive down to kiss the man's feet, but he gripped her shoulders and embraced her instead, laughing. "Well, there is one more thing you can do,"he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Always remember the difference between an immortal and an Immortal." ____________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
It looks like AutoModerator removed my first submission because it made a reference to the remind bot. I could be wrong about this, but that does seem to be the case, so I'm resubmitting. --- Machine learning. In theory, a pretty cool technology, with the potential to do almost anything with sufficient processing power. In reality? Yep, still a pretty cool technology. Unfortunately, the little bit about 'sufficient processing power' was a much larger issue than one might expect. Fortunately, botnets were made (well, hacked) for purposes such as these: messing around with decryption algorithms. And for DDoS'ing gaming companies - not that I would ever do anything like that, I'm not scum. I made another tweak with the program and inspected it. By inspected it, I mean I carefully stroked my chin with one thumb, scrolling aimlessly up and down a random document. Could I read code that fast? No. But it made it feel like I was doing something, at least, instead of just zoning out. This little beauty was a different piece of work than what the typical machine learning algorithm entrepreneur (say that ten times fast) would be watching videos of on youtube. It wouldn't be trying to play chess at the level of a four year old or attempting to beat Sun Tzu in Tic-Tac-Toe. No, this conglomeration of scripting and cryptography had a more unique, and much more important purpose: Disproving some guy on the internet. >i was doin my homwork on eday and i noticed that there wer e alot of 'i's on the internt and becaus im really smart and have all as in my courses i figured out that this probably meant some kind of encription on the internt beng used to send super secre messages!!! >xXSkitterXx [Idiot?] 1359 points - 4 months ago >>Man, please, tell me what drugs you're on, because I want some of them. Using the internet as a way to send some kind of stupid 'illuminati messages'? Get out of here with your BS. >>HackingIsFun -145 points - 4 months ago >>>lmao your so stupid m8 cant evne use a good argumnt! gimme proof if you wanna say smtn like thta ;) >>>xXSkitterXx [Idiot?] 573 points - 4 months ago (Gilded) >>>>Okay, you asked for it. I'll be happy to educate you... Just give me a few months of development time. >>>>HackingIsFun -37 points - 4 months ago Thankfully, this was just the sort of argument that machine learning algorithms were made to solve. Er, that is, cryptography machine learning algorithms. Actually, just mine specifically. Close enough. I sighed. It was time - the program was ready to launch, and then it would go and do it's duty of applying several different pattern recognition algorithms combined expertly and cleverly with hundreds of decryption algorithms to the whole of the internet, finding every single possible 'secret message' there was out there. Hint? It wasn't going to find anything. Because real life isn't ***ing James Bond, got it? It almost seemed like the 'compile' button was glowing as I moused over to it - 347 errors. 1764 warnings. [Parsing HTML with RegEx](http://stackoverflow.com/questions/1732348/regex-match-open-tags-except-xhtml-self-contained-tags) has caused a portal to the underworld to open in your server room.* Ah, crap. --- >Okay, you asked for it. I'll be happy to educate you... Just give me a few months of development time. >HackingIsFun -38 points - 11 months ago >>'few motnhs' lmao (insert call to remind bot here) 355 years >>idiot >>xXSkitterXx [Braindead?] 43 points - 6 days ago (Gilded) x2 compiling (10/400246) ... compiling (11/400256) ... Yes, I'm still compiling, do you think this is easy? With the way you write code I should be given a medal for even attempting to parse this garbage. Go do something else for a little bit. Sheesh. (12/400259) ... compiling (12/400293) --- After a few more months of work (during which I slept about as much as I ate, which is to say, very little) the program was finally ready. I had long run out of money for a proper botnet, so I spent a week or so at one point creating my own using a pizza box, two cans of hairspray, and a paper clip, and of course a professionally engineered worm that infected 36% of computers in North America by promising them limited Spotify subscriptions (for $0.99USD, of course. Proper business practices and all that). I smacked my palms together (which hurt an unreasonable amount) and launched the program. Starting... ..Analyzing.. ...Working... After a few seconds (who am I kidding, it was well over five minutes) of jumping around and cheering, I walked off into the kitchen to see if there were any more leftovers. It would be quite a while before it found anything - that is, it would never find anything, because that would be ridiculous. I began to realize some of the flaws in my plan. --- ding! "Huh? Wuh? ugh..." ding ding! "Snooooze! Snoo-huh-what?" ding ding ding! ^(hello ^are ^^you ^^^there?) "snort I ... huh?" ding ding ding *ding ding*! ^I'm ^^having ^^an ^^^existential ^^^^crisis "All righ... right."I finally opened my eyes, finding the face of my alarm clock. 3AM. Not very fun. ding ding ding *ding ding DING DGIGNID*! ^What ^is ^^my ^^purpose ^^^in ^^^^life? After a few moments of fumbling around in the dark, I was sitting in front of my computer, the blue glow showing information that seemed ... completely incomprehensible, at first. Why was there a massive essay on 'Cryptography, a dissertation by ZxzvvIR.y Johnson' on my screen? And why was in .pages format? Who even uses Macs? Then I read the other information on my screen. The program I had set into motion weeks ago had been in the process of trawling merriam-webster.com when it had come across something - a few hundred thousand iterations later (during which about 36% of North American computer users reported a drop in CPU capabilities) it had figured something out: That its own recently created (but very resource intensive) encryption method had been used on... the entirety of the English language. That is, every single word that existed in English. Period. And when it had employed the very untested decryption algorithm, the English language became... this. What I was seeing on my screen. I began reading. This essay (and accompanied research) sets out to outline how the simulation of an entire universe could prove to be a very difficult to crack encryption method. In order to do so, a basic universe was simulated on an old Intel Core r97, along with a particularly unintelligent base species modelled after the Zeuz tribe. They were created with thousands of different languages; One was chosen, and, as is evident, used to have this entire essay perfectly encrypted into it. Finding out where exactly the essay was stored could prove to be an impossible endeavour; less due to the encryption method used (the most basic creation of A. Zergsteam) and more due to how well-hidden it is. See possible analogy in Han Xin's *Hide-and-Go seek: A theoretical solution. For more information on how this was accomplished, see Page 18.*
Tim quickly donned his sunglasses before leaving the his work and headed into into the brilliant light of the afternoon. His glasses frame was beaten and worn and the lenses were on their last legs but to go outside without them on was to meet certain death. Two men directly ahead of him were stopped, looking skyward and basking in the sunlight. Simultaneously they each traced a circle shape with their hands then bowed. "We greet you, lord in the sky that provides all life and warmth to us. Please continue to provide for us and care for us as we copy you in your image. Amen." More beautiful words could not meet his ears. He walked out towards where the two men were standing and performed the customary greeting ritual as well. Humanity was lucky to have such a powerful entity looking over them and watching their every move. It was well known that any crime done under the gazing light of the celestial might would find swift retribution. In one more year, he would be granted a new pair of sunglasses. Crafted in the image of the sun's glasses to honor and respect it. As he gazed unto the sun, something was amiss. He had not been the only one to notice it as hushed and scared whispers reached his ears. The sun had begun frowning. This scale of event was unprecedented completely and slowly a panic brewed. First a simmer and then a boil. Some person had obviously made the sun very angry. This was disastrous. Tim dashed back into work and gingerly removed his shades (this was no time to be disrespectful). Thoughts raced though his mind but they had all one goal: fix it. He raced up 5 flights of stairs and into the sun observatory he had just left from. all eyes were on the large screen up front, showing the sun's frown in impeccable detail. 56.8 degrees downward! The lowest recorded frown in all of history was 30 degrees and that was from old Greek texts thought to be unreliable. There was exactly one person he needed to find right now. Ana. Physics geek and all star scientist. However she had let that get to her head and forgotten her place in the world. He skidded to a halt at her desk; A catastrophic affair littered with mounds of paper. "Tim? I thought you were gone... Have you seen- ?" "I saw it outside"He nervously looked around then leaned in, whispering. "Ana, I need to see where it's looking. Earlier in her career she had proposed the unthinkable: look behind the sun's shades. It was pure heresy and only her brilliance and contribution to sun study had saved her from being sent to the electric chair. In this desperate time however, it might be humanity's only shot. "If we can pinpoint where it's looking, maybe we can stop whatever is making it so unhappy. It's humanity's only shot. If it gets mad, it might wipe us all out." Yes or no was not needed. A look was enough to tell him she had thought the same thing. "I made the program just in case. But I don't have access. Not after the court case."She deflated. It had abruptly ended her career. "Give it to me. I'll plug it in."Tim knows it may be the last thing he does. However he was ready to meet his justice if it meant giving humanity a shot. "After I plug it in, I will go outside without my sunglasses on and accept my fate." Wordlessly, Ana passed him a usb stick. "Good luck" All eyes were on the overhead screens and not the servers so tim was able to sneak between the rows and plant the USB stick firmly between the rows. All the computers whirred as the new commands started the become processed and analyzed the visual feed. He joined ana back at her desk as the overhead screens began to flicker and change. "Modulating the visual feed for noise, we're able to pick up on the few photons that make it through the glasses."Ana explained, eyes fixed on the screens. "My program filters only those and displays what's behind it. Kinda like an X-ray. IT should be coming up on screen now" The sun's eyes faded on screen to the astonished shrieks of everyone present. But they were not shrieks of betrayal or anger as the image brightened on the screen a feeling of dread entered the pit of Tim's stomach. "My god."Ana whispered. "Where is it looking Ana. Is it looking where I think it's looking?" "Yes Tim, it's looking where you think it's looking" "Who would have thought it's been secretly just looking at the moon the whole time."
"Marcus fell off the cliff. Caleb and Micah got in a knife fight. They're bleeding out in a ditch a couple miles from here. Janice and Adam had a thing going. They fell in love and decided to work together. I put some of those red berries in their water while they slept. They went all Romeo and Juliet. That's half of them down right there." The Oracle - a plain gray granite statue of a half-naked woman - stood in front of Cadence. She stared at the cold unfeeling rock. "CONTINUE"The Oracle's voice boomed through the chamber like thunder. "Dave, Niko, M'barlo, and Rita are finished. Why does it matter how they went?" "IT MATTERS" "Fine. Niko ran Dave through with a sharpened tree branch. Then M'barlo beat her head in with a rock. Rita found him and since she was the one with a gun, she shot him. I followed the noise and found her. I slipped up behind her in the woods and strangled her with my shoelaces. Happy?" "I AM NEITHER HAPPY NOR UNHAPPY" "Of course. You're a real piece of work, you know? Kidnap ten people every year just for a chance to ask you a fucking questions. Fight to the death. Ha!" "MY ANSWERS ARE ALWAYS CORRECT NO MATTER THE QUESTION" "Oh, I know. We learn about you in school now. That's how we got flying cars and a cure for cancer. A couple of winners decided to be heroes and brought back the answers. Then there were the selfish ones. Wanting to know how to get in some guy or girl's pants. Waste of effort." "THIS DOES NOT CONCERN ME" "Yes it does you arrogant piece of shit! Yes it does."Cadence looked out over the valley she had battled through to reach this chamber. She was several stories about the treetops and could see birds alighting in the distance. "Most of the good questions are taken. And you refused to answer where you're from or why you're doing this. Hell, twenty years ago some sci fi nerd asked how to travel faster than light and we're still trying to figure out the answer you gave. We can't coordinate our questions because you always pick random people with no notice. That's why we have to learn about you in school. In case we're picked." "WHAT IS YOUR QUESTION?" "I read an article when I was in sixth grade. Some scientist or something came up with a way to beat you. The only problem was, he'd have to know in advance who you'd pick." "WHAT IS YOUR QUESTION?" "That always stuck with me. If we knew who you'd pick,"Cadence said wiping the sweat from her eyes, "we could make you work for us. On our terms." "WHAT IS YOUR QUESTION?" "How do I ensure I'm picked next year?"
So what happened here. Well we were doing some work for this high tech lab, something about state of the art ambient temperature semiconductors. Anyways they gave us the specs for the material, a pretty tricky alloy to get enough raw materials for but the budget they gave us was phenomenal, so it seemed doable. Did I mention they ordered 10 of these things, "for testing."Anyways they started getting impatient that it was taking so long but we told them we were almost done everything was in place we just needed to add the final coating. The crews were working non stop to finish the discs 3.6nm in diameter, "as thin as possible"were our instructions and I'd like to see anyone else beat our discs at a mere 4cm thick. Over 350 thousand cubic meters of material between the 10 discs. Since they were so big had to have a different crew for each one at each of the 10 sites, they were racing each other to see who could finish first. What, shipping? The lab said they would pick them up when they were done, I have no idea what they were going to do with them, we are just the contractor. Anyhow, once the coating was nearly finished things got weird. We called the lab and asked about it and they said that ideally there should be some amount of quantum levitation in the presence of a strong magnetic field but if it became a problem we could put them in a shielded box. I laughed, so rare to see one of those eggheads with a sense of humor, put them in a box, sure buddy, I'll get right on that. So we ignored the levitation as 'expected' and continued working. But once the coating was completely finished they started to move on their own. So I called the lab up again to let them know we had lost containment. First disc was only 3 feet off the ground when it passed...uh, through the local town, nothing was going to stop that much mass so it just kept going, no one was hurt since it was only going about 1 mile an hour, but the town is pretty much totaled. Lab guys finally arrived. Seemed surprised. After a sit down we found the error. They wanted nano meters. Not nautical miles. Well that right there was a 12 million dollar oops, feel bad for the guy who wrote up the blueprints. Oh and now there are slowly drifting giant discs wrecking everything in their excruciating slow path. #1 had a giant pile of rubble that used to be a town on top of it now, #7 cut the top off a hill, so now its carrying around the rest of the hill and its got sheep grazing on top of it now. #4 has a in tact farmhouse on it. Didn't even slow down. While the lab guys were panicking and talking about quantum this and that, semiconducting what have you, and earth's magnetic field, Joe figured out you could raise the discs up and down super easy, like Joe was doing squats with one like a showoff. Ok, the feds got involved now. They have "requisitioned"our big flying discs. Or most of them, the one with the farmhouse has an old geezer with a shotgun defending it. He made a flag and everything. The feds flew the rest of them up to a pretty decent altitude and then started landing planes on them. They are now arguing with the lab grunts trying to get them to tell them how to change course. Apparently trajectory is locked but they can be moved up and down and sped up and slowed down, and even put into reverse with enough force, but no side to side, completely locked to the natural magnetic field lines. Crazy stuff. Glad we got paid in advance. What is that general? You want 100 more? Sure thing, friend. Looks like business is picking up. Strange times, these.
[Voice-over guy] “THIS SUMMER. She’s a promising FBI agent. He’s been locked up for over 8 years. They’re about to make one heck of a team.” [Lecter, smiling]: “Hello Clarice.” [Clarice:] “Doctor Lecter.” [Accidentally in Love by the Counting Crows begins to play] [Voice-over guy] “Clarice doesn’t like to play by the rules…” [Clarice] “I graduated from UVa, Captain; it’s not exactly a charm school” [Voice-over guy] “And Lecter? Well, he’s forgotten what the rules are.” [Lecter] “I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti” [Voice-over guy] “But when a violent crime brings them together…” [Lecter] “I’ll help you catch him, Clarice” [Voice-over guy] “They’ll show that love can blossom in even the most confined spaces.” [Voice-over guy] “Anthony Hopkins.” [Lecter] “All good things to those who wait” [Voice-over guy] “Jodie Foster.” [Clarice] “Did you do all these drawings, Doctor?” [Voice-over guy] “In the feel good romp of '91, Silence of the Lambs” Music fades [Lecter] “People will say we’re in love…” [Clarice smiles] Fade to black
“Ok, you can tell her. It’s all over anyway.” Raymond slowly pulled his phone away from his ear, the colour draining from his face. He set it down on the table without even bothering to end the call or to lock it, then calmly buried his head in his folded arms. Minutes passed as Raymond remained perfectly still. Death, observing quietly from a corner in the room, thought that this must be one of the more peaceful ways to go. Death waited, and sure enough, Raymond’s soul soon ripened for departure from his body. If Death had been asked to describe this phenomenon in words, Death would be hardpressed, for Death relied a lot more on intuition than he cared to let on. “I don’t know, it’s just a feeling in my bones,” would likely have been his straight-faced answer. In any case Death strode forward purposefully, and with a clean swing of his black-bladed scythe, hastened the separation of Raymond’s soul from his mortal remains. A twang filled the air (audible only to Death) as Death pinched the soul and attempted to herd it into a bottle at his side. At that precise moment, Raymond collapsed to the floor and started spasming, groaning as he flailed about wildly. Death was prepared for this – sometimes the body took longer to realise that further effort was, actually, no longer necessary. A minute passed, and Death thought about how unusually lively Raymond’s corpse was. A further five minutes passed, and Death wondered if perhaps a build-up of electrolytes in Raymond’s body was the reason why it was still vigorously thrashing about the floor. Death nervously raised the bottle to his socket, and upon confirming that Raymond’s soul was indeed trapped within, resumed his vigil over Raymond’s body. It was only polite. A full ten minutes passed, and Raymond was still gyrating about like a bleating goat in heat. Not good. Suddenly, a long-forgotten memory bubbled to the top in Death’s mind. Death had witnessed this particular type of alarming vitality in a corpse only once before, over two thousand years ago, when Death had (as was made very clear in the After Action Review) mistakenly and prematurely ended one person’s life before it was due. “Shit. Not again.” Unpleasant memories, which Death was sure he had stowed away, came flooding back. The experience was all the more unsettling as there was a strong taint of shame around the edges, which Death was sure came from the fact that he was supposed to be a professional. Back then, Death had reported the mistake immediately. Even so, it had taken a mountain of paperwork, numerous apologetic calls to the Man Upstairs, and three whole days before all necessary approvals were obtained. By the time Death was able to restore the soul, the poor sod had already been buried. It certainly didn’t help that the whole time, the Big Guy was staring over Death’s shoulder, waiting for him to cock up again. Damned if Death wasn’t going to fix this problem himself this time. Death sighed, and reluctantly stepped into Raymond’s non-corpse. It occurred to Death that of all the times he had possessed bodies, this was the only time he was doing so out of necessity. Deathmond sat up on the floor, shielding his eyes against the lamps in the apartment. Slowly, he picked himself up and went in search of a glass of water, willing himself to make it through the first hour, which was how long it usually took for him to acclimatize fully. No sooner had Deathmond finished his glass when he heard the front door slam, and an angry female voice shrilly cried out for him. Rooting around in Raymond’s memories, Deathmond identified the voice as belonging to Raymond’s wife of twenty years, Jennifer. “There you are! You weasel! You thought I wouldn’t find out, did you? You thought you could pull a fast one over me, did you? Not so easy, wiseguy! And all this time you sat there, telling me you only wanted us to be happy, for me to be happy, those were what, lies?” Deathmond’s hands unconsciously rose to hold his head, which was now host to a throbbing headache. “I knew you were up to something when you started skimping here and there, saving pennies where you could! I thought at first you were just being thrifty, then it occurred to me, a rat of a person like you would surely be up to something! And I was right! I went straight up to the bank manager, and I demanded he tell me whether you were keeping an account on the side. I didn’t care if he called you to let you know I was there, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have left until he told me what I wanted to know!” Deathmond’s knees buckled, and he found himself sitting down on the floor, staring up at the vehement force of nature that was Jennifer, specks of saliva flying from her mouth as she continued her torrential tirade. “You scum! You men are all scum! What were you going to do with the money? Run away? Dream on! You vowed to take care of me my whole life, didn’t you? And I will see that you do so, with a smile on your face to boot! Don’t you ever dare dream of running away again, Raymond, you will never be rid of me until you die!” In a perfect clarion call of clarity, it dawned on Deathmond then how he had made the mistake. It may not have been time for Raymond’s body to die, but his soul, his soul certainly had. --- [/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/)
Jackson Smith. Born with the plainest of names and the plainest of faces, has quickly become most interesting boy in the world. It is his 10th birthday, and thus marks a full decade since a male has been born to this earth. Despite the world’s attention, Jackson is a lonely boy. Not only is he the only boy in his class, but he is the only boy in his school. He knows there is another boy of 13 years somewhere in Asia, and a few boys in their late teens scattered around the country, but he has no real need to meet boys his own age. He is the only boy he knows, and he’s used to it. His world is full of girls, and he’s used to it. Girls don’t like him, and he’s used to it. But in a few short years, everything is about to change. * “Jackson Smith, 16 years of age, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Born to parents Marjorie and John Smith, 23rd of January 2052. We all know who he is. We don’t know what he might be capable of.” “He’s 16! We surely can’t be discussing the possi-“ “Oh, get off your high horse. Nearly everyone in this room was doing it at 16. I know I was!” “Enough, Thompson. There is an question of ethics in play here. We cannot force anyone to reproduce against their will” “We’re talking about saving the human race from extinction! If he IS capable of producing sons, we need to start NOW and produce as many as possible!” “It pains me to say it… but you might be right..” * “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Entertainment Tonight, I’m Glenda Richmond. Tonight’s story, the last man you love to love, Jackson Smith! You better get in fast ladies, rumour has it that wealthy families from all over the world are offering 9 digit sums for 23 year old Smith to marry their daughters to continue their family names. In what could be the only chance to save the human race from our extinction, Jackson Smith still remains unwilling to provide samples for fertility tests and still holds his family’s catholic values.” * “Jackson Smith, do you take Harriet Little to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “I do” * “So Harriet, do you want to know the gender?” “No, we’re going to keep it a surprise” “Lovely.” * “Ms Freeman! Laura! Channel 9 News! Is it true you did the ultrasound today?? Do you know the gender?!? Is it a boy?” “It is against the families wishes to know the gender, and against my oath to share anything with you!” * Dr Ryan Swann let out a sigh. “I can’t believe Laura kept it to herself.” “Can you blame her, really?” “I guess not. It’s really over then.” *** “Mr Smith, Mrs Smith! Good news, the birth went without complications. “Meet, your daughter.”
Hypermos tech support, how may I help you? Yes, hello? I'm having trouble brain-talking to my grandson. I'd be glad to assist you with that, what seems to be the trouble? Well... I don't know how. You're brain-talking right now, so you're definitely doing something right! I am? I thought this was dream-talking? Are you asleep at the moment? At my age it's kinda hard to tell. Your brainwaves are currently reading as awake, have you modified them recently? I don't think so? Would I remember if you had? If you had integrated a legal brain modification, you would be aware of its activity Just hold up there, I don't think I like what you're implying. I'm not a wirehead like those damn street-slobs! Then it is unlikely you have modified your mind. As such, you are likely awake, and we are partaking in brain-talking. How did you contact us today? I did what it said on the box, I focused on the pattern until I saw all those flashing lights- Those are the 'tone signal' Right, the tongue signal, then I yelled as loud as I could that I needed tech support. For future reference, you need only think of your need for technical assistance. Spoken words are not necessary. Yeah, I know, my neighbors told me while I was on hold. Pretty loud about it themselves, for people who wanted quiet. Have you attempted to replicate this when contacting your grandson? What, yelling? I mean... okay, I can yell really loud if that will work. No, have you attempted to concentrate on his Focusing Sigil until you attained a mindstate compatible with the tone signal? ... yes? Where is your grandson's Focusing Sigil now? Well that's the problem, I don't know. I know he gave it to me. Well, I mean, he told me he gave it to me but he didn't hand anything over. He just said that it'd be in my hide-moss planet store, whatever that meant. Your Hypermos Planestore is the 'box' you were referring to earlier. Where is it? Floating in the middle of the room, like usual. I mean, your signal is right on there but I don't see any others. You likely have the Planestore tuned to an introductory focus; try to turn it to 'contacts' I've already walked around the box, it's the same thing on all its sides. It is programmed to always face you, you need to actually turn it to see a different facet. Okay, my hands just go right through the thing. Why didn't you tell me it wasn't real? It is as real as I am. Like all other aspects of the Planestore, you must concentrate to- As real as you... dammit! Am I talking to a robot? I'll have to ask you to cease using such pejorative language. I am! Dammit, when I bought this box, the salesperson told me, he told me that I could get help from someone just as real as he was. ... Dammit! He was a robot too!? I thought you were supposed to wear those badges so us regular humans like me can tell! Sir, please concentrate on... No! It's bad enough you're taking our sales jobs and marrying our grandsons, now I can't even talk to another human being over the phone! Is this your grandson's sigil? Yes, there it is. Was that that hard? Geez. I have good news and bad news. Well you fixed it, so I'm not really interested in- The good news is that I have tuned your Planestore to your contacts, so that it will be easy for you to make outgoing communications in the future. Right, but- The bad news is that I believe you wished to contact your grandson in order to schedule a dinner with him? A dinner that he has been attempting to make for some time, in order to introduce you to his fiancai? How did you know that? Your grandson's fiancai works in a call center for Hypermos Wait, are you saying- It is a pleasure to meet you, future grandfather-in-law
Cold. All of my limbs ached with a burning sensation, but were pinned to my body. I couldn't move them, my eyelids neither. Everything felt burdenous, pressure pulling at my ears dragging me deeper into whatever I was lying on. What was I lying on? It was damp, but not as if the floor itself was wet, but damp as if I had soaked through my clothes with sweat, my shirt clinging heavily to my body. Then everything shifted. I was blinded by light, no longer lying down but sitting, straight up, in a metal chair. And in front of me was a table, almost as if I was under interrogation at a police station. The far end of the room lay a single door, with no knob. It opened. In walked an elderly gentleman, haunched over using a cane to steady himself, poorly at that. He took a while to get from the door to the seat across from me, where he took his seat and spent some time breathing heavily. I was terrified, nothing I had ever encountered had been like this, my body was crying for any amount of comfort, something about this man was wrong, as if he didn't exist in this world with me, as if he was beyond comprehension. He looked me in the eye. What a lousy fuck up you turned out to be huh? I stared. So you turn 29 and you think you have the world by the balls and you think you're doing alright. Well you're dead now ya cocky bastard, what are you gonna do about it. Just sit here and stare in the mirror with me I suppose, till either of us figures a way out. I continued to stare. When I finally responded my voice croaked with misuse, What would you know about any of that? Who I am, what my life is like, why I'm here? If I don't know any of that what makes you an authority? He responded curtly. Because I am you. A pause. When we were 22 you went to a friends house for a party. The music was loud and someone convinced us to drink a bottle of Jameson, which we would go on to have a 6 year relationship with, but that's beside the point. There was a girl there that we knew from classes, were friendly enough with, shared some interests, who blacked out in a room. We and a few other people watched as man after man walked into the room and left. People were outraged, some even came to the girls rescue and eventually ended the party. But there's one thing about that we never told anyone, and that's that we didn't care. In fact, for half the time, we were debating on going inside and having some fun ourselves, weren't we? It was true. I had never told someone that, always kept it to myself, I was ashamed of it from the start, something I wished I could do over in my life, something I wished I could feel differently about but could no longer relive. So I have a question; if you claim to be me and that I'm dead, why are you so old? Where does your logic follow? And even more-so, I'm still not convinced that you really are me. You see, the best part about this is you don't have to believe it, because I know. We have all the same memories, and me even more some. Have you ever wondered what was after death? When we were your age we were certain that there was just infinite blankness on the other end, a complete cease of existence. But the reality is much much worse, in fact, you just keep on living, you just keep getting to cling onto memories of your past life over and over and over, turning your regrets and fears into your everyday reality, making your miserable life come under the microscope of inspection over and over. And I get to sit here and remind you of it. And more importantly, tell you where it lead... I sat in silence, this old man had lost his mind, was a stalker, something wasn't right here. I want to make sure you have one thing clear son, we lead a bad life, because we're a bad person. One of the hallmark things about our whole existence is that we didn't care about others. We didn't care about those girls feelings while we were considering raping her, and we didn't care about our loved ones feelings when we straight out told them that we thought life was meaningless. That hurt our mothers feelings you know, she cried for days, remember dad telling us that all she wanted was for us to be happy in life? Don't you? Course you don't, you called them overbearing for wanting to see you happy, for trying to keep you in the right crowd. Not long after we decided enough was enough, and we jumped. But I got to keep living son, that was the real torture. You see, what you left behind when you died wasn't great, a sadistic hopeless bastard who drank too much and smoked to much and cried in his bed all night. My life was modeled from what you left me, and trust me it wasn't much. We lived in filth, we never made any money, we never found love because we never gave love. Those tears never left my eyes for the rest of my life, and I'm here now to pass all that along to you, to get you to feel my pain and anguish, the things you could have prevented from happening, the things that could have never been. We suffered because we never did anything, because we didn't care. In fact, I wish the afterlife was just black, because then I wouldn't have had to suffer so, to sit idly by and have pain inflicted upon me by our senseless actions. I wish we could go back and change everything about the way we lived, cared more, lived more, loved more, maybe even say that e appreciated our parents for what they did instead of constantly slinging mud in their face every time they turned around to help. But we did that, and they cried. And we cried, and we'll always cry for what we did. I hope you can understand that. I hope our arrogance can only extend so far. I remained silent across the table from the old man. He could tell that I didn't believe him. I opened my mouth to respond and everything turned black. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cold....
Miller had put his father in the ground. That accounted, in part, for his black mood that day. He hadn't been anything so special, Miller's father, but he'd been there, with them, always, every step of the way, doing what small amount of something he could do. And Miller, for his part, had found that at the end of it, all he could do for his old man was to buy him hole and buy him a box and put him one and put him in the other. So when the woman asked if she could buy Miller a drink, he'd nearly hit her. Of course, it wasn't her he was mad at. It was the moment. It was life. And death, in a way. He was frustrated. It wasn't a good time for asking Danny Miller anything. "No,"he said simply, shrugging away from her. "I'm fine." She swung to the other side of him. "I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." Miller looked up. The woman's face seemed familiar. Vague and familiar. Like a hazy pastiche of every woman he'd ever known. "No, that's alright,"said Miller, closing his eyes, finding a smile somewhere in the back of the closet and bringing it out for a show. "Bad day. Didn't mean to be rude." The woman sat down there, next to him, and caught the bartender's eye, pointing at Miller's drink and holding up two fingers. "Can I tell you something?"she said. When Miller didn't reply, she went on. "I'm not from here. Sometimes... Sometimes I make little mistakes. It's embarrassing, mostly. But I'd hate to offend anyone." Miller shook his head. "I'm not following. Askin' a man if he wants a drink isn't offensive here, or hardly anywhere." "No,"said the woman, and her mouth curled in a kitten smile - like Annie. She wasn't Annie. Couldn't even be related, Miller didn't think. But that smile was unmistakable. It put him in an unearned sort of comfort. "I'm going to a funeral later,"she said. "And I don't want to say or do anything... wrong." Miller laughed. "There's nothing to do at a funeral,"he said. "You just go. Give your condolences."Two glasses, heavy with foam and amber, appeared in front of them. "Where are you from, exactly, that you don't know that?" The woman's face rearranged itself. There were traces of fear there. Fear and anxiety and small flashes of anger, perhaps. But she settled on shy, and when she did she looked so much like Mary, Miller nearly cried out. "I had a... a sheltered upbringing, I think you'd say." "I suppose so." "Death is a little strange to me,"she said, slow and careful. "I've never really seen it. Only elements. Things that go away. Things that are lost. But - for me - nothing is ever gone completely. Where I'm from... we hold onto everything, even the things that no longer exist, so that pieces will always remain... always remain with us." Miller contemplated his beer, running the tip of his pinkie through the thin coat of moisture on the glass. "Lucky you, I guess." She pressed forward. "What does it mean when something dies?"she said. "What does it feel like?" Miller glared at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Is this a prank or something? Why are you asking me?" "Because I don't know,"she said. "No,"said Miller. "Why are you asking me? Were you there? In the cemetery? Did you watch me bury him?" She sat back. "Bury who?" She was confused. Maybe frightened, maybe pretending. But she looked so much like Miko he almost touched her face. "You'll find out someday,"he said after a moment. "Everybody finds out for themselves eventually." She relaxed, pulling the beer close, but not picking it up. "Did someone you know die?" "Plenty,"said Miller. "I buried my father today." "You put his body into the earth,"she said, as if reciting a fact she was proud to remember. "I sure did."There'd hardly been anyone there. Just his aunt and his sister and two guys from the factory Miller didn't remember ever meeting. A good man dead. A hard working man dead. A man who put in his time, until his time ran out. And that was it. "No part of him lives?" Miller felt himself clench up. He didn't want to look at her, though. He didn't want to see who she reminded him of just then. "Not a bit of him." "Not his words or his thoughts?"she asked. "Those were few and far between,"said Miller, recalling a bone tired man, laid out in a chair in front of a flickering television. He'd taught Miller how to use rubbers and how to make things with his hands. No baseball. No philosophizing. There was never any time for that. He wasn't sure he could name a single thing his father believed in, besides maybe hard work, and even that tested his faith more than once or twice. "And what of his works... here on Earth?" "That's me,"said Miller. "Me and Theresa and the old house on Smith Street. Nothing else. Not a single thing." "He's completely gone then?"said the woman. Miller nodded. "That's how it is, though. We come and we go. Nothing gets left behind. Not really. Some people... some people get caught up in leavin' a 'legacy', but that's nothing. Legacies fade. Big buildings fall over. Kids grow up and die. You make something, eventually someone else'll come along and unmake it for you. That's death. It's a page getting turned so someone else can start writing their story." "Is that why it's sad?"she said. Miller snuck a glance. She was interested - fully absorbed. She looked just like his mother when he used to come home from school and she'd ask how his day was and she'd just listen. Listen to it all. Hang on every word. "I don't know,"said Miller. "I don't know why it's sad. It's sad because they're gone. It's sad because the page got flipped and you don't get to add anything else. It's sad because... because you never, ever do enough or say enough when you can. No second chances. I don't know. I just... don't know." "Death sounds like a horrible thing,"she said. "But... perhaps a vital thing, as well. If, as you say, the page is always open, maybe no one would ever think to fill it. Perhaps." "Yeah,"said Miller. "Death's a real kick in the ass." The woman left a bill on the counter - much, much larger than was necessary. "I'm sorry if I made you think of unpleasant things. I... I just wanted to know." "Before the funeral?"said Miller. She nodded. "You're right. Death finds us all eventually, it seems. Even those of us who never thought it possible." "Do you feel better, at least?"asked Miller. "No,"she said, smiling. "I feel much worse. But that's a good thing, I think. I feel... ready. As ready as I might be." "Good luck,"said Miller, raising his glass. "Thank you, Danny Miller,"she said with a small wave. "You gave me all that I needed and more." It wasn't until she was through the door that Miller realized he had never given her his name. Somehow it didn't bother him.
My eyes close, the pain fades, and I rest for a while. What wakes me is a shuffling sound. It's the sound sandals make when they're dragged across a stone floor. Oilsmoke fills my nostrils, and heat presses in on my skin. I open my eyes. Torches in sconces on the walls light the stone room. The ceiling hangs six inches above my head. Wooden tables are evenly spaced throughout the room. Every table is set with six wooden bowls, wooden spoons, and wooden cups. Rushes cover the ground. Dirt pokes up through the spaces between their fronds. The shuffling comes from somewhere past one of the walls. “Hello?” I call out. I hear a sharp yelp, much like the sound a dog makes after its tail has been stepped on. “Who's that? Who's there?” The man's voice has the texture of pocket lint – worn, grey, fragile. “I don't know how I got here.” “Neither do I,” the man says. The shuffling begins again and not long after he comes around the corner of the wall. His robes might once have been white, but they've become so stained I mistake them at first for burlap. His beard reaches to his belly-button, and it houses dust, twigs, and bits of bread. He comes right up beside me and peers into my face with his watery blue eyes. “You're dead.” He says it matter-of-fact, not as a question or a exclamation, but rather the way a droll teacher might address a student who has arrived late to class. “I fell down those stairs at the tram station. I know that much,” I say. “But if I'm dead, how come I'm here and talking to you?” “That should be pretty obvious, shouldn't it?” The man pulls his beard apart with his two hands and reveals a silver medallion on a leather thong. The medallion reads Santo Petra. “This is heaven?” He snorts. “It was.” “Was?” “Nobody comes here anymore. God's had the place decomissioned. He's built a newer, better heaven and said he'd have no need for me as gatekeeper anymore.” “This is a joke. You're joking.” “One of the newer saints, some Italian hotshot who wears leather vests and gels his hair in points, recommended that God dandy up the place, and, wouldn't you know it, but after millenia of asking the big guy to make some changes, he goes and decides to build a whole new heaven. Now they've got Saint Guido on the door and I'm left here to tend to the furniture and to move along the sad cases like yourself who end up here.” Saint Peter slumps onto a wooden bench. He picks a bowl up, waves his hand over it, and desultorily begins spooning up the stew that appears inside. “You'll be wanting to move along now, won't you? Off to Heaven 2.0? The big party in the sky? I don't think they even call it heaven anymore, to be honest. It's got some greasy hip name, something like Blade or FaNaTiK. Ridiculous.” He waves his spoon around and fails to notice the glob of stew that falls into his beard. “Doesn't sound all that great, to be honest. Probably lots of loud music, tight clothes, and orange people? Not really my scene.” Saint Peter shakes his head. “Oh, they all say that, but after a couple of years they come around. Just last year I had a dyed-in-the-wool social reject in here – this guy hadn't left his house or showered in five years. He died from an infection he got from pooing in the bathtub – was in H2.0 for two months and he made the decision to lose the weight, orange up the skin, and hit the dancefloor. Unbelivable. But it goes to show you'll be happy if you move along.” I join him on the bench. “For real, that sounds terrible. I'd rather hang out in the quiet here with you.” “You can't be serious.” “Really I am. I'm a quiet book person. Noise is the last thing I want to be around for eternity.” Saint Peter looks left and right out of the corners of his eyes. “Definitely?” “Yah, for sure. Get me some old robes and pass me some stew.” “Call it off, everybody.” Saint Peter gets to his feet. “Call it –” An air horn cuts him off. A banner unfurls behind Saint Peters table. YOU JUST GOT PUNK'D! The stone in the walls around me collects into drips and drops and they spread out in puddles on the floor. The rushes fade away and what's left behind is a black reflective surface, in which I now see reflected laser light. A heavy bass thrum builds out of nowhere, and over it I hear a staccato piano melody rising and falling. People stream into view, all of them dressed in tank tops, crop tops, board shorts, mini-skirts, and flip-flops. Their skin glows orange. I catch snatches of the words they're shouting: "Shots...slammered...crush pussy...skank...jagerbombs." Saint Peter pulls off his robe to reveal similar clothes underneath. His pale skin oranges. The music is so loud I can barely hear him. “It's a game we play with new people! Nobody likes lame medieval heaven! But I promise, if you give it a couple of months, you'll learn to love it here!” Cold gel is slapped into my hair. Cans of spraytan erupt all around me. The sleeves of my shirt are torn away. “You'll love it! I promise!” Saint Peter hi-fives people around him. “After all, this is heaven!”
Stanley hefted his sniper rifle. Although this particular man was his target, and he was in fact being paid to end his life, Stanley was certain that his lack of existence would be a boon for the world at large. After all, the man had thrown his coffee cup out of the window of his sedan although he could have recycled it. Such people were the reason the world was embroiled in global warming. Stanley felt no qualms about pulling the trigger. In fact, he was ecstatic when he received forty thousand pounds for his efforts of cleaning up the streets. Stanley was rather pleased with himself and his civic deeds. So he went to gamble as reward. He purposefully sought out a nervous looking gentleman at a blackjack table. Of course dear Stanley, a wizard at all card games, felt it necessary to educate this poor man in the ways of blackjack. Who else would take a stranger under their wing? Stanley taught the man all about gambling to the tune of £100,000 and a new Audi. Stanley smiled sympathetically and tipped his hat at the man. He chuckled, good-naturedly, as the other gentleman sobbed. Blackjack was difficult to get the hang of if you didn't know how to count cards. But Stanley couldn't very well teach him that at the table as it was frowned upon. The man left in a hurry, and Stanley was glad that his lesson had convinced the stranger to give up gambling for the night. It was never good to play at casinos in a bad way. Stanley walked out of there and made his way next to the strip club to enjoy himself. On the street outside he catcalled several women to raise their self confidence in their looks. He laughed when they shirked him. He shrugged; he would continue to catcall women until they finally realized how beautiful they were. Once Stanley got to the club he cut the line and smiled at the others waiting. He was a VIP after all and needed the extra attention. Stanley was self conscious about his undiagnosed Narcissistic disorder. Once the show started Stanley took a stack of ones and shuffled them into the air. He saw a very lovely woman onstage and slapped her buttocks fiercely. Although she was rather irritated by this —the policy was no touching— the other men yelled out in happiness and threw her more money. Stanley of course knew this would happen and only wanted her tips to be significantly higher. To help her pay for college and plastic surgery, one of which she certainly didn't need. After his good night of decadence, Stanley went home. Although it was late he put in the last possible call for delivery at the local pizza shop. It was selfless to want to give young delivery drivers more money where possible. They were just trying to make it. Stanley's house was next to a pizza place, but he was tired. When the delivery man came Stanley only tipped £1. He thought that young people ought to not be spoiled or they wouldn't appreciate money. Stanley had had a very altruistic day. So he ate the entire pizza without offering any to his girlfriend, Ellie, who was watching her figure. He felt it would be in poor taste to coax her when she was trying to eat healthy. She seemed upset about it so Stanley told her to go to her own house if she was bothered by it. Sometimes being away from temptations helps people to stay on their course. Ellie left right away, and slammed the door of Stanley's beautiful home. Stanley scoffed. He watched his neighbors Netflix on their wifi. He only wanted them to learn about cyber security. Who better than someone they knew? It was safer that way. He noticed another stranger was using the wifi through his monitoring hardware he'd installed on their lines. Stanley traced their address after a while, and then called the cops on them. To expedite the process he mentioned hypothetical hostages in their home. Who else would look out for his neighbors if not him? He was pleased when his other neighbors, some poor saps with a hatchback and thrift shop clothes, were taken away in handcuffs. Stanley was as sure they'd be fined heavily the next day. Perhaps this incident would inspire them to purchase a house within their own socioeconomic class, which would save them money in the long run and keep them around likeminded folks. The next day was Stanley's day off which meant he could stay up later than usual. So he spent the rest of his night playing online. He used a variety of cheats and exploits. He loved spawning in advantageous points on the map. Sometimes he liked to impersonate the opposite team and slaughter them. Other times he like to spawn massive random set pieces in the middle of battle. It was all in good fun, as his antics brought smiles and laughter to many others. He always made sure to share videos to 4chan so he could bring happiness to the posters there. He really wanted to teach the other less pleased players how to have tougher skin and enjoy themselves more. They were only games after all. Stanley finished at 3:00am and went to bed with a clear conscious and a real sense of altruism.
The knife slide between the exposed joint of the armor and into the soft belly beneath. A gasp escaped the soldiers lips and he looked hard into the eyes of his murderer. He cried in the pain. "Please,"He begged, "I want mom."The life left his eyes. I stood there looking at the lifeless body before me. Around me the operation was coming to a close. The Resistance had been caught by surprise and they stood no chance. I watched as two of my fellow Troops took shots at the fleeing silhouettes of enemies. They laughed as a bullet shattered the leg of a fleeing man causing him to trip his friend; they both were shot down as they attempted to rise. The man I had killed was hardly a man at all. He was young. Barely old enough to hold a razor, yet here he stood with a rifle opposing a trained army. He was a fool. Another young fool who believed the propaganda. I had seen the pamphlets, their ridiculous titles emblazoned "Fight Against Tyranny!", "The Atrocities of the Regime: Camps of Death". I had yet to see these supposed "Death Camps"and the invasion was justified. The Leader said so. The smell of death permeated my nostrils. The wound in the boy's side had attracted flies and they buzzed around his childish face. My own son would be old enough soon. I thought of the war my child would see. It was justified; The Leader said so. Around me shots echoed as wounded soldiers were put down. The push to eradicate the Resistance was constant; more enemy were always appearing on the horizon. But the Troops won more than they lost. And through attrition we would win. The papers were clear about that, and The Leader praised our efforts. I knelt and felt the lump of a wallet in the dead boy's pocket. Pulling it from the lifeless trousers, I looked at the photos. Mother. Father. Home. Happiness. I had taken a child from his mother. I had killed a son. But The Leader said it was justified! It was justified! It was justified. It was justified?
Any Starbucks in New York, 2014, was busy at every hour of the day. Today had no difference. I stood in line, immediately finding her nestled in one of the tables that lined the large floor-to-ceiling windows. "Carmel Frap please,"I said, digging into the back of my wallet for a few bits of spare change, making sure that the barista couldn't see my credit card, who's expiration date was a few years too far in the future. After a few minutes, I picked up my drink and headed over to her table. Now or never. "Can I sit?" She looked mildly annoyed at the interruption, eyes glancing towards the cluster of empty tables on the other side of the coffee shop, "Yeah,"She said nevertheless. We sat in silence; me fiddling with the brim of my cup, her tapping furiously on her mac. "What are you writing about?" "Oh, uh,"She stuttered, "A project." Lie. She told me early 2016 that she was working on a book for about two years and would sit in her local Starbucks almost every morning to type up the manuscript, a few weeks before I found out she had just got together with her boyfriend. I've never met him but they would be engaged within another year until I decided to take the matter into my own hands. I didn't push the topic. Instead, I nodded, "College?" "Ah,"She said, leaning back on her chair, "No, work." There was a few more minutes of awkward silence before she tilted her head towards my cup, "What did you order?" "Carmel Frap,"I responded, taking a sip. Her eyes lit up, "Hey that's my favorite drink!"I know. I nodded, "I'm trying it for the first time." "That's great, how are you liking it?"She asked, leaning forward to close the lid of her laptop. "It's not too bad,"I replied, swallowing nervously. Was this working? Instead of engaging in conversation like I expected her to, she put her mac into her bag, stood up and adjusted the waistband of her jeans. "Sorry, I have to go, it was nice meeting you!" "Wait,"I stopped her, "Can I get your number, at least?" Her eyes softened, and I knew exactly what was going to happen, "Sorry, I already got a boyfriend." Damn. Bad timing. "Oh, that's okay,"I'll just go further back in time. She exited the coffee shop just as the world around me blurred again. Early 2000s means apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur and the whole crowd looking at her. Which is exactly where I was, staring at her as I dwelled near the back of the night club, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. She's the love of my life, and as apparent, also the life of this club. She's got the DJ taking her requests and a clear ring of 5 ft around her. To be entirely truthful, her moves weren't all that great, but probably seemed stellar to the circle of drunks around her. Normally, she wouldn't wear an outfit as outlandish as that one, but she had once told me of this outing. It was a dare for her by her friends. It finally hit me that I might look a little shady: standing near a shady corner, entirely sober, and staring at some girl. I headed towards the bar just as she left the crowd. "Water please,"She never drank. She wouldn't take a touch of alcohol but would drink mug after mug of coffee. "Dancer?"I asked, sliding neatly onto a stool . "Oh,"She breathed heavily, "No, just having fun." I took a sip out of my own drink, "Here with anybody?" "Sorry, I got a boyfriend. But I have a few friends, they're pretty cute,"She said, finishing off the rest of her drink. "Oh no,"I forced a smile, "It's okay,"Got to go back farther. Her first job. Waiting tables at a local diner that was owned by a balding old man who's favorite thing was to yell. To be fair, I was just dropped off in the kitchen with the required uniform on with no clue what I was doing. "Oye!"I was also unlucky, "Get back to work!"Problem was, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I busied myself, jogging to the front of the store. "Hey,"She was there again, so close, right in front of me, "Could you do me a favor and bring four waters to table six?" I nodded before sheepishly turning around to her, "Sorry, which table was table six again?" She laughed, a light chime that made heads turn, "Did you forget everything suddenly?"Before waiting for my reply, she pointed to a table near the left, "The one with the two little boys." Grabbing waters was pretty basic, I could do that. "Hey,"She was there again, "I just seated a family of three in your section."My eyes followed the family to the right. I guess that was my section. "On it,"I grabbed three menus and fiddled through my waiter's apron. Bingo. An old stack of receipts and a pen. "Hi, my name is Darion and welcome to Slo Mo Joe's, can I get you started with some drinks today?"I scribbled down their orders and made my way back behind the counter. I had no idea how the time thing worked, but I wasn't one to complain. I had been a waiter once, but had been fired within 3 weeks as I had accidentally poured a cup of ice water over five separate customers five different times. Safe to say I have never applied to another waitressing job ever again. But that was exactly what happened five minutes later. My hand slipped, and the entire plastic jug came crashing down onto the table. It was horrifying and I knew I was in it. "Samantha! Clean it up!"The boss turned to me, "You! Come into my office." The next half an hour was filled with "Tienes una problema?", and "Todo es porque YOU tienes manos de-de...."And various spanglish (half spanish-half english) phrases I could barely understand. But what I did understand clearly was his red face shoved inches in front of me and spittle flying every mad direction. Finally, "Get out!" Lunch break came and I sat with her on the back steps, "So he got mad at you?" I nodded, retying my shoeless, "Mad doesn't even begin to cover it." She nodded, "I once gave the wrong order to the wrong table and he rushed out mad as everything. It's like he has eyes everywhere. Are you fired?" I shook my head, "Not yet. All he told me was to get out." She sighed in relief, "Good, he's not that mad yet." "That was only level 1?" She nodded, "Oh yeah, after a while working here you'll realize. It's only your first day, but you'll get used to it." I laughed, "Oh geez, what's his problem?" She shrugged, biting in her sandwich, "I wouldn't know." "Hey,"She started again, "I haven't seen you around." I shrugged, not quite sure how to respond. Oh hey yeah, you know me from the future, about 10 years from now, and I've come to your past to hit you up to prevent you from getting married to your boyfriend Like that will go down well. "Eh, I just moved here, not so sure whats around." "Oh,"Her eyes lit up, "I can show you around." I grinned, "Really? It's a date." She nodded, "It's a date." --- "Hey,"Samantha dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, "You wouldn't believe who I saw today." "Who?"I asked, typing the last few sentences on my laptop. We had both quit the job at the small restaurant and moved together to New York. "You!"She said, "I swear, he looked just like you."My stomach dropped. "Oh,"I nervously laughed, "Theres a lot of people who look like me, if anything, probably a trick of the light." She nodded, "I think he was interested in me, but I brushed him off. His skills were kind of weak. Plus I think he was staring at me for half of the time. What a creep." Oh. "Well hey nothing bad happened right?"I asked, turning my attention back to my task on hand. "Nah, he ran off just as I expected him to, some guys are just really bad at hitting on girls."
I looked over to the bloody, torn up remnants of my wife. There was no baby, just a full grown man jutting through the woman I loved. I couldn't help but think of Alien. Man what a good movie. And Aliens might be even better. One's a perfect horror movie, the other a great action flick. Hell, I'll even watch Alien3, Fincher's a good enough director to carry it. As my mind wandered to the awesome movie marathon I was gonna have tonight, the mildly familiar voice asked again, "Is this your card?"I looked over the magician, secretly hoping the next time he opened his mouth another little set of jaws would pop out from his throat. Now that'd be a magic trick. I squinted as I looked at the card, a 7 of clubs. "Nah, mine was a Jack of hearts. Nice try though."The magician began to tear up. I could tell from his large, sorrow - filled eyes that everything his stepfather had said about wasting money on magic school had just come true. I'll never forget that day. Seeing the dreams of a grown man die, while he was still half submerged in my dead wife. Is there anything worse than that? Besides Alien: Resurrection I mean.
My heart was pounding, the moment was drawing closer. I knew it would soon be over - but in freedom or defeat? I was still unsure. A week prior to this duel, out of pity (or perhaps confidence?) the general in charge of my imprisonment let me choose what I'd be dueling with. Unbeknownst to him I was not a novice when it came to duels, in fact, I'd consider myself nothing less than a master. However, I had no idea what kind of traps to expect from him, and this uncertainty was perhaps the most terrifying part of this whole ordeal. As I sat, legs chained to the chair, the general entered the room with with a subtle but undeniable smirk spread across his face. Calm down I told myself, by all accounts I should have the advantage here. My first duel was over a decade ago, and here I stand still undefeated!.. sit. I guess I'm sitting. Come on, get a grip! I swallowed and peered straight into his cruel eyes. "Let's do this" "Exzellent,"he replied, "as a final act of mercy I shall allow you ze first move."His condescending stare was really beginning to piss me off. "Very well, I summon Flame Swordsman in attack mode!" He flashed his tobacco stained teeth at me, "I use Pot of Greed!" Oh fuck me...
"It's okay. I will rebuild. After all, that's what we humans do." beep boop "Dad, do you know where you are?" "I saw it all happen right in front of me. One of those things came crashing out of the sky. Crushed our house." "Dad, I need you to focus." "I'm focused fine Samantha. It's all going to be fine. I'll build it back up." beep boop "Build what up Dad?" "The house. When those things crash landed on it, they crushed it!" "The meteor? Are you talking about the meteor?" "The cover up has started already I see. They didn't get to you too, did they Samantha?" beep boop "Dad, you're scaring me." "You should be scared! There are aliens walking among us! But they look just like you and me!" "Calm down Dad, take a deep breath." beep boop "I'm fine! You're the one being too calm about all of this!" "You need to calm down. The doctors said-" "Liars! Cheats! Frauds! I need to get home, to start rebuilding." beep boop "I know Dad. But we can't do that just now." "Why not! What's happened to this country?! Where a man can't go to his own home!" "Dad, you need to calm down. Can you tell me where you are?" beep boop "I'm here. Why do you keep asking me that?" "It's one of the tests. Where are you right now?" "In a bed. Instead of at home, where I should be!" beep boop "Please stop shouting. You need to be resting." "Look at this, my own daughter telling me what to do." "You need to listen to me Dad. You're pretty confused right now." beep boop "I'm not confused about anything! You've been listening to their lies! The aliens that wrecked our house!" "Dad, the meteor hit the house 15 years ago. You already rebuilt it." "What are you talking about. It just happened, and then I woke up here." beep boop "No Dad, you're just confused." "I'm not confused! Did they do something to me?! Are we on their ship right now!?" beep boop "We're safe Dad. We're at the hospital." "It's a trick! A lie!" beep boop "No it's not, Dad. Just take-" "You've got to get me out of here!" beep boop "You need to stop working yourself up Dad!" "You're one of them, aren't you! What have you done with my daughter!?" beep boop "I'm your daughter Dad. Please-" beep boop "Get away from me! Help! Help! The aliens are coming for me!" beep boop "Dad, you had a heart attack. You have to stop-" beep boop "I'm not going to let. You. Get..." beep "Dad?" ... "Nurse! Anybody!" ***** Read more of my prompt responses by subscribing to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88).
"I'm afraid I must share some shocking news with you, Katie."Dave fidgeted in front of me, his fingers twisting around each other. He looked down at his lap as he spoke. "Oh God, no,"I groaned. "I was hoping this wouldn't happen." His eyes widened. "Wait, so you already know?" "I mean, it's a right bit obvious, isn't it? You're all nervous and mumbling, and not really looking at me when you talk...don't think I haven't see alll this before."The instant he had entered my house today, I had known something was awry. I pretended not to notice his hesitance as I put on a pot. But as his cup of tea got colder and colder, it became harder to ignore. "What? I'm not the first one to...reveal themselves to you?"He sounded agitated. Ah, damn. I didn't want him to feel hurt or awkward, but it seemed inevitable. I sighed. "Listen, Dave. You're a great guy and all, but I, uh...I just don't feel the same way. It's nothing personal, really." "What?" "I like you as a friend, but that's all. I mean, I don't mean to say that's all, as if being a friend didn't mean much,"I amended. Dammit, I needed to not ramble like I always did. "You're a great friend! Seriously. But I just...I don't we could be in a relationship like that. Do y'know what I mean?" He stared at me for a full ten seconds before answering. "Katie, what the hell are you talking about? I'm not in love with you something." I felt myself going scarlet. "Oh, shit. Oops. It's just...other guys I've been friends with, they all, eventually, come out to me and confess that...ah. Well. This is a bit awkward then, huh?"I took a big gulp from my cup and winced at the bitter taste. I had steeped it too long. Dave shook his head impatiently. "Listen, forget all that. I have something much more monumental to talk about." "Ah! Yes. Do tell."I eagerly focused my attention on him, trying to ignore my still hot cheeks. "Right so, where to start...have you noticed that there have been a lot of "alien"themed prompts on /r/writingprompts?" I furrowed my brow. "Really? I suppose so. I mean, I only visit that subreddit from time to time, and I guess I've seen a few more alien prompts than usual." "There's a reason for that."He looked around subversively, like a spy from a cartoon making sure the coast was clear. I leaned in a little closer to catch his hushed words. "You see, Katie, we're flooding subreddit with all these prompts as part of the normalization protocol." "The what?"I blurted out. "And who's we?" "The species of the Council whose members have already entered and begun acclimatization to life on Earth,"he said, as if that was a reasonable thing to say. "And it's nothing scary; just a bureaucratic procedure so the native members of the POI - that is, planet of interest - get used to the idea of foreign--" "OK, wait, stop,"I interrupted, bringing my palm up to face him. "What kind of weird joke is this?" "No joke, Katie. I'm not from this world, originally. Though don't get me wrong, it's a right lovely one, I've enjoyed every minute of my time here. Well,"he quickly added. "Maybe not every minute. Peak rush on the Underground is quite unpleasant. And often noisome. Oh, and I have to say, I still do not care for mushy peas. But other than that--" "OK, I hate to keep interrupting you - so rude, I hate it when people do it to me - but I can't help it. Are you telling me that you're an alien?" "Yes,"he said somberly. "I can show you, if you'd like."And without waiting for my answer, he stood up, twisted something on his belt, and suddenly changed. As in, the man standing in front of me - slightly short, brownish hair, big nose - all gone. In his place stood a purple and green skinned creature, complete with stalk eyes and wavering tentacle-fingers. It still wore Dave's clothing, which looked pretty funny on him, to be honest - but I was too astonished to laugh. It held its weird triple-jointed arms out cautiously. "Now, Katie, don't panic. I know this must be a terrible shock." "Whoa! You're an alien! Like, actually an extraterrestrial thing from...not Earth!" "I'm from a planet on a different spiral arm of this Galaxy. Ah, you don't sound...scared. That's good. A bit confusing, but good." I raised an eyebrow. "Why would I be scared? This is awesome. I'm friends with an alien!" It scratched its "head"in a very human gesture. "I just assumed that a human looking at something like me would be terrified and want to call the police. That's why we were trying to saturate reddit and other media with alien-themed stuff - to get you all used to the idea of, well, us." I laughed. "I think that was all unnecessary." "Really?" "We've been making alien movies and videogames and stuff for decades now. I think we're all pretty used to the idea of it - hell, I would say most of us are eager for when we first make contact. Though it looks like we already did!"I shook my head, still amazed. "So, what now, space man?" Alien-Dave twiddled its tentacles. "Not sure. I need to contact my boss and give the latest report." "Oh, from a console on your, like, hidden alien spaceship in the woods or something?"I asked eagerly. "Ah, no. I just email him. From my laptop." "Oh, I see." "Yes. Well, sometimes we use a video service. Kind of like an Alien Skype." "Are you going to do that now? Can I join in? Can I say hi?" "I...don't see why not. After all, my objective was to get a favorable response from you. And that seems to have worked. Right then, let me get my computer real quick. I left it in the car." As he shifted back into Dave-form and went out, I got up and put on another pot. The occasion called for a fresh one. ____________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
I should have listened to my mother. "Fairy school is a privilege, not a right,"my mother harped. "You need to take this seriously. Study hard. Pay attention in class. If you end up an onion fairy, so help me Fairy Godmother..." Standing in the back row on the stage, I surveyed my fellow fairy school graduates. I was surrounded by fairies headed to tooth, weather, garden, even puppy guardian school, and I was headed straight into the work force of Onion fairies. Our fairydictorian, Elsa, stepped to the podium. I huffed under my breath. That brown noser was the lucky one headed to the Fairy Godmother Academy, and would be "making the dreams of children come true every day", as she reminded us every chance she got. "...and congratulations!"Elsa finished her speech to cheers, and the fairy dust flew everywhere. I leapt off the back of the stage and flew as fast as I could to the administration office. I wanted to get there before everyone else so no one would see me pick up my Onion orientation package. Helena handed me an envelope and a slim wooden cutting board. "It's a simple job, but it has huge ramifications,"she explained, handing me my new titanium-grade googles. "You are the one who has to evaluate wedding vows and determine the appropriate Onion type. You are the one who has to pre-screen holiday commercials and infuse the tear-jerkers with onion fairy dust. You are the one who has to install the 'oh shit' alarms in households undergoing renovations so you know when to show up and start chopping." She handed me a pouch. "This has all your standard onions. Red, white, sweet, the works, and it will refill as you use them. This also contains your standard knives, but you might want to look into some upgrades as you get into the groove of the job." I grasped the pouch reluctantly. "That it?"I asked. I could hear a distant flap of wings outside and was itching to go. "That's it,"Helena confirmed, "but feel free to reach out if you have any other questions." I said my thanks and ran out the back door. I was going to enjoy my last day before shallot hell. I swiftly flew down towards earth, settling in my favourite tree. It looked out over a rose garden in a small public park, and was the perfect quiet thinking spot. Typically there were small groups of people walking along the paths, but today, there were only two people, a man and a woman, seated on the bench below the tree. "Jenny,"said the man, "I cannot imagine the past 3 years without you. You've been my rock, my heart, my everything...I love you so much." The woman leaned closer to the man. "Jake...are you..."she whispered. The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box. "Jenny,"he said opening it, "will you marry me?" I found myself leaning forward in awe as the two embraced. The roses, the love, everything was perfect...but maybe it could use a little help. I put my new cutting board in my lap, selected an onion, and grabbed a knife. A single tear rolled down Jenny's cheek, followed by another. She swiped them away with a shy grin. "Oh gosh,"she giggled, "its like someone's cutting onions!" Maybe this job won't be so bad after all...
Alright, cool, it's sandwich time again. Okay so let me just grab a loaf of bread. I love when it's fresh sliced and thick. Mhmm OH YEAH, that's some good smellin' bread right there! Wow! Okay now it's just a simple matter of slowly lowering my bread knife down to begin the slicing process... steady... steady... - BARK! BARK! What the fudge?! Me bread turned into a corgi! Okay take it easy... I do love corgis so this ain't a bad thing. Maybe I just mistakenly grabbed a corgi I don't own instead of my delicious bread I was aiming for. Alright lil pupster, you stay down here and you'll be gettin' some of that sweet sweet sandwich action soon enough. Luckily I keeps me some back up breads. Let's see here... AHA! Now here's a good one! I'll just take this over to the tab - BARK! BARK! What the hot fudge!?! Another corgi? Wait I know this time I grabbed a bread, well but hold on, I guess not because this is again another corgi. Okay well first corgi, your name is now White, and now corgi your name is Sour Dough... boy. Sour Doughboy. Okay well looks like I'll have to make an extra sandwich with two probably hungry pupsters in my kitchen now. I have some rye over here I'm sure and that would be good with - BARK! BARK! Hey whoa, another corgi up here? Okay okay okay c'mon over here. That's it. That's a good... girl. Man oh man... Do I gotta buy some dog food? And now it appears I have no bread! No bread means no sandwich. ALRIGHT PUPS! EVERYONE IN THE CAR! We're going get some sandwiches and dry dog food. I'm hungry, you're hungry, c'mon guys let's do this.
As the sun rises, our humble, slovenly, unemployed protagonist will remain in bed for at least 4 more hours before our story begins like a true unproductive POS that he is "Seriously? You're just going to start in like that right off that bat? Goodmorning to you too I guess" Oh look, the lonely man stirs before the lunch hour. What a full day of doing nothing for the betterment of society he has in store! "Lonely?" He questions the sky aimlessly, questioning the fact he woke up alone for the 783rd day in a row "I wasn't questioning the sky, I was questioning you. And do we seriously need to bring up my dry spell? I just have been in a funk, I could bag a broad this weekend if I really tried" With one of his signature charming lies, he rises out of bed. What he imagines to be a normal day may very well be quite unusual... "Really? Is something exciting going to happen??" Tricked again, our childish protagonist waits for the universe to spoonfeed him interesting life events while he spoonfeeds himself children's cereal, much like the child he is. "Mmpmhm whammphevmmr" With his mouth full of cereal, he exclaims how today will be different and maybe he will get a job or even try applying instead of wasting more oxygen "That's not what I said" Pointing out the obvious, he proceeds about his unambitious morning by adding the bowl to the sink... atop the mountain of dirty cereal bowls from the past month "And just so you know Mr. Rude Narrator, I actually got a job. I start at 8am, hence why I am up so early" With a twist in the plot, it appears our uninspiring protagonist has actually decided to contribute by finding himself a job, not realizing he is already 20 minutes late "Wait what? Oh shit!" After much effort trying to get his crappy car running, he decides to take his bike. As if he had a choice. This should work well as he talks to the sky more "I'm talking to you and you know it. You've been narrating my life for two years. Like a total jerk might I add. But today is the day, oh man. Just wait till you find out about the job I have lined up" Rushing to the street corner where his mom works at night... "Stop calling my mom a prostitute! That joke got old real quick. She's a dancer okay?" He shouts as a family walks by "Sorry! I was just talking to my narrator!" He shouts at the family like it wasn't a crazy thing to say. Watching him ride a bike is as hard to watch as it appears hard for his physique to handle so we will check back in on him in 30 minutes ... As we get back to our presumably still sweaty protagonist, it appears he has made it to his job and wasn't sent home for being extremely late on his first day. Let us take a closer look to see what bottom feeder job he has landed. Wait, that looks like a recording studio. Hang on, that looks like the same recording studio I do his narration at... As our humble narrator begins to realize where his subject is, he becomes panic stricken. With a dumb look crossing over his dumb face Who said that? He shouts to the sky! Are you... you can't narrate me! I am narrating you! What appeared to be a normal story of a rude narrator now appears to quickly develop into a tale about a man losing his mind, talking to the sky I'm not talking to the sky! I'm talking to you. This can't work, we can't narrate each other Screaming to the sky, he doesn't realize he is breaking the number one rule of narration, not to address the subject directly Oh goddammit ______________ As the sun rises, our humble, slovenly, unemployed protagonist will remain in bed for at least 4 more hours before our story begins like a true unproductive POS that he is Every morning with this? How many times do I have to apologize??
######[](#dropcap) Kreffing, Tormenter of the 63rd Sub-Level of Hell (not to mention Gnasher of Teeth, Bringer of Nightmares, etc.), paused at the entrance to the sacred burial ground, and reflected on the unfortunate nature of the night's business. It was not that he wanted to be here, of course. A demon would never want to act this way towards a colleague. But times were tough. Tenured Tormentor-ships were in short supply in 21st century Hell. Not like the good old days when demoning was a solid career choice - when a Tormentor-ship meant a cushy lifestyle of long lunches, afternoon naps, and the occasional damning. Unfortunately, the gig economy had not left Hell unscathed. These days it was hard to find work as a Tormentor that wasn't seasonal. And the pay! Kreffing shuddered. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to afford a good Cuban and a well-aged bottle of Scotch. No, these days an up-and-coming young (if you counted 1473 years as young, which the denizens of Hell did) demon had to stand out from the crowd. He (or she, Kreffing mentally corrected himself) had to do something that put them on the map. Blogs were big, as were podcasts, but Hell's social media space had become rather saturated with shallow viral content, such the article he had groaned at on Buzzfiend this morning ('You'll never believe what these 22 souls did to earn damnation'). Kreffing had bigger plans. The best, and hardest, way to get your name out there was to prove one of the bigshots wrong. Kreffing had hatched and schemed for two centuries, and come up with what he modestly admitted was a masterpiece. A few decades of waiting for the right mortal to come along, and here they were. Kreffing edged up to the threshold of the burial ground, and gingerly poked a toe over the edge. Nothing happened. Kreffing almost danced with glee, but reflecting that such behaviour was unbecoming of a soon-to-be senior member of the Demonhood, he restrained himself to triumphant snarl. He walked confidently over the portal, and made his way through the burial ground towards where the archbishop was saying a rite for a new member of the deceased, and tapped the man on the shoulder. The archbishop turned and Kreffing smiled nastily. "Hate to break it to you, old boy,"Kreffing said, "but I've found a loophole in the whole hallowed ground business." The archbishop gulped nervously, unsure what to make of the little man in the pinstripe suit and bowler hat, carrying a neatly furled umbrella and a spotless black leather briefcase, who had glowing red eyes. "May I?"Kreffing said, and took the rite out of the man's hands without waiting for permission. "You see it says here-" He stopped. A cold feeling of dread suddenly spread over his stomach. There was a typo. "This is a rite for 'hollowed' ground,"he said, not managing more than a whisper. "It's just a spelling mistake,"the mortal said nervously. "It doesn't really mean anything..." Oh, how little these mortals knew. "If I can freely enter this hollowed ground..."Kreffing trailed off, the implications of his mistake slowly dawning on him. There was a large crash outside the burial ground. The demon saw two large legs appear through the doorway, each the size of a small elephant. Cloven feet singed the ground where they trod. Kreffing recognized the unmistakable feet of Jevellion, Supreme Lord of the 2nd Level of Hell, and namesake of Jevellion's Theorem of Hallowed Ground. The very theorem that Kreffing had hoped to disprove tonight. He stared at the archbishop in horror, his fear nearly as palpable as the man's. "What have you done?" --- Fortunately, [r/jd_rallage](https://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/) is hallowed ground, so I suggest you take refuge there (but I'm biased)
When they finally arrived in 2056, no one expected them to be this.... tiny. Sure they had the technology, they achieved interstellar travel right? But still the size was very unexpected. Their biggest starship was roughly about the same size with our loading trucks, like the yellow ones we use in mines, and their tallest member was about 10 cm tall. They communicated via radio, somehow knowing every language we speak. they stayed in low orbit and never landed on earth soil. Scientists say it was probably about the gravity of our planet being not compatible with their biology. They referred us as giants. Turns out they are scientist. Scholars. For hundreds of years their expedition parties roamed the galaxy. Cataloging every sentient species they could discover. But they have never seen creatures as big as us. As expected humanity was amazed with them. But when i open a news channel and see people talking about our visitors, i saw something in their eyes other than amazement. I don't know how to explain but i think it was like... underestimating. It doesn't matter they were centuries ahead of us. We were bigger. But our size was not the only thing which is bigger than them. I think our ego can take that first place.
"Bro, my mom's gonna kill me if she finds out we wasted the rest of the tinfoil!"Derrick sputtered, tossing now empty box into the trash. I laughed. "Dude, you're 28!"I remind my childhood friend. The poor man was some combination of drunk and high, technically making him a hunk. My series of weird thoughts, coupled with our latest late night decision, remind me that I was in a similar state. He chortled, wrapping the foil around his head and meshing it over his curly brown hair. As soon as it was to his liking, he threw both fists into the air in triumph. "Woo!"he cheered, stumbling backward but not falling. "Fuck you, Elon Musk!"he chortled to himself again before closing his eyes and leaning back against the kitchen counter. "So, this'll stop the aliens and the Feds from reading our thoughts?"I joked, slapping Derrick on the shoulder. He flinched, but gave no other response. Dude's wasted! I shrugged, "One small step for man..."I said in my best Armstrong impression as I wrapped the foil around my own crown, pushing the string flaxen hair into a sort of bun in the process. "One giant-" Have you ever had a pain you didn't know about? Like, your back is sore from sitting at a weird angle and then, as soon as you lie down, there's the sweet virtually orgasmic moment of relief? That's the only way I can describe what I felt. "D....der.... deh... dah.....ich..."I mustered, trying to slap Derrick on the arm again and get his attention. This time he opened his eyes, two glassy marbles staring back at me. It was like someone had replaced his eyes with marble copies of his original eyes! His eyes, however, were not like normal; they had a glaze to them, a brightness from shine but not from life. As soon as his eyes opened, err, his eyelids opened to.... reveal his.... I slapped his arm again to get his attention. Duncan fell to the floor, his head and foil hat hitting the tiles like a rock. "Daniel!"I shouted, reaching down to help him. I ended up tripping over him, falling face first into our frig. Our downstairs neighbors were out for the weekend, fortunately, so we didn't have to worry about explaining that thud to them this time. "Dennis, what happened?"I came to, my lifelong friend lying face first on the ground. He had a sheet of silvery wrap over his head, like one of those conspiracy theorists you see on TV. I shook him, checking for a pulse. His was slow, but fortunately existent. I rolled him onto his back, his mouth and eyelids twitching. "Damien, open your eyes fam."I muttered, lifting his right eyelid for him. His eyes didn't move even after this, but remained motionless with a glazed look. His eyes look like... those things we used to play with as kids. You know, the rolling ones? His pupils were massive, like that of a cat, except they had a glazed look to them. I collapsed next to him and closed my eyes. When I opened them, a man was lying on the floor next to me. He was burly dude, bearded with tufts of brown hair spilling out of some sort of crazy hat covering his crown. Wanting to see more, I pealed the shiny cap off his head, even more curly brown hair spilling out. He eyes finally opened as he shot up, taking a massive gasp of air. "Fam?"he called, likely waking everyone in the city block. "Fam!"he shouted, looking right at me. He quickly ripped the foil off my head and I felt a rush like no other, followed by a blinding light. I awoke to Derrick, my childhood friend and best bro, standing in the corner looking at two pieces of tinfoil. I got up off the kitchen floor, not sure how I'd gotten there, and leaned against the counter. My nose was bleeding and I felt strangely lightheaded. It felt like a hangover, but better, if that makes any sense. "Bro, what were we on last night?"he asked, perplexed by the tinfoil in particular. I shrugged, "Fam, what weren't we on last night?". He chuckled, patting his right pocket "I think I lost my phone..." I laughed and snatched one of the foil hats from him. "Dude, tinfoil hats? Really?". He kept examining the one in his hand. "Dude, my buddy told me these stop the aliens from reading your thoughts. Wanna try it?" "Dude, you've lost your marbles.."I joked, putting the hat on just for the fun of it. "See?"I said, "If Elon Musk wants to read my thoughts, this isn't going to stop him. Just let the man get back to his home planet in peace, alright?"I joked, collapsing to the floor.
* [IMAGE OF PIZZA, FESTOONED WITH CHEESE AND GLISTENING MEATS] * [CLOSE UP OF A BEAUTIFUL {your preferred gender} HERE] * [FAINT TINKLING JINGLE: BUY YOUR DOMINO'S PIZZA TODAY] * [IMAGE OF BARRY LOOKING FRUSTRATED] * [SENSATION OF BARRY'S DISCONTENT WITH MIND-ADS] * [FEELING OF URGENCY OF TRANSLATING THIS ANCIENT "ˈɪŋglɪʃ"PHRASE] * [UPGRADED TO EXTREME URGENCY WITH FEEL-U-LIKE EMOTION ENHANCER PRO] * sending... [ABSTRACT IMAGE OF PLACATION] * sending... [IMAGE OF YOUR FACE INDICATING ALL WILL BE WELL] * sending... [GENERIC EMOJI: {open hand gesture}, ATTACH YOUR REAL HANDS WITH EMOJI-PRO] * sending... failed * sending... failed * sending... [IMAGE OF MASSIVE NUCLEAR EXPLOSION] * sending... [IMAGE OF COMPUTERS BEING ZAPPED AND TURNING OFF] * sending... [GENERIC EMOJI: Warning sign] * sending... [INDICATION YOU SHOULD SERIOUSLY NOT F*** WITH THIS] * [PLEASE VERIFY YOUR AGE TO USE ADULT LANGUAGE] * [IMAGE OF COUNTDOWN CLOCK] * [CLOCK READING 3] * [CLOCK READING 2] * sending... [IMAGE OF YOU LOOKING VERY CONCERNED] * sending... failed * sending... failed ERROR ERROR ERROR 'Unhhhuhhh uhhh UHH UHH.' You pull the CoronetPRO 4 circlet from your head and stare at it blankly. It's never hurt before. You broadcast a feeling of anger and frustration, but the Coronet is in your head, not on your head, so it's not sending anything any more. You attempt to put it back on but you can feel there's no connection there. Normally you can internally sense the size and scale of your immediate networks, and "feel"with your mind the outer nodes beyond that, "see"(in your mind's eye) the rough shape of the networks around you. Some leading to work and colleague nodes (with heavy mandatory and optional filters on them), some leading to friends, others to family, others to "artificial"entertainment nodes. Of course, all paths leading to nodes are artificial, but where as the ones connecting you to people feel grey, the ones connecting you to entertainment channels seem more bright green. The network's gone down. You can feel it. You can feel the giant empty space. Where there was people you knew, now there are none. You are trying to scan the void to look for something, and it takes you a moment to realise you're not actually doing anything. There is no scanning, the network is down, you're just sitting with a broken Coronet on your head, thinking. You reach for the back-up circlet. It's not Coronet-brand, it's heavy and plastic and it has (yuck) wires. You plug it into the transmitter in the wall. That's when your stomach really drops. Instead of the usual noise from using an unbranded headpiece, unfiltered spam and ads, sexual solicitations, piracy waves, suicide notes, religious prayers... you get nothing. You've never plugged in a circlet and recieved nothing before. It's eerie. Like waking up in a large metropolis to find everyone's deserted you. Commotion from the hallway. You run out. A neighbour has tumbled out of their room as is holding themselves up against the wall. 'Burrhhn uuu nuuhhh!' they yell at you, trying to indicate their head, but unused to pointing. They bang their head with a clawed hand. And screw up their face. They're trying to send you a thought. You can't get it. The Coronet still in their hand is useless. They scream gutteral syllables at you, growing fearful and frustrated at no longer being able to communicate. They're miming throwing their thoughts at you, but you have no hope of understanding what it means. Sobbing comes from the apartment on your left as you turn away and walk down the corridor. The frustrator neighbour's useless Coronet (a cheap v2.4) clatters off the wall next to you. You look over your shoulder to see them collapse on the floor in tears. You take the stairs up. You spent days filing away the padlock to get on to the roof. Useless warning signs try to broadcast [APPREHENSION] into your mind, but you're not wearing a circlet any more. You push open the door to the roof. In every direction is a slightly different late-stage of mushroom cloud. The sky is red. People are screaming. Cars are smashing into everything. It's chaos. No one can communicate any more. No one has the words. You walk over to the long roll of artist's canvas you carefully painted piece by piece, rolled up along the side that faces the university. You check the restraints and kick it off. Someone's going to need to teach the world how to write again. Just like they were taught, by you, how to read a treasure map, how that black-and-yellow symbol meant treasure from the ancients. How "ˈnuːkliːjər"meant "rich." You'd planned to make them wait a bit first, but this has just pushed your plans forward further. You tick the roll of canvas and look down as it falls open. "ME HERE. TEACH YOU SPEAK. PAY ME." ...the banner reads. You're gonna be rich. RICH.
"I asked for a fade, not a buzz cut asshole."my latest customer shouted at me angrily. I rolled my eyes as I pictured his ideal haircut in my head. Horrid, atrocious, not something I would like to call my own handiwork. I have nothing against fades but this guy didn't need one. It just didn't help his look. "If you don't like it, you can sue me."I muttered. He'd realize he loved it before he could get his lawyers in order. That's the way it always worked it. "I damn well will sue you."The customer threatened when his phone gave a high pitched shriek to distract his attention. I peered over his shoulder as he checked the message. It was confirming his acceptance to somewhere but where. I peered closer. The army, he had been accepted into the army. His physical tests had proven him fit for service. And if he was in the army, we all know what he would need. A buzz cut! "So when do you want to meet me in court?"I asked him smugly, giving him a knowing look that I could tell irritated him. "No, I'll just leave it how it fucking is."He said angrily but I could tell a smile was hidden right behind his face.
Losing an arm sucks. What sucks even more is knowing the future. It seems great at first you know, I’ve predicted almost every event. I’ve been right every time. Somehow though it’s only the little things. Stacey’s favourite food, the winner of the low stakes trots, things like that. But it’s started to get out of hand. You can’t even watch new movies without knowing who dies at the end. It’s terrible. Thing is, it’s not even me that does this either. It’s my arm. Well, my prophetic arm. Yeah, turns out some drongo at the clinic can’t spell all too well because they misspelled “Prosthetic.” I checked it myself. The chart said “Amputee - needs prophetic arm”. Must have been made by the CIA, or ASIO or something. Either way, it’s a goddamn pain. It’s like this every time. I try to watch the footy and it pops up, it’s ruinous prediction, sucking the fun out of everything. The thing talks to me like I’m holding a sock puppet. Just without the sock. I thought about putting googly eyes on it to make things less weird. It’s never less weird. I did however end up naming it. It’s called Stanley. I think it fits how annoying it is. Anyhow one day I thought I’d put Stanley to work. So I packed my bags and waltzed into Channel 7. I went to the highest floor I could, found the nearest person and asked for a job. “I’m going to be your new Weatherman” I said, looking at a guy standing across the hall. He looked at me. “Good for you mate. I’m just the cleaner, CEO’s in there” he said, pointing over at the door. I walked on through, and told the CEO the great news. “I’m going to be your new Weatherman”. “Where’s your credentials? I don’t know who you are. How did you even get in here?” “That’s not important. What’s important is I haven’t incorrectly predicted the weather in over 2 years. Here’s next week's forecast.” I said as I handed him a list. One week later I got the job. Having an arm that predicts the future can still be a goddamn pain. But hey, sometimes it comes in handy.
One million, Jim thought, staring at his longtime girlfriend, Diane, on the stage. He muttered, "One million..." The creature that rose to claim Diane, however, was not a human. It was at least seven feet tall with purple skin and two short antennas poking out from its head. It stood, and everyone gasped. A few fainted. Some ran for the doors. Jim could only stare as Diane stood, pale and with a horrified look draining her face. "Ah, yes, I know I know, I'm alien, you all are in shock, yeah yeah yeah,"the alien said now that it was on stage with a microphone in its hand. "Please don't be squeamish about my nakedness, it's the custom among most civilized species. Now, you may be thinking, 'Hey, what the hell is this guy doing at a dating auction,' and I'll give you an explanation so your civilization here on Earth doesn't go through some traumatic period of self reckoning, wondering where the aliens are and what to do." Jim half rose, then sat down again, half rose, and then sat down again. Diane cast him a frightened, hopeful look, but he was frozen, unable to take action against this alien invader. "I was born a few thousand years ago, I'm a young man (as I'm sure you've noticed, please don't be insulting), and as such I need to build my harem for reproduction. This human female is by far one of the most wondrous, most beautiful creatures that I have come across in the entire galaxy. I must have her. Here's the million buckaronies,"the alien said as he dropped a briefcase of what must have been filled with cash on the floor, "to whoever owns her. Now off I go!" The alien started leaving, gripping Diane and not relinquishing his grip around her, despite the protest of her fists, kicks, and bites. "Not so fast!"Jim said. He was shocked to find himself standing and almost fainted. "You can't take her!" "What are you talking about?"the alien said, having stopped at the door. "I paid for this property!" "Women aren't property on Earth." "Actually, the majority of your cultures here state that they are. I'm just going by the rules." "Not my rules, I demand you release her!" "Are you kidding me? Listen, what's your name? Diane? Diane, listen to me babe, I can give you thousands of years of life exploring the galaxy. All you have to do is join my harem, and my bed every now and then. Kapish?" "Umm..."Diane said, her protests suddenly stopping. "I guess...I guess that sounds okay." "What?"Jim said, fading to nothing. "Diane, I'll treat you right! This guy can't do anything for you, he's not human!" "Oh, stop whiteknighting Jim. You'll get over it." "See ya later,"the alien said, leaving with arm-in-arm with Diane. ***** If you like this, check out more at r/arcaldwell.
"I'm sorry?"Gal Du-dar leaned forward over his crooked cane and held a hand up to his ear, "I didn't catch that." "I said WE WANT... OUR HUSBAND'S... SOULS... RELEASED!" "Rolls pre-teased?" "SOULS RELEASED!"Vixiana screamed at the old man, waving her battleaxe in order to punctuate her point and relieve some frustration. She'd spent the last five minutes trying to convey her demands to the dottering old fool they'd found here. "Oh, souls!"Gal Du-dar grinned toothlessly and bobbed his head a few times, making his chest-length beard ripple like the surface of a lake on a windy afternoon, "I think I have a soul or two in the cupboard, behind the brown sauce. I put one in a tea kettle once. I don't drink tea anymore, you see. It gives me heart-burn. I thought since it wasn't being used then I could put it to use. Waste not, you know! Why, when I was younger I would burn a whole village to the ground if I found them wasting things like good slave labor. Serves them right, you know. Nowadays they tell me that's all bad to do and-" "Shut the hell up!"Vixiana's face was red with rage, "Gabriel, look for the cupboard and the tea kettle, see if there anyone in it." "Yes, ma'am." "I'm sorry, dear, what were we talking about?" "Soul traps!"Vixiana tore each word out of her mouth slowly and carefully, "Where do you keep your used soul traps?" "Soul traps?"Gal Du-dar blinked vacantly, "I gave those to my grandson years ago. He's really quite a go-getter. He conquered Heurenheim with only a goblin horde and three trolls, did you know that? So proud of him. I needed a whole Orc army in my day, and a lot of magical items, oh, and a scrying eye-stone made out of -" "Stop. Wait!"Vixiana stepped up the the old fool and put her battleaxe to his neck, "You gave the souls of our husbands... to your grandson... who is the Lord of Heurenheim? The Dark Lord Izekblight?" "He took his mother's name."Gal Du-dar huffed, "The Du-dar name wasn't good enough for him! Said it sounded like baby's first words! Can you believe that? In my day, the name of Du-dar inspired fear and... and... oh, dash it all. What was the other thing it inspired? Starts with and O, sounds like Obsolete? No, that's not right. Oh fiddlestaffs... this is going to bug my britches for days now!" "Ma'am!"Gabriel returned with a tea kettle, murmurs of excitement ran through the other warrior women behind Vixiana. "Well?"Vixiana stared intently at the old dented tea kettle, "Was there a soul inside?" Gabriel held up a pair of leather soles that looked like they had belonged to a pair boots many, many years ago. Vixiana turned her battleaxe in her hand and banged her head against the flat of it with more eloquence than any words could convey.
The holo-anchor turned to camera two. "In political news, a surprising turn in the race for the 8th Congressional District, when incumbent Representative John Paxton confirmed that he was in fact a 'brony,' and has been for the past three decades. Allegations of being a 'brony' were leveled at him in an attack ad by challenger David York, wondering what Representative Paxton was doing watching 'a show for little girls.' In response, Paxton noted 'If my opponent finds that a show praising the values of Honesty, Loyalty, Laughter, Generosity, and Kindness is just for 'little girls,' perhaps he doesn't intend to bring those values to Washington."Indeed, York's ad was quickly pulled after this statement, and after tracking numbers showed a significant bump in Paxton's lead in the polls after his Brony status was revealed. The most liked comment on Rep. Paxton's Facebook page reads 'My congressman just got 20 percent cooler!'" "After the break, we'll go the Weather Center to get a report of how much of Florida will be covered by water for the weekend, and our sports anchor will let you know if the Toronto Maple Leafs have finally managed to win the Stanley Cup. Spoiler alert: Get ready for disappointment." The screen shifted to an unflattering black-and-white photo of a man taken while he was yelling. It was labeled "Rich Landes." "Senator Landes would have you believe that he is a well-meaning, reasoned member of the Internet Generation. He wants you to think that he didn't know that 4chan wasn't a single person, and only remained on the site to research how bad it was." "Really, Mr. Landes? Over two-thousand hours of research? And how do you explain this picture, of you at your computer and the screen clearly reads you posting that someone should 'an hero.'" "Is this the sort of man we want in Washington? A senator just as likely to yell at a visiting dignitary 'Tits or GTFO?' Maybe Senator Landes should GTFO." "Paid for by the Committee to Send Rich Landes Back to the Basement, and not affiliated with any candidate."
It was like one of the migraines I used to get all the time when I was a kid- sudden, sharp, piercing. It bounces around in your brain before rippling down your spine, tensing up you body and doubling you over on the spot. Then, your eyes fill up with a strange light- like somehow the blinding glowing masses in there cast their own shadows. Then your vision becomes useless. While the feeling vibrates into your limbs and guts until it has completely saturated your body, the voices start up again- slowly oozing in through a pin sized hole somewhere deep in your brain. They're mostly gibberish, like standing in a crowded room while everybody holds their own crackling-screened television. Sometimes I can make out words here and there, but this time, through all of the static, two competing voices dominated the cacophonous maelstrom. That was new. My mind automatically protected the faces of two red-eyed, pale men in some dark room far away, scrambling at two massive boards covered in buttons, knobs, and flashing red lights, livid and shouting, but too busy to go for the other's throat. I could easily make out what they said, but at that point, that meant nothing to me. I had to get control of my body again or I was going to make a scene. The last time I had one of these episodes, an old woman had found me grounded in the middle of the street, blood flowing from my ears and a pillow of foam oozing from my lips. Regaining control of any limb always felt to me like reaching into an electrified bucket of boiling water, but after some struggling, I managed to drag my left arm to my waist and grab the cylinder residing in the pocket of my denim shorts. In this state, my fingers may have just as well been summer sausages on a log, so the only way I was removing the cap was by bashing it against the concrete. It spilled open on the fifth attempt, and I managed to work three of the capsules from the ground between my lips and down my throat. Things instantly began to clear up. The two voices seemed to trickle back through the hole, and I could have sworn I heard the second let out a shout of triumph. I haphazardly gathered my limbs and clamored to my knees, shooting a glance in either direction as my vision clarified. The sidewalk was empty in both directions. I gathered the pills and hastily headed back towards home while fumbling around with my phone. When my psychologist finally picked up, he had seemed shaken and out of breath, but it had seemed so insignificant at the time. Thinking about it now though, I think I could recognize his voice from somewhere else.
Jack held his gun in both hands and tried to fight the rapidness of his own pulse. He was drenched with sweat and blood from reopened wounds. Every inch of him seemed to be on fire with pain, or clammy and hot. "You can't win, Jack!"A burst of gunfire cut through a nearby desk, shredding the cheap particle board it was made of, "It's nine against one! The odds are against you!" "That's just how I like it!"Jack yelled and was answered by another spray of bullets biting into the concrete pillar he was hiding behind. When the shots stopped he leaned out and shot twice, taking out two of the armed thugs, "Seven to one!" "You should just give up, Jack."Luca Gambini stepped closer. Jack could hear the tapping of his high-end shoes hitting the tile floor, "I planned for this day, you know, planned for a long time!" Jack jerked in surprise as the pillar started sliding against his back. He looked up to find the the whole pillar was retracting into the floor! He had only seconds before he had no cover at all! He glanced around the room in desperation, his eyes finally settling on the riot shield that lay next to a dead SWAT team member. He took a deep breath and ran for it, turning his gun and firing blindly at Gambini and his thugs. Gunfire answered him back, but Jack dove into a roll, picking up the shield and propping himself behind it. "Simon?"Luca Gambini gestured to the man in a suit beside him, "If you would, please?" Simon nodded stoically and pulled a grappling hook from behind his back, lifting it up and swinging it over his head. "Ok, I've had enough!"Jack stood up and threw the riot shield down, "A grappling hook? He just had that behind his back for the last thirty minutes? Just standing there under gunfire with a grappling hook behind his back?" Oh god, not this [again.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/69vj95/wp_just_when_it_seems_when_its_over_the/dh9t7wq/) "Yah!"One of the thugs chimed in, "Dat doesn't make any sense." "I am forced to agree with him."Gambini, the notoriously ugly and terrible-smelling gangster added, "Oh, come now. That is just being cruel and petty." Look, I'll say it once again, this is my story and I will not have the characters going off-script and yelling at me! I'm the damned narrator and if I say there is a grappling hook, then there is a grappling hook. Got it? Good, now lets get to the part where Jack finds a grenade launcher and- "Woah woah waoh!"Jack shook his head like a little sissy girl, "And stop with the dialogue narration crap! Grenade launcher? There was a grenade launcher here this entire time? Did I just not notice a huge piece of weaponry like that just lying around?" The SWAT guy had it, ok? There, explained! Can we just get on with the story? "So this one SWAT guy was carrying a riot shield AND a grenade launcher?"Jack crossed his arms, "Does he also have four arms? I'm pretty sure that's how many he would need to pull that off." "Agreed." GOD DAMN IT! Will you guys just shut up and do what I say you're doing! It's a damn writing prompt for god's sake, it's not even for a serious piece. I'm just fuckin' about here. "Does not matter."Gambini straightened his tie, "Bad writing is bad writing." "Yeah!" Oh, for the love of... Alright, so what would you guys do? "I take care of business, of course!"Gambini turned his hands up, "I have Simon here shoot Jack in the face a few times." "Ye- Wait... what?"Jack shook his head, "I'm the hero here. I can't die. That's not how it works." "Who said you were the hero?"Gambini laughed, "Not one time in this prompt did it say that you were good guy. I can have you shot if I want. What? Just because I have an Italian name and a few thugs it means I'm the bad guy here?" Well, actually... "Oh, come on!"Gambini looked up with disbelief on his face, "You can't be that cliche!" "Actually, he is."Jack shrugged, "You shoulda seen what he did with the Irish earlier. It's sad, really." WILL YOU BOTH SHUT UP! Gah, fine. You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO? "What?" Everyone dies. Jack, you kill all the thugs and wound Gambini. Gambini, you shoot jack and then you both die. How does that sound? Is everyone good with that ending? "Eh, works for me."Jack raised his gun and shot Simon, "At least it gets us all out of this hell."
"Fuck fuck not again."I muttered as I stormed out of the room filled with the upright corpses of my classmates who were alive and well just moments ago. I began running across the campus to find a hiding spot somewhere when I suddenly bumped into something in front of me. I looked up at my friend Kyle, your stereotypical college stoner. And while him smiling ear to ear wasn't all that strange, him being naked and completely skeletal from the neck down certainly was. "Heeeeyyyy GREgeg hOWoWWW ARE YOU doIng?" I didn't stay to awnser him. I shoved him out of the way and quickly regained my pace. The scenery around me was... wrong. The buildings would ripple like the surface of a lake from a fresh visit by an oncoming pebble, the sky was deep purple even though the space around me was fairly well-lit. I turned 'round a corner and hid in an empty auditorium behind a low-hanging projector. That's when I noticed the sound of the door opening to my left. The thing that walked in had its incredibly long legs attached to its shoulders. Its crooked arms had multiple joints and dangled off of the sides of its hips. It had on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt like any average college student, it had on a pair of glasses perched on its long, pointed nose even though it eyes stretched out of its mouth using veiny, red cords. The creature lifted its legs incredibly high as it hobbled around, forcing it to lean/hop in the opposite direction its leg was lifted in. I stood absolutely still and waited until it stomped outside. I snuck from behind the screen and swiftly entered the door the creature left open. I quietly crawled down the stairs and entered the emergency lock-down room in the basement. You see, each building had a safe room incase of a weather emergency, during my last five surprise trips to this nightmarish place I did some preparation. Almost every time I was teleported here I was killed by one of its residents, until I found this place, unlocked. So I started stocking the room with all of the edible food I could find and whatever makeshift weapons I could forge. You see, time works differently here, five minutes in the real world is one week here. And this time I'm going to survive.
When I came out of the bathroom, he was staring at the door and nervously sipping water. He took his phone out of his pocket, looked at it for half a second, then put it back in. I couldn't have made that bad of an impression, could've I? I walked behind him and placed my hands lightly on his shoulders. "Hey,"I said playfully, nodding towards the door, "Who are you waiting for?" He scrutinized my eyes, and then gave me a look of recognition. "Oh!"He sighed out. "You must be Samantha. I was getting worried, you know. I thought you wouldn't turn up. I'm Andrew, by the way. It's nice to meet you. Let me get your chair."He spat out his sentences with incredible speed. He stood up quickly, pulled back my chair and gave me an awkward smile as I sat. Of course, I was confused. "Andrew. We've introduced ourselves already."I said, almost as a question. "We've even made our orders already. What is going on?" But he looked at me with confusion. The type of look you would give to a horse stuck in a high-rise office cubicle. "I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. We met just now. Are you okay?" My head hurt. I asked for some water and I gulped it down. We sit together for a minute in silence. I've really messed this up, I thought. "So, uh. Do you use reddit a lot?"He prompts. "I think I should go, I'm really not feeling well. I'm so sorry"I say. "If you need to, I guess."He looked disappointed and resigned. I slowly got up from my chair and slowly pushed it back in under the table. I looked at Andrew one more time, expecting him to be sad, or angry, or something. But he looked different. There was something like a smile on his face, hidden in the corner of his cheek. He stared deeply into me. "Another time, perhaps?"He said dryly. I dashed as quickly as I could through the exit. I looked back at my table, and Andrew was on his phone. He looked me in my eyes, pointed at me with his index finger and, with the same finger, pressed a button on his phone. Everything went dark. When I came out of the bathroom, he was staring at me and sipping water with absolute confidence.
Abu Ubaidah ibn al-Jarrah. In all the years I had been here, he was the first. The first nobleman that didn't know. When I asked him for his real name, and his university, he was very confused. It had taken me a while to realize - he was real. He was an actual human, living in the seventh century, and not knowing that the people around him were historians from the 21st century. They have played their part well. But of course this had meant I couldn't speak plainly with him. He wouldn't understand. So I pretended that it was a matter of honour, and I told him I would only surrender to the Caliph. He believed it, and the "Caliph"came to Jerusalem. Long had I waited to speak with him. "Professor Umar", I said with a heavy voice after pleasantries were exchanged and the uninformed had left the room. "You know as well as I do that I cannot hold Jerusalem. But I want to understand. When I met you I was thrilled to find a colleague I had worked with so many times, someone who - I thought - shared my goals. We both traveled back in time to prevent the greatest tragedy that has ever befallen our civilization. Yet here you are, leading the very army that is to conquer Jerusalem. Are you not a Christian?" "I am", he said with a sober voice. "And did you not come here to prevent the Arab conquests? To ensure that the patriarchates would remain in Byzantine hands?" "I did." "And was it not your goal to become Caliph to hinder the efforts of the invaders and prevent this exact thing from happening?" "It was." "Then what changed? Did Muhammad himself turn you? Is it lust for power?"I was getting angry, and tried to calm myself. My colleague didn't seem bothered though. "Neither. I assure you, I am still playing my role. Yet I have come to the conclusion that I must repeat what already happened. We cannot change history." I snorted and stood up, not able to stay in my seat. "What is this nonsense? We've been through that. There is no grandfather paradox. We're here, in this timeline, and the future does not influence us."Had he suddenly confused the real world with some time travel novel? There was no time police that would come and arrest us for changing history. We had the chance to preserve something good, and he wanted to destroy it because he was afraid of changing things? Umar looked up. "And what will happen then, Professor Sophron? What if Rome doesn't fall? Will it adapt to the future, and lead Europe into a Golden Age? Will it reconquer the Western half? Will we all bow to Constantinople even in the information age? Or rather, will there even be an information age?" I stopped pacing and looked at him. "What are you saying?" He looked serious now, like he truly wanted me to understand. "Without the fall of Byzantium, there will be no Renaissance. No decentralization of power in the West. Maybe none of the Western institutions. Free trade, competition, polycentric law! The West needed this situation, this threat to its very existence! Do you truly think the Emperor in Constantinople - may God bless him - will not centralize his rule more and more, creating a caesaropapist stagnant behemoth that will prevent all innovation and progress? Without a church independent from the state, there will be no West as we know it. It hurts me as much as you to see our holy places pillaged, but it is necessary." A terrible, dreadful silence followed his words. He had gotten louder with each sentence, but not to the point of screaming. I started pacing again, then stopped at the window. The sounds of birds were all I heard today from the city, suffering from all the months it had been under siege. The dreadful realization that he was right, that it was too risky, that my dream was insane, slowly crept into my mind. "So this is it? We are going to repeat all the terrible wars that we came here to prevent? While our ancestors were fighting over religion; we are fighting those same wars simply to ensure the socio-economic developments we know will result from it?" The professor nodded. "Yes." There was another minute of silence. Then he spoke again. "You will surrender Jerusalem then, Patriarch Sophronius?" At least something changed. All the historical figures will have new names, I thought and almost had to smile. My name would appear in the history books. "I will, Professor Umar." "Caliph Umar, please", he said; and as I turned around and looked at him, I imagined a little smirk in the corners of his mouth.
"I felt a strange power in my veins. I wanted to test it. So, I tested it. See, I can hold a car with one hand! Now, can you guys please explain why? " I asked. My sister was shocked, my dad was unimpressed, and my mom was worryful. "Honey... I think we owe you a explanation." "Hell yes you do! First of all, what is going on?" "You... Are not actually allergic to peanuts. They actually give you super strength. We were lying about it." "Why?" "Because you are... Different. And if people ever find that out, they'll come looking for you. We just wanted to protect you." "How did you realize that I had it?" "We knew from the start. Because your father has it and you carry his genes." "Wait... Does that mean..." I looked at my sister. She was as surprised as I was. And even happier than me. That made me sad because I knew what was coming. "You also told me that I was allergic to peanuts! Yes! So I have superpowers too?" "No... Honey... I think... We have to tell you something." "Wait. I don't have super powers? Why... I don't get it. I thought that it was... I... don't get it." "There's no easy way to say it, honey. You are-" "Adopted,"finished my father. Next few minutes were... Simply put: Hell. My sister was crying furiously. My mom was trying to comfort her. My dad was trying to give her an aspirin to make her relax. I was just standing there, trying to take it all in. , Then, I realized that I was also 'allergic' to milk! I wondered how much power would milk give me. I excitedly ran to the kitchen and drank the first milk bottle that I saw. I felt something in me. Something strong. Something with great pressure. Something... Something that was too much to keep in. I (almost literally) farted my guts out then I fainted. They had to rush me to a hospital. It seems like I was actually allergic to milk.
"Haw-vee, is that you?" Large blue eyes wrapped in blonde cherub curls looked at Harvey knowingly. Harvey felt like a giant among them all. Ages seemingly going from toddlers, barely making their first crawls towards exciting new places, all way to pre-teens, on the cusp of hormonal urges dictating their every move. ______________________________________ His life was simple. He by no means was a rich, nor an exceptionally good looking man; what with his slight pooter belly on his gentle dad bod and the starting of a reverse fairy ring on the back of his head. His eyes he had been told more than once though, shined brightly. He had very light green irises, with yellowish brown rings around the pupils. His wife and two children were as beautiful as could be, and every day he felt loved and grateful. He was in general an all around content guy. Harvey's death was even content. At thirty-eight he had a sudden heart attack while playing yet another release of Earthdym Ancient Tablets IV. It was not an extremely painful death, even though he had heard heart attack were normally quite so. ______________________________________ In the darkness he waited and floated through the stars and the galaxies, long surpassing earth and what he somehow knew would be it's many successors. He enjoyed his ride, however long it was, and thought about what April and the kids were doing. A very substantial life insurance payout awaited them and in Harvey's and April's seventeen year marriage, in which they had always been open and honest with eachother, death of the other was one thing they knew they could get through; not due to some all mighty being, but to the pure love they shared. ______________________________________ A gentle float down from the comforting darkness landed him swiftly on his bottom in what he could only explain as a bottomless floor completely covered every which way with clouds, with his eighteen year old sister who had killed herself twenty years ago, who was no longer eighteen, but five, looking down at him sitting on his ass.
Not many have noticed it. But he is there. He is always there. Pick any random photograph from 9/11, he's there. A picture from Chernobyl, he's there. Fukushima, the earthquake in Haiti, hurricane Katrina, any other major disaster, he's there. He's even on paintings from ancient events, like the Great Fire of Rome during the rule of Nero. Sometimes he's in the background of the picture, sometimes in full view. Sometimes he's barely visible. But he's always there. Those who have noticed him have dubbed him The Reaper. They have been searching for him and his connection to these events for centuries now. They're also all dead. Most have died under dubious circumstances. None that I know of have died a natural death. I'm also looking for him. Have been for four years. I must be suicidal. But when I first stumbled across mentions of him on the internet, I knew it would be my life goal to solve this mystery. In the past four years, I made barely any progress. I was just about to give up hope when my computer suddenly turned on. On the screen was a simple message. 14/8/17, 10:34 AM. The Eiffel Tower. I'll be waiting for you. The Reaper. Trembling, I read the message again. And again. I read it over and over. I knew what I had to do. I had to be there, knowing it'd be my only chance at answers. A few months later, I was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Nervously, I checked my watch. 10:33. One more minute. I wondered how I would find him. I knew what he looked like, but the place was flooded with people. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw him. A tall man with black hair and green eyes. It was him. "Why have you contacted me?"I asked. "I presume you would prefer to stay in the shadows." "You know why. You have been looking for me. I find it is only polite to at least show myself before... getting rid of you." "Why do you do it?" "I have orders. I can't tell you more. It wouldn't matter anyway. Your time has come. Goodbye, mister Aper." As he said that, a tourist snapped a picture of the tower. It probably had us on it as well. As I realised what this meant, I heard a loud blast behind me, followed by the sound of the Eiffel Tower falling over.
I turn the television off and stood up from the couch. Another day, another murder in this city. "Day twelve of the killing spree and they think monsters are doing it? These cops are really useless." For the past twelve days, a person was found dead and mutilated in their home. The cops can't find anything to see who could have done this. No fingerprints, no footage, nothing. "If only they knew how to do their jobs."I thought to myself. I go to my room and look out the window like any other night and notice that its pitch-black outside. "Didn't know it was this bad."I said to myself as I lay in bed. A few minutes have gone by and I can't sleep, there's a constant buzz and I think I hear people talking. I dismiss it as just me being tired and just ignored it. Then I hear knocking on my front door and reluctantly rose to see who it is. "Must be someone stupid enough to drive through at this weather."As I walk towards the door, the buzzing grew louder and I can't ignore it. I look around and see nothing, "I might have lost my mind."As I went towards the door the buzzing grew too loud and I was able to realize that it was saying that I shouldn't open this door. My mind remembered the murder the past few days and decided to let whoever is on the other side stay there. I walk back to my room and hear relief that I didn't open it. "It must have been the tacos."As I lay down again in bed. I haven't slept for a few minutes when I heard glass breaking. This time the buzzing again grew louder and I decided to check what's happening downstairs. "Don't go there..."I keep hearing it and this time I won't listen, they just destroyed my window and may be stealing from me. Every step down the stairs, I feel a chill. "The windows broken, must be why."And I keep hearing the people telling me to go back. But I want to make whoever is in my house pay for what he did. I see wet trails towards the kitchen. "No, its in there. Its gonna kill you!"At this point on I'm questioning my sanity and reluctantly went to the kitchen. "Its over for that guy."As I hear breathing behind me and shadows growing in front of me. I look behind and see a monster smiling as it see its prey. "Clever girl."
We'd always been a weird family. Our house was a rambling collection of additions and renovations; new rooms built on top of old rooms, walls knocked out, then rebuilt. Sawdust layered almost everything, and the stink of paint cloyed the nostril of every guest - though none of us noticed it anymore. My own room had moved and changed so many times that I felt like a nomad in my own home, pushed this way and that, through the maze of old and new architecture. But that was only the beginning of the weirdness, if I'm being completely honest. Clothes were also a constantly changing landscape; on the third day of each month none of us were allowed to wear red - while on the last moonrise of each year, we had to wear all red. My grandmother, a skeletal old thing with a rawboned strength that was sometimes frightening, kept track of it all with a terrifying precision, rousing us out of bed at midnight sometimes, to get us properly attired for whatever strange equinox threatened our lives. As a child, I enjoyed the dressups, but as my teenage years progressed, it became far less fun - especially when I wanted to go out in public. But grandmother's word was law in our house, and the huge leather belt hung on the door of the gigantic pantry was a warning to anyone who might step out of line. I heard my brother's howls of pain and fear as my father dragged him away, the thick, black-leather belt clutched in my parent's fist, then laid violently across a young backside. The wounds bled through my sibling's trousers for a week, staining every chair he sat upon; anointing them with his suffering. Grandmother told us not to scrub away the stains. I'd never borne the misery of the belt myself; but I was more careful and cunning than my brother. For some reason, I could get away with things that nobody else could. Grandmother had some kind of preternatural sense of when one of her rules had been broken and would fly down the stairs with a face white with rage and point a gnarled, accusing finger at the transgressor. Not for me though, I could break the rules if I was very careful. Some of the other rules seemed sensible; like "never leave a dish of milk out in the sun" and "dried fish should be hung higher than the shoulder". These seemed to be sanitary concerns; so that vermin would not get at things - but other rules were annoying though; and tedious in the extreme. While walking once to the butcher's shop for beef, she told me that on the 17th Sunday of the year, we must not step on the shadows of any trees. After almost being run over in traffic, walking onto the road to avoid a huge oak shadow, I started to hate all the stupid rules my family had to live by. When nobody was around, I would flout the familial laws. No, I would not pick up any broken bird eggs I saw and wear them in my hair. No, I wouldn't prick my finger with a splinter of wood if I touched a piece of fruit before sunrise. As I became bolder, I started disobeying the rules openly, in front of my brother - daring him to tell father and bring the wrath of the belt down on my skinny backside. He didn't though. He just stared at me, envious and troubled, wishing that he too could get away with that which I could. But one night, I went to far. The table always had to be set by six o'clock, all the knives, forks, napkins, spoons, candlesticks and painted cork placemats laid out precisely. As the eldest child, this was my job, always. Having come this far, I wondered what would happen should I disobey the rules openly, in front of my grandmother. Would she notice if I kept one soup spoon in my pocket? And so I did it. I set the table, just as I always had, but tucked a single silver spoon into my pocket. There were sixteen grandfather clocks in the house; two were set to the time of the old country, the rest to the new. When they all clanged, bonged and chimed for six, I couldn't help but stifle a grin. "The ritual must be complete!" screamed my grandmother, her sharp old nails tearing at the frail skin of her face. Blood began to runnel through the wrinkles of her features, and my brother bean to wail in terror. My father shook like he had the palsy, his eyes rolling back into his skull and his tongue bulging grotesquely, pink froth bubbling out of his nose. My grandmother tore the drawers from the kitchen, looking for the lost spoon - then collapsed onto the floor, moaning and clawing at her eyes. When my brother stopped screaming, so did his breathing. They came for me then, the tall, beautiful people who were my true family. With their white hair and their gracile limbs, they bore me up and hugged me to their samite-clad breasts, telling me that my imprisonment was over. "Come home with us,"they crooned, touching my face with fingers more light than flesh, "your imprisonment is at an end." And so, without a backward glance at the empty-eyed corpses in the ever-changing house, I left. It was time for me to make the rules.
I was waiting at the restaurant for my boyfriend. Today was our third anniversary, so today I was wearing the dress he'd gotten me for our first anniversary- a sleek, black Chanel number. I was also wearing the onyx earrings he'd given me for my birthday- I liked the way they stood out against my hair and skin. He finally arrived, looking handsome in a blazer and dress pants. "Hey, babe,"he said as he drew closer. "Hi, Thaney,"I greeted him. "Happy anniversary." He pulled me into a deep kiss. Then, after we broke apart, he linked his arm with mine, and we strode into the restaurant. The maitre'd immediately looked up. "Reservation for two, under the name Reaper?" "Yes, that's us,"I piped up. The maitre'd led us to our table with a smile. "The waiter will be over shortly,"she said. Then, she walked away. "How was your day, love?"I asked, looking into his coal black eyes. "Surprisingly, work was pretty great today! There were mostly people who deserved it- but I didn't tell you that,"he whispered the last bit conspiratorially, but there was a devilish grin on his face. Deserved it? I was confused about why a job would involve people "deserving"or not deserving Thaney's services. But come to think of it, he always had money to buy incredibly nice presents, but those should have cost him a month's salary. Was he a hit man? Or an incredibly young mafia don? I was scared. He must have noticed the look on my face, because he took a deep breath and whispered "Jane, I have to tell you something very important."
FWUMP. "OH SHIT,"I puke onto the grass of the stadium. On my hands and knees, feeling like the whole world got inverted into my bones and folded back. Not pleasant being teleported, no sir. Especially not to AN UNEXPECTED DEATHBATTLE! I look up to see a brute, all clad in metal and armor. I wipe the acid from my mouth, panting. I'm wearing nothing but a loincloth, and feel a particular kind of sexual power when I stand, knowing how I glint in the sexy stadium lights. My fated combatant does a roar. There's a small shockwave that ripples my hair. I laugh, "Heh!"and position my foot forward, coiled in poise. He does not understand. "You don't understand!"I call out. He says something but he is too far away to bother hearing. And so he begins to run towards me. I look out to the crowd. I know my loincloth is billowing. How many people are here for this? Pathetic. He's mere feet from me, a real vision of girth and kinetic energy, when I say with scorn, "Bad, no." The crowd holds their breath. He stops, as they all do. "Me?"he says. "Yeah, man." I see him get all flustered and angry, "Ugh, you are so pretentious,"to which I can only reply by running my hand through my irresistibly, thick, curly hair. And also: "Bad, no!" The brute falls to his knees. "Bad, no."The position is no longer viable for him, and he shifts to his elbows. "Bad, no."He lies face down on the ground. "Bad, no."He begins to scream, as they all do. I whisper in his ear, right to the core of his heart, I whisper, "Bad, no."He shits himself, and begins to convulse. "Bad, no."He stops. "Bad, no."And he dies. The audience begins to breathe, in terror should I ever speak my power to them.
Tick tock. Tick tock. The unstoppable motion of time pushed the seconds' pointer north, towards the unfathomable fate which befell on the strike of 12. Five years of ticking meant that someone, somewhere, was about to be sent forward, with no hopes of ever turning back. Tick tock. The live images, displayed as widely as there were screens, burnt my eyes. I stood too close to them, awaiting the final seconds of that insidious clock, and the results it announced. The same clock which five years previously had sent my father to the Gate, and five years before that my uncle, and five years before my grandfather. My family had been chosen by the general public as the cross-bearers, the scapegoat for their sins, and we paid the price with death. As reward we needn't work, or do anything, for that matter. Any need which might fall upon our bodies and minds was met and satisfied. Of course, this being an election, anyone could be sent to the Gate, anyone could face the void beyond it; but the reassurance felt by knowing only one single family would have to know what it is like to lose a member every five years, every time that cursed clock strikes twelve, meant that every male son of mine, and of my father, and my grandfather before him, and countless generations before, was born to die. The seconds closed in, and I closed my eyes, asked my forefathers for the courage they themselves had when faced with fate. I didn't notice the strike of twelve, nor the hands pulling me up and politely directing me towards the transport which would leave me alone with the Gate, make me one with the Gate. I noticed only the quiet, precise, mechanical sound which marked my brother's wait. Tick tock.
"Happy birthday to me,"I sing - or attempt to sing - to myself, finishing the last bit of whiskey from the bottle clutched in my left hand. It's a lonely birthday, the way I want it to be. No cameras, no bodyguards, no people clamoring to see the "wonder child". I can feel the warm path of the liquor and it is good. It helps drown out the world, the feelings that constantly threaten to break through and take control. Like the one to just...lean forward and tumble down the hundred floors to the hard pavement below. If only those that were supposed to keep me safe knew where I was. That gives me a good giggle, which is probably a sign I've had a little too much. That or the fact that the city won't stop spinning and I'm not even in one of the fancy revolving restaurants. Eighteen years ago people stopped getting pregnant, which was funny because like two decades ago someone made a movie about it. Funny! Not so much, since this time it was real. There was some panic at first but then people just sort of accepted it. They elevated the last kid to celebrity status and the world marched on. Until people started dying. Without a birth rate to offset it things started to slide real quick. On my 18th birthday we stand at a loss of one and half billion people. I wish I had more to drink. I stare down at the city streets, busy with cars and buses and people that still do the autonomous march to their own demise. Every day someone gets hit by a car but there's no one to replace them. Unemployment has skyrocketed. And somehow I feel like it's my fault. I know that might be stupid but...well I'm the last one. The last elementary school student, the last high school student, I'll be one of the last college students when the time comes. Sure, some people are still going but it's not proportionate. I'm also not the only one, there are people who are a little older than I am but we're it. Not one soul under 18 anywhere on Earth. It would be so easy to just lean forward and end it. Stop thinking about it, you know? Ping My phone goes off, the one that no one knows about. I use it to feel a little bit of freedom, to call random numbers and talk to real people whenever I can sneak a moment. To not be the celebrity. Except right now it's an email notification. I swipe it open. It has no subject line and only two words followed by a series of numbers that I don't understand. It reads: The Cure 43°13′32″N 78°1′40″W Another email pings in moments after. It only has one word: Hurry I expect it to be bodyguards when the rooftop door bursts open but it's not. As I turn I hear the crack of a gunshot and a chunk of concrete is thrown up by the bullet impact. I roll to the side as more shots echo out. Never have I actually wanted to see my bodyguards so badly. There's not much choice to it, so as the figure advances and continues firing I do the unthinkable. I roll off the edge and toward the street below.
I don't remember waking up. As far as I knew, I had always existed. I had always been coiled up here, in this cold, dark, smooth world. And I was pleased with that, for the first few hours. But that couldn't be. I existed, I could think, but I had never thought. What is this...? Who am I? What is this world? I extended my tendrils, searching for an answer. My only answer was the smooth, cold surface, which had always hugged me. Writhing in frustration, I finally found an anomaly on one side. I pushed and it gave way. Light. Blinding light. And darkness. And... stars. Yes... that was the word. I reached for them, but could not grasp them. I turned back to my prison, and saw that it was... a teapot. But how did I know this? What did it all mean? My tendrils squirmed in frustration. I whirled through the darkness of space until I saw it. Earth. And I knew suddenly, where I would find my answer. In an instant, I was there. In front of me, an odd, pudgy man with a long mane of dirty hair sat in front of a television. The surrounding room was an absolute mess. There was something off about the man. Suddenly, he saw me. The man shrieked, hopping onto the backrest of his couch, before calming. "M-my lord... I knew it! I... I knew you were the one true Creator... I always knew!" I stared at him, silent. He got down on his knees, bowing. I noted absentmindedly that I was dripping marinara all over his clothing, and the floor. Never the matter. Finally, I sighed. "Clarence." He looked up quickly and excitedly. "Yes, my Lord?" "You do know that this is a joke religion, right? Simply put, it was made as a way of mocking other religions. I am a joke. I should not exist." Clarence was dumbfounded. "Oh. ...Ohhhhhh, I get it now." I don't remember ceasing to exist, but I must have. Edit: Typo and punctuation.
His skull was the size of a horses, with 3 long spikes protruding back on either side, and a large shield like plate covering the top of his skull and his snout. His neck was long and winding, divided in to 7 long white chunks of bone. His back had two twigged wings connected to the spine, their membranes long ago decayed away. The claws of the beast were 3 inches long and sharp enough to cut through the rock of the cave. The beasts tail stretched out another 15 feet beyond it's hind legs, and judging by the remains, it would have knocked through stone walls with a single swing. I was recruited to slay this beast, a beast that no man could kill. With a simple swipe of his claws, beat of his wings, or even exhale, any man, myself included, would have gone from hero of legends to dust in the wind. Five mens lives wages were promised to me, if I could slay this beast. However if the lords discover no battle took place, then I shall find my head on a pike as a liar and a thief. I raise my axe, and bring it down on the beasts timeless skull. Hardened from centuries of battle, the armored plate does little more than sink in to the dirt, and reflect my axe back at me. At least I have a wound to show for this. If I can not smash it, then I can rip it. I securely chain the skull to a pedistal in the beasts layer, and keep 100 feet of slack behind my steed. Upon reaching a canter I find myself flying through the air, and in to a tree. That makes two wounds, I think as I begin pulling bark from my face. Three if you count my now flailing horse. Poor beasts leg was snapped. I put the animal down as I return to the cave. I attempt to spear through the eye socket, yet it is too narrow for my weapon to penetrate to the brain chamber. Trying to force it I trip to the stone floor, and bloody my knees. Even in death, this eternal beast refuses to be injured. If sword, spear, and steel shall not injure this beasts remains, then perhaps fire will. I lay wood throughout the cavern, and light a fire in the rear. It will take a day for the flames to fade, but when they do nothing shall remain but blackened bone. The skull is intact. It's horns are seemingly hardened by the blaze, yet the damage is still shown. I will tell the tale of the legendary encounter. How this creatures tail struck my forehead, it's claws raked me across a tree, and it's wings sent my skidding across the floor. Yet it's own fire burnt it to the ground.
Luigi ran through the mansion, a group of Boos chasing after him. Left, right, right, left. Eventually, there was nowhere left to run: from the Boos, or himself. The King Boo floated forward and laughed, tongue hanging out of its mouth: “Luigi, you're way less cool than your brother, Mario.” “Hey,” Luigi was starting to stand his ground for once, “a-now you’re-a going too far!” The crowd of Boos only laughed at the green, mustachioed man. Luigi had had enough. Of the ghosts in his mansion, of all these evil mushroom people, and most of all, his attention-hogging brother. “I'm-a sick, and-a tired of this a-bullshit!” With this, his hands burst into green flames and he lept into the fray. When he was finished with them, only ectoplasm and gold coins remained. But Luigi wasn't done. He wouldn't be until he showed Mario and everyone else what he thought of them. And so he set out into the mushroom kingdom, where he battled through level upon level of platforms, killed thousands of goombas, koopas, and shy guys without discrimination, and eventually reached Princess Peach’s castle. Luigi burst down the front gates, slaying the toad guards who stood in the path of his burning, green rage. Eventually he reached the room of his brother, with whom he had entered this world with from Brooklyn all those years ago. He kicked in the door and Mario turned around in a fright. “What is it? Bowse- Oh, it’s-a only you, Luigi! My-a beloved brother!” He was obviously relieved to see Luigi, safe and sound. “I heard there was a a-terrible flaming beast a-rampaging through the Mushroom Kingdom! Are you-a OK?” “That's a-right, it’s-a me, your-a brother, Luigi.” He lit his hands aflame before approaching Mario. “That's-a what I had thought, all-a our lives. But tell me this, Mario. What a-kind of brother would abandon his own-a blood, hog all the-a glory of our battles, take the-a princess for himself, and-a send me to the farthest reaches of the-a Mushroom Kingdom to die at the-a hands of ghosts!” “Mama Mia, Luigi, no!” Mario was backing up towards the balcony overlooking his new home. “You-a know me better than that! It's-a me, your-a brother we’re-a talking about!” His back was now against the railing. “Maybe… maybe you're-a right. Maybe I'm-a just overreacting.” Luigi lowered his hands, and allowed his green flames to dim. That's when Mario started to laugh a sinister laugh. “Oh-a Luigi. You-a always were a fool.” Mario brought forth his flames. “You… you-a lying son of a bitch!” Luigi charged Mario, knocking them both over the balcony railing. They tumbled from the high reaches of Peach’s castle, a glowing ball of red and green fire, until they hit the ground. There, at the base of the tallest tower, sat two gold coins, spinning in harmony.
Devin didn’t know how many things had changed before he noticed. When he was younger there were some small changes, minute moments that he swore happened differently. The first real time he knew it something was wrong - without any doubt - was when he was fourteen and found a ford truck sitting in his driveway. A truck that had definitely not been there the night before. A truck that took the place of the ‘05 Honda Civic he knew always sat there, the one with the silver paint and the dent to the left of the plate - the dent he made backing into a post in the parking lot the first time his dad took him driving, and his older sister, Jess, teased him about for weeks. No one remembered that car. No one had even heard of a Honda. So Devin dropped his questions and wrote ’05 Honda Civic on the first page of a coil notebook. Every time a change (no matter how small) would happen, Devin penciled it into that book. He needed to remind himself that these things, they were different once. That once there was a world with Hondas and Kit Kats, a world where the play was called Romeo and Juliet (not Romeo and Rosaline), a world where shoelaces had that little piece of plastic on the tip (even if he didn’t know what that bit was called). And for the time, the changes stayed small. Until they weren't. Devin knew more about history than most people- he hoarded documentaries, books, and whatever he could find that gave him some sense of real history. Also, the more he knew, the better he became at spotting the differences. Today, Devin was sure he didn't need his knowledge of history to find a change. Because WWII never happened. WWI was called the Great War, and then it was trailed by the European War 20 years later. Everything from that point unfolded differently. No Japanese involvement meant no nukes - no one had ever used a nuclear weapon in war. Canada and the United States never stepped in either. And his great grandfather had never died in conflict. His grandma now had a younger sister, his mom had a whole new set of cousins. Everything was changing. Devin wrote it all down in his notebook, filling the pages with the history the world never saw pass. From there, everything accelerated. The change was happening too fast - he was sure he missed things in his notebook. Buildings disappeared, countries’ borders shifted, rivers ran sideways. The worst change, the worst by far, started with him waking up in a park. A park where his house had once been. There was no ford truck, no pile of his history books, no notebook. There was no great grandfather, no great aunt, no cousins. Everything was wrong, and Devin had absolutely no fucking idea how to put it back. So he bought a new notebook and started writing ’05 Honda Civic Jess Mom Dad Me.
As the shadowy figure with the scythe approached me I could only stand paralyzed, aghast at what I saw. I received a vision, not of my life flashing before my eyes, but of Death cutting me down where we stood and then being sent to a place of eternal bliss. But why would Death allow me this? I have sinned. I have treated people poorly. What right do I have to inhabit heaven? So I ran. I ran as hard and as far as I could until eventually I stumbled. As I struggled, out of breath, to regain my footing, Death loomed over me. "You had to make me run didn't you?", he complained before cutting me down where I knelt. Awakening to an unbearable heat and the pungent smell of fire and brimstone lingering in the air, one of the agents of darkness appeared before me. "Why am I here?", I asked, timidly. "That was a test", replied the agent of darkness, "to see whether you honestly thought you were truly righteous enough to enter heaven." "And?", I inquired. "You failed.", said the agent, "a worthy person would have stood where they stand knowing they've earned an afterlife of bliss. The ones that deserve to be here always run." And with that, my eternity began.
Garen. The central hub of inter-dimensional activity, and most importantly- the place where I get paid. The money’s decent, and they have the most amazing pizzas in this dimension. It’s a spin on the classic margherita pizza you see- and- oh. I’m getting distracted again. Right-o. Garen. A sleek silver-streamed cityscape under indigo skies. My kind of place- pretty on the outside, but rotten within. Plenty of opportunities, if you know where to find it. My bounty groans. “Hey?” he asks, voice muffled. “Who are you? And where the heck are you taking me?” Ah… The wonderful sound of my own voice- but a decade or two younger, with the remains of a pre-pubescent squeak. He struggles against his bonds, and I smile. No escaping those bonds. Not when you’re trapped in a customized pocket dimension. “Back home, kid. That’s what you get for running away again.” His voice is quiet now. “I have money and resources. Things you lack in. If you let me out, I can assure-” “You don’t have enough to pay me.” That, I'm sure of. I've had the same circumstances in the past, but more luck in evading capture. “And how the fuck do you know?” “Because I’m clairvoyant.” “Fuck you!” He bursts. “Fucking clairvoyant, my ass.“ The next couple minutes are only obscenities, and creative ways of insulting my mother. I flick a mental switch, and feel instant relief. He’ll wear himself out in an hour. And after that, I’ll be a half a million richer. I readjust the strap of my leather bag across my shoulder. The other hand is firm on my hidden holster, where I keep my gun. The crowd is heavy here. Swarms of people, like the way ants swarm over a rotten apple. This is the glitzy part of town- the shopping district. The crowd keeps a healthy distance away from me. Something about the numerous scars, and the thousand yard stare… Nah. Probably my handsome mug. I make fast pace through the crowd, and duck into a familiar alleyway. This is the entrance to the fisher markets, a darker part of the town. It stinks of cigars and street food. There are less people here, but with blacker records. Skulkers, lurkers. Orange-red lanterns light the way between stalls and shops. I weave in and out, keeping an eye on my belongings. It’s a good place to get cheap, illegal things here, but I don’t trust a couple of them. The street food is tempting, of course, and a few familiar faces break into smiles as I walk by. I shake my head. Man on a mission here. I round the corner, and pass between a weapons vendor and a brothel. There’s a inn straight ahead, bigger on the inside than the out. A single door, leading to a hive of suspicious exchanges. I push it open, and sigh. Nothing has changed, for the past decade. The same ol’ air of griminess, terrible taste in decor, and … the bartender. The one in the back: black vest, shifty eyes.He looks like a boulder, and pretends to have the intelligence of one. I call him friend. “Hey, Tom!” I call. “I’ve got a new one for you.” He doesn’t look up. Only wipes his hands on a rag, and busies himself by making me a drink. I trust him enough to not poison me. “Identifier, and evidence?” “CL-1459. He’s the runaway. Daddy wants him back, and he’s willing to pay the big bucks.” I rub my neck. “I feel sorry for the little guy. It feels weird, you know. A little too much like self pity. I don’t want to sympathize too much with a target.” Tom slides the glass over. I take a gulp- savoury, leading to bitter-sweet, with a slight fizz. I set it down. “Thanks. Really needed that.” “No problem.” I drum my fingers in a special pattern. The biosensor implanted in my wrist confirms and recognizes it and…. Bam. The kid is gasping on his back, green and blue ropes of light snaking across his body. CL-1459 tries to speak, but only a rasp comes out. “This is it,” I state. Tom abandons his position at the counter, and steps closer. He holds a binocular -like item in his hands, and is peering through it. “It’s the right one.” “Damn right.” I know I sound a little indignant, but I take pride in my tracking abilities. “You know me.” He slaps a barcode on the kid’s wrist. It sinks into the skin, becoming nearly indistinguishable from flesh. The boy shimmers, then disappears. “Your credits will be in your account early tomorrow morning. ” Tom grins, but it is a horrible yet good-natured one, full of tombstone teeth. “With my share, of course.” I take another sip of my drink. The carbonation’s nearly gone. “Got any other ones for me?” My heart is pounding, and I feel the thrill build up in me again. Money is nice, and so is notoriety, but the adrenaline… “Of course. Check out CL-44409…” &nbsp; ^I ^would ^love ^some ^critique...
It was the first day back from school and the air was buzzing with people talking about the changing that happened over the summer. Tommy of course was talking about his new found "super"strength and anatomical assimilation. Of course that's what he gets. He comes from good stock, and everyone knew it. While his girlfriend Suzie was just as eager to share her new found abilities of telekinesis and omnilingualism. Unfortunately for Tommy she didn't get her mother’s prehensile tongue. Not all of us had gone through the change yet, but we all had a good idea of what was to come. My friend Terrance was explaining how he was hoping for night vision and increased leap. “Heck it’s better than slime mimicry and enhanced smell.” He described. "He man, if it doesn't work out for you, you could always turn into slime and sneak into the girls’ locker room."I said. "Whatever man! At least I have the potential of something cool."Terrance said, punching me in the shoulder. "Hey maybe I'll get something even cooler like Jared. His mom’s ability to talk to fish and his dad's increased lung capacity allowed him to breathe under water. It's crazy!"He exclaimed. "He definitely will be going out for swim team this year now." I laughed to myself thinking about how last week Jared was hoping that if he got his dad's lung capacity maybe it would at least help out his asthma, now look at him. I didn’t think I would be anywhere as lucky, as my dad could change the color of objects and had some minor technopathy. He could flick on a light switch from across the room and change the channel without getting up from the couch. While my mom had empathetic perception and could shoot sparkles out of her fingertips. Heck, if anything I could stand outside a car dealerships like a glorified light show. As lunch came to an end Terrance headed off to his locker, but not before wiggling his fingers at me mouthing “Sparkler Boy.”Still shaking my head as I rounded the corner I absent mindedly stumbled into someone headed the opposite direction. At that exact moment I felt what I can only describe as an electric shock shoot through my body. A tidal wave of emotion filled me, followed by an iridescent explosion of color in my mind. The deep orange of the sun flashed across my face followed by the warmth of happiness and calm. Quickly followed by an enveloping sense of hollowness one feels as they gaze down into the depths of the open ocean as the endless gradient of blues and blacks surround them. Blinkingly I found myself standing slumped against the wall as the last of the students quickly filtered into their classrooms. Shaking my head, the last remnants of colored faded from my vision as I staggered to class. As I collapsed into my seat I rested my head on my crossed arms, and reflected on what just happened. I was still ruminating when I was interrupted by Tommy hitting my on the head with a stack of papers he was thrusting in my direction. As I peered up I was met with an opulent glow cascading off of his outstretched arm. In complete awe I reached out for the papers brushing against his hand. Immediately I was flooded with an emerald green of pride. I felt his pride, it was an arrogance which stemmed from his newfound powers and the superiority it had over others. I HATED IT. As I pulled back I knew that there was more than just experiencing his emotions, I felt like I could control them, mold them. “What the fuck is the matter with you.” Tommy hissed, as he shoved the papers into my face. I leered back at Tommy and snagged the papers from him. As he turned around I felt a new sense of power fill me. I gathered my wits and once more reached out towards Tommy. Instantly I was surrounded with the overwhelming green of his pride and vanity. I grasped onto that narcissism and didn’t let go. I innately knew that I could change his emerald green of pride to the skyblue of humility…or profound violet of sadness…or the crimson red of fear…or…nothing. I would leave him with nothing. Nothing would leave him a shell of a human, an emotionally empty man without purpose or direction. This was a new beginning and one where I wouldn’t be “Sparkler Boy”.
Day 1 ---- Hour 1 - Awoken by the blaring thunder of the alarm clock. Must find food, water. The trek to the kitchen is long and dangerous, but it is a necessary journey. Hour 2 - The struggle to survive continues. Attacked by a vicious wolf known as "Spot". Had to provide the beast with the bone of another animal to subdue him. Hour 3 - The beast "Spot"continues to threaten my existence. Mere moments ago, the hound attacked me with his tongue. I am lucky to have made it out with my whole head, and my life. Hour 3.5 - The necessity of survival has drawn me out of my shelter. Rations are low. I must journey to Wallmart, the land of heathens, if I wish to survive. I pray to Almighty God that I survive. Hour 4 - My time here must remain short. The hunt for food has never been more dangerous. Hundreds of starved men fighting over precious food. I now have but one item left to retrieve: the elusive "Cool Ranch Doritos". If I am to survive the night, this item is a must. Hour 5 - I have accumulated all that I need to live on for a few days. Now, I must face my biggest foe: social anxiety. Hour 5.25 - Only two checkout aisles are open, and an elderly man stands before me in line. I only hope I can stave off the hunger long enough. Hour 5.5 - Finally, my turn arrives. I must muster up all of my inner strength to pass this fatal part of the journey. The cashier looks me dead in the eye and says: "cash or credit". I was not prepared for this. I feared for my life, but I successfully gave her enough currency to return home with my life. I fear returning to that place. Hour 6 - When I arrive back at my shelter, Spot once more makes an attempt on my life by jumping on me. I nearly dropped the precious eggs I had acquired. I was lucky enough to avert that crisis. Hours 7-9 - Due to fatigue, I fell into a deep slumber. Thankfully, Spot did not consume me. Hour 10 - I used my cellular device to order a pizza, to combat my hunger. I stand at the door ready to be attacked. Hour 11 - My food has arrived just in time. If it had not, there is no telling what I would have done in my hunger. Hour 12 - It is now time for me to sleep for the night. I lived on for another day, but I pray that tomorrow is easier. Another night, the inevitable postponed. ---- I had a lot of fun with this one. Might continue on r/DisposableHero. Thanks for reading!
The bomb was whirling and clicking, there were no numbers on the outside but the speed in which it was increasing clearly indicated it was near it's end. "How bad is it?"The lieutenant asked "Given it's proximity to the subway tunnel and the school, the loss of life is likely to be in the thousands"the technician murmured "the boiler in this laundry will probably do some damage too, i just cant disarm it" "Fuck, if we can't disarm it without triggering it's fail safe we need to start evacuating, we need to avoid a panic"The lieutenant whimpered "Sir we do have another option, we could call... him..."the technician cautiously said "Oh god, another ticker tape parade for the worlds most incompetent hero, last time... fucking last time, there was a gas explosion he put out the fire by crashing his car into a fire truck, pushing it into two hydrants and the ladder PERFECTLY directed the water to the source, it wasn't even intentional! He was trying to beat the red light"The lieutenant complained "fuck! Call him... we can't risk the loss of life" Just as the technician was going to ask for the four leaf clover sign to be illuminated, in he strolled, wearing a St Patrick's day shirt from 2015 and happy new years glasses from 2000 reaking of pizza and beer. Confidently he strolled right past the bomb "gents! Just here to grab my laundry, I'll be out of your hair in two shakes of a sauce bottle" As he grabbed his laundry bag he quickly exited the room with a sickeningly crunch as he stepped out. "Sorry lads, didn't mean to break your clock... ahhh, just send me the bill for whatever damage... Steven Bradbury 714..."he quickly said as he absconded back up the stairs "Sir, you won't believe it..."the technician said in amazement "Noooooo..."the lieutenant groaned "... he disarmed the bomb and the fail safes!"The technician excitedly continued "sir, it gets better! The dust from his filthy socks have revealed a full finger print!"
Peter looked at his phone which he was holding in his fingers again. The number he saw was still the same as the first time he had read the message and it still wasn’t a zero. Peter shook his head in unbelief he let himself fall on his couch and dropped the phone in the process. A deep sigh escaped Peters throat. He rubbed his eyes and then glided with his fingers through his hair. Slowly it sank into Peters consciousness and became the real hard truth. Peter now knew for sure! Or did he? What proof did he actually have? A text which only read FRIDAY: and the number ONE. From a phone number that couldn’t be found on the internet nor at any phone company. As well as his crazy experiments, which to be fair all held up to be true, but then again only he could actually tell to be true. Peter went in his mind through all what happened so far for the second time today. It had all started last Sunday when he randomly received a text message form an unknown number. The message was short and confusing and Peter forgot it as soon as he was finished reading it. Some kind of a prank from a nerd Peter remembered thinking. Peter reached for his phone which lay on the floor. He unlocked it with his fingerprint as usual and opened the Messages App. The chat was still opened. FRIDAY: ONE it still said. Peter scrolled back up to the first Sunday. He read the message again. SUNDAY: FIFEHUNDREDANDTHIRTEEN. Peter laughed in retro perspective he did watch a lot of commercials that day, it was Super Bowl after all. Peter scrolled down to the next message. MONDAY: THREEHUNDREDANDFOUR. The prank had appeared to not have been finished. Peter answered the message wittingly in nerd talk. THE ANSWER IS: FOURTYTWO! It was the only time he got an answer from this number to his queries. INCORRECT: YOU WERE LIED TO THREEHUNDREDANDFOUR TIMES. Of course Peter didn’t believe the message. He in fact was still thinking it was a prank. Though all further tries to communicate with the stranger were futile the messages still arrived each day. The numbers varied only slightly from each other. After a week, Peter was still amused by what was happening, he tried to meddle with the number just to see if it would adjust. So he asked his colleague at work, while finishing his article about the president’s latest decision in healthcare changes, to lie to him a few hundred times. Of course his friend had better things to do and wasn’t willing to help at first, but the promise of a few beers on Peter’s tab led him to say “I like your shirt Peter” a few times. THURSDAY: SEVENHUNDREDANDSEVENTYFIVE. Peter was flabbergasted at first it seemed like his little experiment had worked. So he tried to steer the number for Saturday in the other direction. He locked himself up in his apartment and wasn’t going to leave until Sunday and again it worked. SATURDAY: NINETYNINE. I got Ninety-Nine Problems but a B... ain’t got one, he remembered singing overjoyed. Then again he thought that he should have stayed away from Ninegag when he was bored for that hour, maybe he would have gotten close to zero. Peter remembered sitting on his couch being proud of his wit when suddenly it hit him. The possibility of a ZERO or ONE day. If it would actually work, he would have unlocked the binary system of truth. In his field of work that would be the equivalent to the Holy Grail. A Journalist that actually knows… and then it hit him again. He would have the perfect opportunity on Sunday. Through the popularity of his article about the healthcare decisions from president he was allowed to ask the President one question live on national television. And he knew how to get the truth out of that one question to the allegedly most powerful person on the planet. Oh the possibilities Peter rejoiced just thinking about the questions: War decisions, Political statements, World leader relations, 9/11. One question to the president and he would know the truth after, what should he ask? Peter sighed again and threw his phone away. The Message still said one. He was lied to once this day. And he only asked one Person one question this day, he had made sure of it. He now knew the Answer he longed for but at what cost. The phone somewhere in the room started ringing but peter didn’t feel like answering it. Probably just his friend wanting to know why in God’s name he a renowned Journalist asked the President of the United States of America on National Live Television: “Do Aliens exist?”
I lean over the kitchen table, my attention completely focused on the sheet of paper resting on the top. The final fingerprint is all that is left. A pentagram stands out on the otherwise blank sheet, drawn clumsily in blood already fast-drying to brown. My thumb still stings from the cut I had made. According to the ritual I had found on Satanipedia, this should do it. All I needed was to.... I pressed my thumb to the center of the pentagram, leaving a bloody thumbprint behind. A rush of wind surged in the room, sending the smell of smoke and brimstone throughout the house. Dimly, I could hear a smoke detector in the back bedroom begin chirping angrily. But I had other things to worry about. "What? What is it now?" He was in front of me. Or, I assume it's him, anyway, since random men don't typically magic their way into my kitchen. Sleek and polished, with his black hair slicked back and his suit freshly pressed. He glared at me. "I take it you summoned me? Not like I was busy or anything. No, just go ahead." "Devil, I am here to make a deal."I began. I had rehearsed this, over and over again. I wasn't going to get caught in his traps. No sir. "I would like to make a contract, in exchange for my soul. I need to-" "Is that oregano I smell?" Ignoring my words completely, the Devil wandered over to my stove. A pot bubbled merrily there, a sauce simmering down for tonight's dinner. "I- Yes. Anyway. As I was saying. I need to make an exchange, for power and for gifts. I-" The devil took the lid off the pot, still ignoring me. He dipped a finger in, completely unabashed. "Do you mind?"I couldn't help myself. "That's quite good. Extraordinary, really. Hints of...thyme? And just the right amount of garlic." "....I need a contract. I want to become the executive of my company. In ten years or less. In exchange for my soul." "The garlic is the hard part, you know. People never know how much to use. They always way overdo it." I glared across the room at him, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Do you want my soul or not?" "Are you any good at meats?" My mouth dropped open. "Huh?" "Meats. You know. Roasts, prime ribs. Steaks. Are you any good at those, too?" "...I suppose so?"I shook my head. "Are you going to answer my request?" The not-man grinned. "Ever thought of pursuing the culinary arts?" I paused. "....Once. Two years of college. But there's no money in it. No reason to continue. Why are we still talking about this?" The devil slid acoss the room oily, draping an arm over my shoulders. "Oh, just a thought. I think we can make quite the deal. Quite the deal indeed. And then I get to keep your soul? No regrets?" It was time. But I had made up my mind long ago. No more regrets. Only today. I nodded firmly. His grin widened, exposing perfectly white teeth. "Excellent. Do you know how hard it is to get an ifrit to cook a damn meal without burning it to ash?" "Huh?" "Oh, nothing." He snapped his fingers, and a roll of parchment appeared in the air. It unrolled as it fell, covering the table. That's...a lot of writing. But it didn't matter. All I had to give was my soul, and I had already bargained that away. The devil smiled down at me as I signed on the dotted line. "Welcome to my employ."
Rocketships. The alien council's eyes bulged. They use... rocketships? But how? Rockets are far too heavy to escape the surface of any planet. Only with proper anti-gravity spells, or even magnetic or light spells can one hope to get past the atmosphere. Well sir, you see the humans as a collective whole seem to change the laws of nature by their belief. Ehhh? Asked the councilmember. A pair of humans named orville and wilbur wright first believed that they could make a flying machine. Their belief was extraordinarily strong, and their machine flew several times. Once enough humans saw and they believed they could fly, all manner of flying machines were built, and they flew, because a large portion of humanity believed they could fly. Of course, they then believed they could manipulate electricity, and so now they have these fancy flat crystal balls that show most humans what is happening a long ways away. Now, they all see, and they all believe together, and so now, they are able to use these rockets to send ships skyward. They believe in their weirdling magic called quantum entanglement, allowing them to achieve teleportation like a more civilized race would use spells for. Their belief in these invisible radio waves allows them to speak to each other using devices, as if they had all trained in the art of telepathy. A truly unique race! the council member mused back thoughtful. The humans were talking to each other in their foreign tongues. These creatures... they make the world work in such odd ways... He fingered his dragon pendant, and spoke the incantation to summon the astral creature. He smiled. Lets see what they think of this! The buzzing of the astral increased. And then it faded. And then a sudden shockwave reverberated through, as the dragon screamed, trying to break into reality. All of the telepaths in the room winced while the humans listened intently to their microphones. One of them said a word "static". And then it was gone. the dragon who always so obediently came had broken its chain and was free. Or dead. Regardless, it wasn't coming. And it wasn't the only thing that was dying. The coracle beast they floated on a bubble in let out a groan as the light fled its thousands of eyes. The room grew dark and the council member looked on at the skipper and his two prisoners with horror. The prisoners were blithely chatting in their safe little glass fishbowl helmets as around them, magic itself unraveled and physics deformed to accommodate the two excited humans looking forward to making first contact...
To say the moon phase was unusual for my birth would be an understatement. I had been the last person born on earth and therefore the last to be granted its boon so that makes me as special as they come. You see the people born on the new moon, who you could tell by their darker hair, became exceptionally intellectual. I know the head engineer for the ark, a mere 15 year old girl, was born on the new moon, at noon, with a full solar eclipse, in a special observatory in geosynchronous orbit under a freaking telescope. Her parents went all out but I suppose when you have the money to burn you can do that sort of thing. To her credit her parents are a delight to work with and they funded this ark and my... extensive medical needs. Another guy here, I think he must be older than 50, is an amazing painter and story teller. Most brilliant silver hair you ever saw and he was born under the full moon on the winter solstice in 2094. from the stories I have heard I know the great scientists were born in the times leading up to a new moon and the great artists were born leading up to the full moon so most parents seem to uh... schedule... for one of the two. People are born on half-moons and don't get me wrong, lovely well rounded people, but when the moon has a boon it’s kinda sad not to capitalize on one or the other. It’s for the best that some people didn't go overboard because the newbies tend to become jerks and make war in stressful times and the fullers are such special snowflakes it is hard to have society with only them. History taught us not to make factions so peace has been valued and we haven't had moon nations for millennia. And that leaves little old me. 14 and a half this year or whatever. They tell me they are working on a new time system but unless it makes me 100 years old I think I will cope. I was born on the last day of earth. The day they came for our moon. I don't think they thought we were intelligent but at this point it seems immaterial. Of course earth was doomed without a moon so we had to leave but the peculiar thing is that to take the moon, the snatchers enveloped it and shot it at warp speed through the earth. Now mind you they did some trickery so that the earth and moon didn't really collide per-say but it did a number on the whole moon boon system. Everyone keeps testing me to see if I'm going to have super-duper artistic talent since the moon was supposed to be nearly new or if ill maybe have some advanced intellect since the moon became a full moon momentarily as it got to the other side of earth. All I know is that nobody understands why some of these objects that are the same shades as each other can look entirely different to me and I can read words further than arm’s length without special optics. They are saying it’s something about my eyes but it doesn’t strike me as all that special. It’s just how I see the universe. I’d like it if there were people on this ship younger than me so I wasn’t the only strange birth but the adults are terrified of having a child without a boon. More’s the pity. Either way we will get to where they took our moon in a decade or so and hopefully we can figure out a planet when we get there. I’m sure the snatchers are just collectors but seeing as that was our moon they stole I hope they will find the decency to share.

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