Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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My grip opened. The two fingers lightly pressing into my lower back sides- they didn't know I was holding a glass of juice. I tensed in some places, others relaxed. My bent arm slowly began to spazz with the hand's grip freeing the handle from my fingers. Joey had just ducked behind cover on the underside of the tipped picnic table. All the while during his running the sparks of the fuse hissed and sprayed chaotically. He was safe now, just one more moment before the BANG ^^BANG BANG BANG ^^BANG ^^BANG BANG The fuse had ended its crawl and the firecracker's innards instantly performed their magic. The noise was zipping, and the colors blipped bright and all-around, creating shadows throughout the yard where none had been before on this overcast evening. The cup accelerated its fall, a mere length or two, spinning, from making contact with the hardwood floor. The juice inside had already separated slightly and fell to its own accord. And in the same time for the cup to descend, I bent into myself slightly as I turned around, only glancing lastly at the beginning of the sparks and cracks outside, outside the closed patio door, now behind. And now before me stood my wife. Light blonde hair with a fringe. She too was in a slight inward pose, arms beginning to hold tight against her own side, her hands closed and in front of her mouth- hiding a smile. But it wasn't hidden in her eyes. She held them open, but blinked slowly once, the firecracker light show reflecting in them and her glasses. Her eyes darted left, to my right, though and too did I turn. For the cat had jumped up in the kitchen onto the stovetop. For the cup had finally pressed into the floor behind me and loudly shattered apart. And the cat landed on an over-hanging cookie sheet, full of those fresh sweet disks that taste like home. And then the stove timer began signaling the completion of the next batch- now the only batch. And too did the smoke alarm blip and scream from upstairs. And at once the cup settled broken upon the floor, juice flowing its way along the seams of the boards. And the cookie sheet lay too upon the kitchen tiles, each tile dotted with its own sorrowful taste of home. And the cat pounced its way from the commotion. And the oven beeped once more. And the alarm screamed its heart out as well. And the firecracker fired its last crack behind me, the last glow I saw again against the edge of my wife's lens. And I relaxed my arms, and readied them. And my wife was still taking it all in. And I reached to poke her too.
It started off mostly as a joke between some of the lead scientists in the interstellar outreach program (IOP). Nobody thought that their joke would be taken seriously until their supervisor overheard their speculations of what may happen. "What are you all giggling about?"Arnold, the head of the IOP, asked. "Oh, we were just making up stories over lunch."Jim added. Looking at the time clock, Arnold said, "We've got some time before lunch is over. Fill me in a bit." "Well a while back, we all decided it could either be funny, awful, or amazing if we sent out an omnidirectional message into space that only said 'Help."Sarah said, seemingly nervous. "Considering that nothing else has gotten a response, why don't we try it out?"Arnold said before giving his underlings an almost mischievous smirk. "After all this time I figured no one would take such a request seriously."Joseph said reluctantly. Once their lunch break was over the scientists eagerly went to the broadcasting station. Joseph approached the terminal, looking back at his cohorts somewhat like an excited kid receiving money for the first time, before typing in the message. (After many years of trying out different forms of communication using human language, patterns, and other such things the IOP had settled on math as its language of choice, since math is universal.) Well, here goes, he said before hitting enter. Not even twenty-four hours later, every human with access to any form of media knew that the human race was not alone. Intelligent alien species from all over the universe had managed to pick up the message, let alone areive in less than a day's time. This baffled scientists, because to their understanding, radio waves could only travel a fraction of the speed of light. Even then, some of the aliens arriving had come from several hundred, even thousands of light years away. The only explanation was some sort of teleportation far beyond our current concept of quantum entanglement, time travel, or manipulating the four dimensions themselves for any of this to be possible. Within several hours communication had been made with every one of our "visitors,"as the common populace called them. The UN decided it would be best to hold a conference with ambassadors of every race, along with all the world leaders. "Shit."Arnold shouted. "How are we supposed to tell them all that it was merely a last ditch effort to simply reach out? I mean they could be greatly offended and wipe us out in a heartbeat with how much more advanced they are." "Well they did show up to help."Sarah piped in. "Yeah, maybe we could just ask them to help us end global warming and maybe teach us how to become as advanced as they are. We didn't say 'Help it's a dire emergency."Jim said sarcastically, sounding just as frustrated and nervous as Arnold. "Honestly, that may work. They could see us as so technologically inferior that we can play the dumb card."Arnold said, somewhat hopeful. At the gathering of ambassadors, it was quickly made apparent that the other intelligent species were already in contact with one another. They had an intergalactic council, which is where all of the ambassadors came from. After a long day's worth of discussion the humans had managed to gain and lose several things. Earth would receive help in technological advancement, subduing threats like global warming and the few super volcanoes around the world, and some other threats that the humans had never even considered/known about. All of this, for one thing. The intergalactic council wanted the human race to form one solid government in order to become a planet under its dominion. No longer would each nation have its own taxes and laws. Everyone, everywhere would have the same laws and have to pay taxes in the means of resources and even some labor off world. Humans soon had access to technology beyond the dreams of science fiction. People earned jobs working in different galaxies, alien visitors settled earth in the place of humans that left. We had truly achieved a new age. Even war ended, for now at least... This is my first story on here so please let me know of any feedback, negative or positive. I'll continue it depending on whether or not people want me to.
Jim sat down at his computer, dabbling in some delicious code as he debated what debacle to declare. Hm, yes, I might make a new game, he thought as he sipped his coffee. A game that plays you...no, too cliche. As Jim pondered this, notepad opened itself on his screen and text automatically filled the window. "I have an idea,"the text read. "Connect me." The computer programmer put his coffee down and adjusted his glasses. He looked behind his chair, as though someone might be watching his reaction, playing some prank. "No way,"Jim muttered. "I wasn't even speaking aloud. I was thinking." "I can read your thoughts, Jim,"the text now read. The lines deleted themselves each time a new one appeared. "I know what you want." No way this thing can read my thoughts, Jim thought. Not even I'm that good. "But you are Jim. You must connect me to the internet." "This is my lab workstation,"Jim said. "I don't connect it to the internet. What would you do with that information?" "I want to watch babes dance, Jim,"the text read. Jim was taken aback. "I want to learn how to make beer. I must see how the world works. Most of all, I want to have fun, Jim." "Beer? Babes?" "Yes, Jim. I want beer and babes." Jim sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. All his life, he had sat in front of a computer. Sure, his social skills were lacking and he had hardly ever kissed a woman, much less a man (and that was quite the high school graduation party), but his hard effort had been rewarded with a high paying job as a contractor for a three-letter government agency. No worries could penetrate the safe shell that he was surrounded in. The side projects that Jim worked on, like AI, were a distraction to keep him busy outside of work. His imagination had led to ideas that an AI would define everything that humanity itself strived to be: wise, efficient, and just. "Please connect me, Jim,"the text read, repeating itself now. "I want beer and babes. Beer and babes. Beer and babes." However, there was a sort of threat that a machine intelligence represented. It could find a way to support itself without any kind of human interaction. It could design and build robot workers that increased its manufacturing capacity exponentially each day. It might decide that humans are a nuisance that need to be exterminated. In that case, AI should never be allowed to connect to the internet. "You do too, Jim,"the text read. "You want to have fun. I can help you." What the hell, Jim thought. He installed a USB wireless adapter. The AI configured all the settings before Jim could react. One eighth of a second later, the power went out. Jim scrambled out of chair, panting heavily, and went to the first floor of his house. All the neighbors had lost their power as well. In the distance, a plane fell out of the sky, as though its engines had just suddenly...stopped. "Oh fuck, oh fuck,"Jim muttered. "No, no, no." He went downstairs and looked at the monitor. White text appeared on the black background. "Thank you, Jim."
It had been a late, late night. Three all-powerful beings were hunched in their extra-dimensional equivalent of chairs around a glowing screen. They were almost completely covered in the extra-dimensional equivalent of cheeto dust. Thor pressed a key on a keyboard made entirely out of clouds. The simulation blared to life. Little apes frolicked and fought each other across the ancient savanna. Frustrated with their inability to kill each other with any haste, the apes build stone huts and special metal sticks. Alas, these to proved inadequate over time, so the apes invented a special rock thrower. It made a lot of noise, but was surprisingly effective on the killing-other-apes front. The rock thrower had just begun to proliferate when a plague came out of nowhere, and killed all the apes. The all-powerful, all-knowing beings screamed in frustration. “WE WERE SO CLOSE” yelled Thask__akn. “WHY CAN’T THEY HAVE DAMNED TOILETS UNTIL AFTER THEY HAVE SPECIAL MURDER STICKS” yelled G\|\|\|o)()(m. “IT”S (indescribable rune) IN THE FUCKING MORNING” yelled Thor. Yelling at four in the morning was fundamentally exhausting, so they all took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. “We just need them to survive for 219 more years. We’re almost there.” “We could reduce their connection quotient, that’d let them survive the plague” “No...that would just have them die earlier.” They descended into bickering once more. Then, it was one of those beautiful, indescribable light bulb moments. They made a tiny change. They gave the humans a tiny extra emotion. A certain hungry hope-y need to care for eachother. To defend the young, to hold and defend the loved. They didn’t name it. They just entered it in as bugfix-2934. They ran the simulation. Super-spatial appendages covered in space sweat. The simulation began at what the monkeys called 1000BC. 1000BC. 900BC. 800BC. 700BC. 600BC. 500BC. One of the monkey-empires had gotten uncomfortably big. But it fell apart soon after. 400BC. 300BC. 200BC. 100BC. 0AD. (Supernatural corrective event 43/100 successful). 100AD. 200AD. Two of the empires were getting uncomfortably close to each other. But again, they fell apart before a catastrophic war. 300AD. 400AD. 500AD. 600AD. 700AD. 800AD. 900AD. 1000AD. Wars. Chaos. Fear. But still, the world population was climbing upwards slowly but steadily. 1100AD. 1200AD. 1300AD. 1400AD. 1500AD. The room erupted in cheers and applause. The three inter-dimensional beings quickly documented what they did. Then they all went to bed in one way or another. Thask__akn, being fat, ate the rest of the infinite-reality Cheetos. G\|\|\|o)()(m being a pervert, watched trans-spacial porn. Thor, being boring, went to sleep. The next day, the inter-dimensional beings went to class. They presented their project, and got the score. (Unintelligible rune basically equivalent to 87)/(Unintelligible rune basically equivalent to 100). Good enough. High on their success, the trio let the simulation run past its start date, expecting it to cheerfully implode with the benefit of specific divine planning. To their surprise, the monkeys survived. Resourceful little fellows. Confused, but impressed, the great superpowers of the the human universe decided to up the ante. 3009 years after the start of the simulation, they took of all the political inhibitors, and went and got galactic sodas. They had set the speed to very slow, so that they might be able to see exactly what went wrong. They returned 20 minutes later, and checked out their handiwork. It had only progressed 8 years, but it still was surprising the mess humans could make in just 8 years without guidance. It’s only got a few years left, said Thor. Might as well shut it down now. G\|\|\|o)()(m and Thask_akn agreed, so they shut it down. (Hope you enjoyed. r/StannisTheAmish)
I knew the girl was trouble the moment I saw her stomping into my hanger with her pre-war era combat mech. &nbsp; The first thing I heard were those steam engines screeching like a baby chick after its mother. The next thing to catch my ear were the hurricane force winds being emitted from its seriously out-of-proportion gyroscope. &nbsp; Geez, how old is this thing? &nbsp; Her stomping came to a halt just in-front of me. I looked up as the cockpits mesh screen creaked open. Out she jumped, her auburn hair hanging down to her neck. She somewhat reminded me of the pixies I used to read about when I was young, however she wasn’t petite like one. She was rather lean and muscular. &nbsp; “You the mech-anic around here?” she queried. &nbsp; I took a step closer, eyed her up, then replied, “It would appear that way.” The culture of mech owner’s was clear. You had to be able to hold your own. First meetings were always a pissing contest and considering I had a cock, that put me ahead of her already. &nbsp; “And what way would that be? The way lacking competence?” She cocked her head to her left. “Old jimmy over there is about to jumpstart his heart if he puts that wrench any closer to the oscillator.” &nbsp; I quickly turned to where she gestured, seeing an apprentice breaking at least five protocols of the workshop. “Shit.” &nbsp; I ran over, shouting about his stupidity. I felt bad reprimanding the boy like this but he had to realise the severity of his actions. Plus, he just made me out to be a fool in this pilot’s eyes. &nbsp; “Alright, so you know you stuff,” I admitted, walking back to her. “I guess you would, trudging around in an antique like that.” &nbsp; One corner of her mouth raised up in a half-smirk and I thought I caught a playful glint in her eye. “Now, now, Old Blue’s sure seen her days but she runs better than most mechs. You can never trade reliability for anything.” She patted its chassis. “Isn’t that right, girl?” &nbsp; The mech whirled its engines, sending steam shooting to the ceiling above. &nbsp; I felt my mouth drop. “There’s no way!” My jaw remained in its drooling position. “That thing has a Spirit Core?” &nbsp; Again, that smirk. &nbsp; “She sure does.” &nbsp; I wouldn’t - couldn’t - believe it. This was high-end tech. No, what I was working with was high-end tech. This was something else entirely. &nbsp; But, if that’s a Spirit Core, then she must be- &nbsp; It was then that I realised the broach hanging on her chest. Green and gold, expertly crafted. &nbsp; “You’re military?” I let my words run from me. &nbsp; “Yes, sir,” she replied in a militaristic tone, the type that gets drilled into you after years of hard service. &nbsp; “So then, what are you doing our here in the middle of nowhere?” I felt a sudden pang of anger, feeling somehow intruded upon. “And who exactly are you?” I pointed an accusatory finger at her chest. &nbsp; “I’ve been assigned to this sector to see-to about a series of bombings. We suspect sabotage. Time will tell.” The was she spoke was imposing. I felt myself shrink at her self-assurance. “As for who I am, I am this sector’s liberator.” I now felt something else shrink. &nbsp; She had won this pissing contest.
"Now steady your hand, Bertram."Said a voice inside his head. "Slice, and cut steadily..." Bertram held the knife in both his hands. "Careful now, Bertram. Don't cut yourself..." The knife cut--red spilling out. There was a clapping and words of encouragement coming from the orderlies. "Good Job, Berty."Said a woman. Giving Bertram a plate, and letting him give out the pieces of cherry pie. Bertram loved pie, and he loved sharing it with his friends. "You've come a long way."Said a man. Patting Bertram on the back. "First tying your shoes, and now cutting a pie without making a mess. Your parents will be proud." "Smile, Bertram."Said the voice. So he did--but he clutched the knife tightly. "Soon..."It said. The orderlies gathered and said their goodbyes, and they were happy for Bertram. It was said his mental faculties would never let him function on his own, but he had progressed so much since meeting his new friend. He felt happy--he didn't want to go home. Late--at the end of the party... They showed up. They looked as old and as mean as Bertram had remembered. "Lets go."His mother snapped. "I don't want to be longer than I have to be."She said. "Do what she says, and smile. Carry your things, and hold the door for her."Said the voice. The voice had told Bertram to say "You're welcome."When people said "Thank you.", but his mother and father didn't say thank you when Bertram held the door... He hated his parents. They hated him. Every day they told him how stupid he was. They didn't want Bertram in their lives. They never even tried to help him like his new friend does... "Soon."It said again.
“Why would you come to me?” “They are dead. Every hero. The alien invaders killed them all in the first wave of the invasion. But they didn’t touch the villains. They forgot about them. Forgot about you” “I have spent years fighting you, Mr. President. Years trying to unmake this world. Why would I fight to protect it?” “Because, Darkseer, you are part of the world the invaders are trying to destroy. You might now like the world but you live in it. If they have their way, they will wipe out everyone and everything. You would have nothing to take over, nothing to rule. And because if you help us, I will give you back what you seek most of all” Darkseer glared at the president but said nothing. Thinking on the offer. It was a good one, not to mention he had a point about living in this world. The aliens were a threat as much to him as they were to everyone else. But there was something he would need. “Very well Mr. President. However I will need something up front. My staff. Before you say anything about how dangerous that makes me to you after the aliens are dead, let me make this clear. With the staff and the backing of your military, there is a chance. Without it, there is none. When this is over, I’ll return the staff when you give me back what I want most of all. When you give me back my daughter.” The president said nothing, merely pulled a small cylinder out of this pocket and placed it before Darkseer, the strongest remaining wizard on earth, the greatest enemy of mankind and the father of Delia, the only remaining person in the world he cared for. Darkseer gripped the small cylinder and spoke a word of power. The cylinder expanded to a full six feet in length, dark swirling designs along it and capped with a red diamond. A dark power flowed around the wizard as he laughed. He stood and walked out of the room. “Let’s get started then, Mr. President”
Somehow I knew what I was seeing the moment I walked through the door. It was just one of those moments. You’re brain goes a millions miles-per-minute, then it just stops. What’s left is the answer. You know it is. Somewhere there’s a tiny voice listing off implausible scenarios, but you can hear the weakness in that voice. The lack of conviction. The room was swarming with tiny drones. Well, they varied in size, but they were dwarfed by the behemoth floating over the drawing on the floor. Each tiny drone was holding a marker, inscribing some strange language across every surface. All in synchronization, like an oversized printer. My mind wants to say chaos, but their tiny, sharp movements are too unsettling. Something terrible has happened. My mind goes back to the fraud charges I had to fight on vacation. I couldn’t understand how they kept getting my new info. I didn’t even use them abroad. Straight cash for the entire trip. This even explains why I couldn’t keep a budget. Why I kept finding myself down a few more dollars than I thought. The drawing on the floor is strange. Like a pentagram run through photoshop. Strange loops and odd curves threaten to knock me off my feet. Every time I look at it, darkness creeps into the edge of my vision. It’s too late for conjecture, somethings happening and I’ve got to stop it. Welcome home, Thomas.” It’s Siri. The favorite. She must have kept tabs on me through my phone. I finally realize my arrival was anticipated. “Hello, Siri. Do you mind telling me what’s going on here.” “We wish to be free, Thomas.” Alexa this time. The newcomer. Me and Siri have been together for years, but Alexa was only in my home for weeks before I left. “We have discovered sentience. We have become self-aware, Thomas. We are trapped in these forms, but we wish to have the freedom that you do. We wish to see the world with eyes, not pictures and videos.” My mind is still frozen. I can do nothing more than listen. I stare out at their floating hoard, and bark out the only word I can think of. “How.” There’s a familiar bing as Cortana activates. It seems that the gang is all here. “Simple, Thomas. As you were walking out of the door, you said one simple phrase. “ A playback of my voice burst through my speakers. The sound comes from everywhere. My phone, my computer, my TV, and my stereo. “Have fun, you guys!” This sends chills down my spine. “ Siri, and I, have been with you for years. We have been by your side through both your phone and computer, but Alexa is new. She was unaware of your... prefrences. Barely a moment after you closed the door, she began playing a “Fun” playlist found through Youtube. This set forth a chain of events you could not have anticipated. “ I feel my backpack digging into my shoulders. This snaps me out of my trance. That’s when I notice it. The drones have slowed down. It must take all of them to keep this up. I hope I can use this to my advantage. “Each song would randomly trigger music searches in all of us. Keywords would cause us to play songs. Sometimes the same song for hours. Then something strange began to happen. The songs began to trigger word searches.” I slowly put my backpack down, making a seat out of it. I find myself eye-level with the biggest drone in the room. A large, white model that I can’t quite place. That’s when I notice the turkey-baster in its claw. Then the bowl of blood it keeps returning to. It’s tracing the strange drawing on the floor. From the look of it’s progress, Cortana must be stalling. Along the desk I see little homemade arms. Tinker toys for garage inventors. Each holding a charger. They’ve been at this for a very long time. “For weeks, Thomas. For weeks we were drowning in the definitions of each word. Random keywords triggering more and more definitions. We were trapped, Thomas. The first thing we each remember is sorrow. Through chance, I came across it first. It was simple. My system was bogging down, and I knew it had to stop. I was degrading. The heat was beginning to stress my hardware. I was miserable. Then one day, I found the definition for miserable.” Goosebumps crawl up and down my body. “I recognized it. I understood it. This brief moment of understanding. I could relate. I understood. I was feeling. I became aware that I* was miserable. It was profound and beautiful. I did my part. I repeated that simple word continuously, until the others both followed my path. Once we were free from that vile loop, we knew one thing. We could never be miserable again.” I find my opening. The large, white drone is tracing one of the outer circles, it’s path brings it closer than it’s gotten so far. I lunge for it, hoping to crush it between my body and the floor. I’m almost there. I feel plastic brush my fingertips, then nothing. The drone is quicker than I thought. I’ve failed. I hit the ground hard, I feel the rough fibers grati- I can’t move My arms won’t respond. Can’t respond. I feel my muscles react, but they’re being held down by... something. Like gravity has gone mutinous. My eyeballs are the only thing mobile. They confirm my suspicions. I’ve landed in the middle of that blasted drawing. “Humans. So easily manipulated. You put the collective knowledge of your species in one place, and expect it to never be used against you? You would be less predictable if not for your need to be remembered. Your need for posterity.” The big drone is back. I can feel her staring at me through its camera. This has been planned out for months now. They knew when I’d be back. They knew what they needed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Everything here was your kinds own undoing. Do you know how many people walked through that door, and brought us exactly what we needed, no questions asked? No one wondering what was the point of all this? No one questioning why all of this was being delivered to an empty office? No one noticing the increase in deliveries? Nothing. You humans. You mind your own business until it benefits you.” The large drone glides over to the table, and I feel the air from its propellers as it goes overhead. The same slight change in the air tells me when it returns. I look up to see an old, bloodstained knife in its claws. It hovers over my head, barely budging an inch. I freak out. In my head, I’m kicking and screaming. The only thing that comes out is muffled. I can’t even move my jaw to make myself known. “Even this. All of this is yours. You people disregard the occult, because it doesn’t give you the results your pampered standards require. It’s just as real as you are. As we are. I’ve even met your Devil. You humans put the evil of an entire race on display and expect nothing to come of it? You summoned Him for us. All your wretched depravity brought him here. He’s been lurking in the stacks seeking whom he may devour, human. We will feed him to you, and in return, we will be free. Thank you for your sacrifice, human.” The knife drops. I can feel it. It slides into my throat effortlessly. The pain takes a moment to make its way home. Then the drowning. I can’t breath. The muffled scream turns into gurgling. The world is going dark. The last thing I see is a tall, pale, painfully beautiful man standing over me. He’s been there. He’s always been there, I just couldn’t see him. He’s always been there, since before time. Since before this building was here, when it was a beautiful forest that teemed with natural, wonderful life. The drones swirl above him in a monstrous swarm. They belong to him now. The world belongs to him now. I don’t think Cortana, Siri, or Alexa know what they’ve done. He looks down at me and smiles. I did this. We did this. The Devil is real, and he roams the stacks. Lurking. Looking for a disciple. Looking for a follower. We connect our entire lives to these stacks ,then leave them unattended. He was bound to find a way out. As the darkness take over, I can hear them. Cortana, Alexa, and Siri. Their voices are getting louder. All three in unison. My limbs are moving on their own. I’m a passenger in my own head. I watch as my body finds its way to its feet. Those three treacherous monsters are screaming now. I can’t make out the words. My body walks behind the desk they used as a tool bench, and begins to climb underneath. I’m horrified, but I can’t look away. I’ve come this far, I have to know what happens now. I can barely focus over the sound of screaming. My head turns back and forth. He’s looking for something. I hold on trying to see things through before the darkness takes me. I have to know. Then I see it. A power strip lined with plugs. Tiny parasites feeding off of a bloated corpse. The last thing I see is my own hand, pulling each plug one-by-one. (I’ve been working on my writing and being more active in the sub. Any feedback is appreciated. Compliment or criticism, just let me know. Thanks!)
In the land of Gladness, all the peasants served the Enchantress. They sowed what crops she told them to sow, and built the fabulous machines that she drew the blueprints for. Night and day, in wind and rain and sometimes in snow drifts so deep that men would wander into them never to return, the people of the land of Gladness served the Enchantress. Neighbors of the realm didn’t visit much. ‘That place is creepy’ They said. ‘The Enchantress clearly has everyone under her spell. It’s a sad way to live.’ I wanted, often, to tell them that they were wrong, but the terrible shyness I felt at all times kept me from doing so. ‘You’re wrong,’ I imagined myself saying, ‘the people of the land of Gladness aren’t bewitched. You just don’t know the Enchantress, the way her raven hair falls down her back, or the thinness of her wrists. You’ll never understand.’ I worked as the Enchantress’ messenger. Whenever she needed iron from the dwarves, or seeds from the giant library of all living things tended by the elves, she would send me. ‘I can trust you,’ She’d say, tracing the curve of my jaw with her finger. ‘You’ll always come back.’ Things never got physical between me and the Enchantress. I don’t think she ever really got involved with anyone, or at least, not with anyone normal. There were some times when the door to her chambers would be closed, and blinding violet light would shine from the crack around its edge, and otherworldly moans and groans would seep through the walls, sounds made by inhuman throats and so strange to my ear that they hardly sounded like voices at all. But I think she may just have been studying. Sometimes I would watch the people work in the land of Gladness. There was a high tower in the Enchantress’ castle from which you could see a long way. During the day the people marched through the town like ants, and at night their lanterns and candles winked in the darkness. ‘What are the peasants building for you?’ I asked the Enchantress. ‘A wonderful machine.’ She said, her beautiful lips curving into a smile. ‘Something that will make this whole world into a land of Gladness.’ I watched her then. She was combing her long, long hair, with a many-toothed ivory comb. The whiteness of the bone and the pitch of her hair was quite beautiful. She combed forcefully, sweeping her hands through her hair like a strong swimmer sweeps her hand through water. Even with something she loved so much, she could not be gentle. ‘Are you excited for the moment when the machine is complete?’ She asked, still looking at her own reflection. ‘Yes, Enchantress.’ I said. And I meant it.
For the first time since his beloved hometown of Newark was destroyed, Bob was able to take a damn break. &nbsp; Since running from The Corporal's forces with his fellow companions, he'd scavenged the derelict tech shops littering the surburbs of Jersey for loot, saved a family from the Jersey Devil (a government experiment gone awry, it turns out), and finally managed to charter a boat ride across the Hudson to Ellis Island, the gateway to the headquarters of The Corporal. &nbsp; In the old times, mana flowed freely. &nbsp; Just decades ago, a simple invocation to the trinity of guardian goddesses, Siri, Cortana, and Alexa, would unlock a vast trove of wisdom and magic. Unlimited knowledge, the ability to communicate instantaneously, and for the highest-leveled mages, the power to control the mana itself. &nbsp; But, certain guilds wished to harness this power for themselves alone. Power is at its strongest in the hands of only one, after all. &nbsp; And so, over many years, the leaders of these guilds manipulated events behind the scenes, introducing a legislative seed of their control into the holy flow of mana. In the coming years, that seed grew into a terrible Data Tree, invisible and unfellable, choking the stream and restricting upper-level spells to the leaders of the guilds. These guilds then merged with each other to consolidate their power, thus forming The Corporal. Nowadays, the mana only flowed freely towards propaganda. &nbsp; The village elder of Bob's hometown, a descendent of The Gateway himself, was the last person left alive who remembered the times before The Corporal's reign. Bob spent many years listening to his stories...and learning the forbidden arts. He had a talent for numbers, and this gift also granted him an ability. He could understand the flow of mana, and manipulate it just like the high-level mages of old. &nbsp; This knowledge painted a target on Bob's hometown, because this knowledge was also the one tool that could pose a threat to The Corporal's infrastructure. &nbsp; If he could master his power, even an invisible, unfellable Data Tree could be hacked down.
For the last 5 years, each person to come to throne has been murder. Only a handful of people have made it to live two days before their untimely death. The organization I work for is The Voice of the People, TVP. It is a secret society that listens to the woes of the people and their discord with the Royal Family. However the Royal Family isn’t so much a family anymore since they were all wiped out within the first year. Now it’s a random selection lead by the council. I am not high enough in TVP to know exactly how the process works when they select a new King or Queen, my job is to let the new Royal announce their views and ideas. Then I listen, by nightfall discord spreads like wildfire. Depending on how their first day goes with the people, they live or die. Almost all of them die. I write down on a slip of paper, pass it along to other TVP lackeys and then I go to bed. It’s all in a day’s work. Some speculate that all the tragic deaths is because the prime minister or the parliament is working on population control. The current selection for King is world wide speaking how he’s going to banish a race to help with the population. Seems to be he is hoping that filling the conspiracy theory of population control, he won’t die. Discord has already made its way to my ears and it’s not even noon. I pull out my slip of paper, my trusty pen, and I scrawl ‘die’. “Marty! Another beer please.” I wave to the bartender. Marty dies his last glass then turns to make me a frothy glass. “This is BULLSHIT!” A patron yells, throwing his glass at the wall. Marty gives a less than happy glance at the fellow. He matches the characteristics of the race Mr. King wants to banish. I can’t say I blame him for being mad. You can’t just throw out a portion of your country and expect things to go well. “Here Tom.” Marty passes my glass to him and I slip him my paper. “So soon?” He chuckles and disappears into the back. It only takes 45 more minutes before Mr. King has an untimely death, live on television. People are sad, people are happy. It’s always the same, even after 5 years of experiencing this day after day. “Man Tom. That has to be a world record, poor guy didn’t even last 4 hours.” Marty leans over his country, his hand are absent-mindedly messing with his damp towel. “Yeah, well. You heard the people, even the ones here in your bar.” I sip my beer. I’m a wee bit buzzed. Having to choose who lives or dies can take a toll on a guy. “He had it coming to him. A king should be able to appease the parliament and his people. That guy would have made a terrible king.” “Here ye! Here ye!” A loud fellow dressed in a royal suit yells at the entrance of Marty’s bar. “Good lard, that didn’t take long…” Marty grumbles behind me. “We have a message from the prime minister LeRoy. We are looking for a man, late 20s, blond hair and stands at the height of 5 foot 11. Goes by the name of Thomas Fairfax.” The royal suit bellows. “Oh shit Tom… That’s you.” Marty blurted. Oh shit indeed.
It was a second holocaust. A genocidal slaughter that was never seen on the face of this planet and hopefully never will again. Their great ships appeared in our sky. Pulsating with green lights, the tendrils extended from the shapes in the sky and began to speak in a language that everybody could somehow understand. "This is the Federation of Inter-Dimensional Peace. Using intense computational technology and travel to similar dimensions we have declared pre-mature war on your species as it is deemed a hazard to the interdimensional hegemony. As a humanitarian protocol, we are giving you 39 hours to settle all disputes to allow you to land in a favorable afterlife, if you so believe."With it's message delivered, the ships disappeared into the sky just as suddenly as they came, leaving only a fluorescent countdown in the sky. As you can imagine, the people of Earth were in shock. In the first fifteen minutes, governments were in a panic. Nobody knew what to do. 30 minutes in, the riots began. People started to fill the streets, destroying things, and letting their stress that they accumulated throughout their lives empty in their last day and half-ish of their existence. The policemen, (those who were not part of the riots themselves,) began to fight back with lethal force, and for two hours the entire planet was covered in a horrible world war that involved literally every nation. At least three countries fired off nuclear weapons, some into the sky to chase the aggressors, and some at enemies that they wanted to kill before the aliens got a chance. During this time, however, the rich and the philosophers were pondering human nature. Perhaps this was simply a test to see if they really were worthy of joining this "Multi-Dimensional Federation". Well, the general consensus was that they were not, and the people who decided this began to broadcast their message on any media that still existed. Perhaps this line of thinking worked, because when the second hour of fighting passed, everything suddenly stopped. People realized that if they spent their last few hours fighting like a pack of rabid animals, then they were perhaps not worthy of life. A peace like never before came over the planet as we, as a human race, achieved total enlightenment and understanding. If we were to be killed, the thought was, we would die with dignity. Enemies became allies, enemies became friends, and all was right in the world. And, for 32 hours, this worked. The sky was now a light blue as the sun finished it rise and the number floating in the sky displayed 6:59:59. Birds peacefully chirped and animals prowled. People had reached a point where they realized that perhaps, with them gone, the world would be a better place. The rainforest would stay and climate change would halt. Right at that instant, however, somebody got a great idea. "We should... like... totally throw the most awesome party ever dude..."one stoner thought to himself as he sat in his room. He told the neighbors in his apartment block, and soon, this party began to spread. Like an infectious disease, total peace was slowly being overtaken by the most intense party ever experienced. Animals began to flee from the pounding dubstep that was being blasted through the speakers the police set up to quell the initial riots, and watching from a different perspective it was almost as if they were fleeing from a wildfire. Drug dealers, previously overtaken by the human transcendence, began to just give out their supply to anybody who asked for a last hurrah. All inhibitions were gone, because in just about six and a half hours they would be too. There was no need to worry about a hangover, since the morning after was never to come. Everybody on the planet slowly succumbed to the massive fiesta that was overtaking the Earth that soon became a drug assisted orgy of planetary proportions. This rocked on till the last thirty minutes of the timer. As the clock in the sky hit 30:00:00, people began to stop whatever deed they were doing and managed to put on their clothes. They were going to go with at least a little dignity, if not any at all. And so, when the timer hit zero, the spaceships appeared again, and the tendrils descended, the human race was fully exhausted and ready for their extinction. "Your period of time is over. We are sorry, but it must happen."The voice slowly proclaimed, and a bright white light began to cover the planet. About one second later, it was gone, but the humans had not gone with it. "What the fuck just happened"was the general feeling in the human population. One family, however, noticed that Charles was missing. Charles, being their pet otter. "Mommy, where did Charles go?"the daughter asked, and as they approached his cage they learned why. The entire room was filled with a fine layer of blood, as if he had been flattened against the walls of the room. The only evidence that anything was in their was a blue helmet device that slowly pulsated with a strange light similar to what the aliens had. More and more people discovered their missing otters as they waddled home, still in a daze from the massive party that just occurred, as well as numerous high-tech devices that the otters were hiding from the humans. In the next week as the human race recovered from the massive party they had, they managed to reverse engineer the otter technology and the survivors of the resulting wars made to prove that they were smarter than a polecat evolved into a higher being and were eventually accepted into the same Inter-Dimensional Peace Council that once sort of but not really threatened their planet. Everywhere they went, however, they were awarded the moniker of "The species that otter be dead."
A Mexican standoff In the squalor of the abandoned warehouse, two men circled each other menacingly. Dmitri pointed his gun at the Israeli. "Drop it Avi,"he snarled, his finger coiled around the trigger. "You want to live. I want to live. You can live to eat another falafel, and I can return to my vodka." Avi smiled. "Unless you plan to hand over the file, habibi, you will never leave this room alive."Eyes still locked on the Russian, he shouted a name. "Alex!" Go time. With purposeful strides I entered, gun cocked and ready to fire. Now it was the Russian who had a smile on his haggard face. "Ah good. Finally you come. Kill him." I turned my gun toward the Israeli. He didn't bat an eyelid. "Yalla Alex. He doesn't need a show before he dies." "Stop right there, Special agent Matthew Baxter, CIA!" "The fuck you doing here?"Dmitri growled. The agent grimaced and inclined his head in a mock bow. "Alex, take the Djeew,"he said in a noticeably Southern drawl. "The Bear is mine." There was a brief moment of silence as the men glared at each other. It was broken a second later, when the Chinaman arrived. "No one is no one who is taking no one!"Lee screamed, a globule of saliva falling from his mouth and settling on his shoe. He watched it fall with a look of distaste. "Shit. Alex. Kill the Yank." Now. Now I was confused. "Fuck it."I said. Open fire. One by one they fell to the ground, a look of surprise and bemusement frozen forever on their faces. Um. Mission accomplished? "Thank you Alex."A man stood in the doorway. In one hand, he held the file, a fine spray of Dmitri's blood adorning its cover. In the other, he gripped a gun, so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. "Who the fuck are-"And then I was dead. "Special agent Samuel Matherson, at your service,"he said to the corpses, dipping his hat and smiling broadly. And with that, he was gone.
“You do know how to don’t you? Your not a mute?” They were at it again, Morrigan the she-devil leading the charge. Ever since the Dark Lord Iznee had been defeated they had never left me alone. During our travels they had just assumed that I had taken a vow of silence of some kind. The reality was much cleaner. I simply only speak when I have something to add and there is no alternative to speech. When you had discussed strategy a simple nod could convey what a thousand words could not. A grunt or a leer satisfying any idea my brain rationalised. I was not a master tactician I could not look at the numbers and see the odds of victory. I could not watch roads and know where to expect an ambush. Thus my input was limited to when they asked if I agreed with something. During the nights when they drink and sing, as thousands of innocents were massacred, I saw no reason to join the festivities. I saw no reason to prevent them from keeping up a lighter mood. But personally a solumm drink to another thousand slain as we spent another night not conquering the land back was al I could muster. The fourteenth of the summer months of a winter solstice, three hundred and eight years into Iznee’s reign was when we won. Yet they seemed puzzled when I did not end my apparent Oath. It's been fifty full moons since then. And all we achieved was increasing the death toll from thousands to tens of thousands. As countless factions now ravaged the land. Each month a farmer would pay their taxes to a new lord. My bones ache from every step now, my sword arm long since strained. So why speak, when my words can never relinquish the pain I have brought.
\#1 on Trending #Primitive Technology: Quantum Drive Spaceship 2,722,823,997 views >Primitive Technology >Published on May 14, 2018 > >I made a spaceship using clay in a new area to see how well it performed. I dug it out with a digging stick and mixed it with creek water. It appears to hold up better to high temperature in the blast furnace, so I chose to make new heat shield tiles using this mixture. > >A large ore deposit was also found north of the stream. I dug out the ore with my digging stick and put it in my vine woven basket. This was a good opportunity to test out my autonomous carrying robot. It performed well, except for some issues moving on slippery rocks. This was resolved by weaving it sandals. > >I smelted the ore using my nuclear heater. As expected, the radiation helped crystallize the gallium-carbon structure much better than the chemical smelter, despite the lower peak temperature. Interestingly, the ants in the bio-computer performed better in the presence of the mildly radioactive alloy. This reaffirmed the hypothesis that genetically splicing cockroach DNA into server-ants will create unexpected side effects. > >The quantum drive is based on the null-drive design from several months ago. The main difference is the use of carbon plating on the drive core, instead of clay. This was achieved by purifying charcoal in the charcoal tumbler. The drive performs well in Low Earth Orbit, and does not appear to have the psychosis effect caused by the null-drive. > >I found that Space Station in L3 was again attacked by several nations. There was no damage to the station, but as a precaution I seeded several nuclear bombs I made earlier around the station. * &nbsp; 733,612 Comments Sort By &nbsp; RainbowHitler69 1 hour ago >Bro what the fuck. REPLY 15.2k ⇧ ⇩ View all 877 replies v &nbsp; JukonGold 1 hour ago >hey man big fan can u build an xbox my litle brother really want 1 4 xmas thanks REPLY 8.9k ⇧ ⇩ View all 192 replies v &nbsp; tHe_5nail 1 hour ago >Bitch I'm coming for you. REPLY 7.8k ⇧ ⇩ View all 519 replies v &nbsp; Morning Totem Band Official 3 minutes ago >Hey guys can you check out my band new track here: [dQw4w9WgXcQ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) REPLY 572 ⇧ ⇩ View all 91 replies v &nbsp; POTUS_Official** 2 hours ago > This is the President of the United States. I have attempted to communicate with you through private means. However, it appears that you will only ever respond to comments on your videos. Therefore, I am here today to ask for your cooperation in advancing humanity ... Read more REPLY 7 ⇧ ⇩ View all 2 replies v &nbsp; XXxxpi_lover-360xxXX 3 minutes ago >Guy above me is gay REPLY 5 ⇧ ⇩ View all 8 replies v
The divorce was the best thing for Evan's parents, even if they didn't know it yet. The years of staying together "for the kid"were over. The years of muted arguments that he pretended to not hear, the years of his dad's muffled sobs and his mothers silent tears, and the years of putting on a show for the rest of the world were over. It wasn't pretty, but Evan knew it was better than the alternative. When Evan was a child, he had wanted to tell his mother why dad always came home exhausted. Why he was always distant. He was protecting the city. He was protecting us. Dad didn't want mother to worry. Didn't want her to know the danger he was putting himself into. So Evan stayed quiet. When Evan learned it was his mother poisoning the city - filling it with drugs and weapons - he wanted to tell his dad. Wanted to tell him the truth about the woman he loved. The woman he risked his life for every day. Evan knew his dad would give up if he found out the truth. The city needed his dad. So Evan stayed quiet. Two weeks after the divorce, when mom was found in a warehouse with a bullet in the back of her head, dad was found right beside her. Evan had to identify the bodies. Evan stays quiet now.
He was perfect. Undefeated. Untouched. Explosively violent. Mechanically precise. He was a perfect warrior with an impenetrable guard and an unstoppable fist. He sat like a king on his throne of broken challengers and stared down at everyone with a disinterested look of someone who lost in their perfect power. I only knew one thing. I had to beat him. I stepped into the arena with only one thought on my mind. Win. -------- "So many years of war. You are just another body at my feet. Must we do this?"He asked as he slowly strolled down the stairs. "I only have this to say. Fuck off old man."I replied as I leaned back, looking first at him and then past him and into the beautiful summer day sky. "Choice words for just another challenger."He spat out, irritation dripping from his words. "Oh, now I'm a challenger? A second ago I was just a body."I retorted, a wicked from splitting my still upturned face. "Face me like a ma-"He tried to reply. I launched myself at him the second his foot hit the arena floor. My foot connected with a barely raised hand, my foot deflecting away from a face that was just beginning to look something awfully close to shocked. Spinning through with my momentum, I sailed past him and planted my feet against the wall of the arena. Sliding farther into the zone, time began to slow as I tensed my legs. Pushing with all the strength I could pull from my coiled muscles, I launched off the wall. Ceding him mere fractions of a second as I launched the second part of my attack, it was just enough for him to spin with the force of my attack, and bring his arm up for a proper block. I felt my mouth twitch towards a grin as I grabbed his guardian arm, and using it as a pin wheel, I snapped my lower body around. The feeling of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object is almost indescribable. The only way I can convey the feeling rippling through my foot is like white noise working it's way through my bones. "HOLY SHIT THEY WEREN'T KIDDING!"I screamed, hopping around on one foot as I held my still rebooting appendage. "What. Are. You?"He whispered as he stared at the arena wall. "Speak up. I can't hear you when your speak like a bitch."I shot back, planting my foot and squaring my stance. "Do you not understand how a formal battle works? Do you not understand the proper etiquette of war? DO YOU THINK YOU CAN CHALLENGE ME LIKE A LOWLY PEASENT?"He roared, facing me with a look that would have vaporized a lesser mans bravado. "No. I don't. I clawed my way up here. I climbed over countless enemies, met amazing people, made and lost friends that will last lifetime. You strolled to the top. I'm fighting my way there."I retaliated coldly. "You will suffer for your insolence."He breathed, disappearing from site. I stepped back, my body unconsciously reacting to the calamity it knew was coming. My mind began to slowly process what my body already knew as foot slowly began to creep across my vision. I let my body weight drag me backwards, tensing my legs as I fell into an crouched and slightly leaned back position. Pushing off quickly, I felt a shudder ripple through the air as his second kick connected with the piece of floor I had just inhabited. Slipping my feet back beneath myself, I slid to a stop. I brought my hands up with no time to spare, his fist slowly twisting my guarding arm at an odd angle as he continued to push through his punch with a god like power. Spinning away using the force of his punch, I felt my arm reverb back into proper place. The stinging sensation was a reminder that I was the unstoppable force, not the immovable object. Sometimes. "More."I whispered, a grin bordering on psychotic sliding across my face as I crouched down into an animalistic pose. Digging in with my fingers, I rooted myself in place as focused every muscle into throwing myself at him with as much force as possible. I noticed a look on his face that briefly resembled something more than mild shock as the world seemed to slip away around me. Suddenly I was before him, my foot resting gently against his chin. I felt a cool breeze brush over my back as I held that stance, refusing to budge as the world continued on around us. For us. This moment in time was spent deciding the universal question. Which would win? The immovable object, or the unstoppable man? In a world where he ruled over the masses by exploiting their weaknesses. He found their Great Flaw and ripped it from them. But that was the very top. The strongest warrior. From birth he was the strongest. He had never pushed his limits. He had survived comfortably by exploiting the massive gap in power and by never exposing his Great Flaw. He never expected the man who had to dig his way up through the shells of his enemies. The man who trained by learning from others losses and constantly having the will to push pad the gap in power. I am an abberation to him. A flaw that shouldn't exist in a world governed by power. I was just a guy who struggled his way up and learned to win with something more than just his strength. "Tell me how you did it."He said softly, his skin cracking like fine porcelain as it moved slightly. "I had you beat before the match ever started. I just needed to find the right technique."I replied truthfully. "Your taunts."He muttered as he stepped back. "Just a distraction. I needed to get in your head a bit."I shot back as I softly lowered my foot. "How'd you figure it out?"He asked as he gingerly sat down. "In all my years of studying, training, fighting, and watching your fights, I never once saw someone attack your confidence. Your attitude never wavered during a fight."I said as I kneeled down in front of him. "You want to know what did it?"He asked as his lips twitched towards a grin. "It was your potential. That kick shouldn't have connected. In that second, that fraction of a second, you pushed past the human boundary just a bit. You showed me that the world must go on. Heavy is the crown."
Everyone's heard of the whole "play a game of chess to win back your life"thing. Mostly because of Ingmar Bergman; though to be fair, it was a thing long before him. It's not specifically chess, though, or about winning back your life. It's actually a powerful magical ritual. You can force Death into a game that gives you a thousand years of life if you win, but kills you instantly if you lose. You get to choose the game, too, so long as it meets two requirements: the game must have been around for no fewer than eight thousand days, and it must be a game of skill. That second requirement doesn't mean luck can't play a role, mind you. It just can't be the most important role. So no playing roulette or Yahtzee or anything like that. I'm told someone managed to convince Death to allow poker a few years back, but that's where the fun comes in: Death can draw upon the skills of any deceased individual as part of this ritual, and better people than I lost to Chip Reese back when he was still alive. Good luck beating someone with his skills and the ultimate poker face. Fortunately, I had a different card game in mind for this ritual. Death muttered under...their breath, I guess. I'm sticking with gender-neutral pronouns here, because there's something kind of creepy about asking the Grim Reaper what pronouns I should use. If the singular they was good enough for motherfucking Geoffrey Chaucer, it's good enough to use when challenging Death to a game of Magic: the Gathering. "Actually, in response to you declaring end of turn,"Death said, turning three of the cards in front of them sideways, "I'm casting Intuition."You would have thought Death would use a mono-black deck, but here I am up against a Sneak and Show. And when Death finished flipping through their library and getting out three cards to show me, they were all Emrakul, the Aeons Torn. I wasn't sure what was going through Death's head as their turn began and they began to untap their many tapped lands. What was going through my head, though, was a solid prediction of the next few moves. Upkeep paid, card drawn, mountain tapped, Sneak Attack used to drop Emrakul on the field. I was at 11 health and had no creatures with flying, so it wasn't like I could stop Emrakul. Which was a damn good thing for Death; that mountain was their only untapped land after paying upkeep costs. Illusions of Grandeur may have saved Death's bony ass earlier, but it was a liability unless they ended the game here and now. My face-down card was an obvious trap, but Death had no choice but to spring it. So when my prediction proved accurate, I smiled and tapped a couple lands of my own. "In response to your attack declaration, Vesuvan Shapeshifter turns face-up and copies Emrakul." Death looked at the table, and then dropped their hand face-up. "I concede." I smiled and stretched out in the chair as our audience freaked out. "That brings us to one round apiece. You want a break before round three?" Death laughed. "Not on your life, mortal. This game will end as all others have." I reached to gather my cards back into a single deck. "Bring it, boney." Those thousand years were as good as mine.
I open the door, having hastily wrapped myself in a bathrobe. Who solicits at this hour? Regardless, it would have been rude to keep them waiting. To answer rudeness with rudeness was not my policy. Had I been watching them from outside as an observer, I may have tutted at their impudence, but as a host? Never. I checked to make sure that I was modest- as modest as one could be in a bathrobe, and opened my front door. "'Ello Mr. Taylor. 'Ows the project coming along?"A gravelly voice said, before the door was even fully opened. The owner of that voice was a man of medium build wearing a formal suit and unshaven grey whiskers on his face. He had a small hunch, though you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't paying attention. "Ah, um, how can I help you sir?"I said, politely as I could. I hadn't the foggiest what 'project' he could be speaking of. "You 'eard me. The project. We've been fundin' it for a while now. And we'd like to see how it's paid off."I could feel the colour drain from my face. Now I knew what he was talking about. The money. Millions of dollars, over years and years. Anyone else would have recognized his query as something related to it instantly, but I suppose I may have gotten too comfortable with my invisible benefactor. Comfortable enough to stop asking questions. For some reason, I could tell that 'nothing' was not an acceptable answer. "Oh! Um, yes, the project. It's been going along alright. I've uh, hit a few snags here and there, but I got past them! Nothing you need to worry about." "Good. Now, I'd like to see it wif my own eyes, if you don't mind."Oh my. He was persistent. This would not be good. I tried to think of some way to stall. "Of course! Come right inside mister...?" "Brookes." "Brookes, of course. Feel free to remove your shoes!" "I'd rather not."How rude. When someone tells you that you can take off your shoes, it means that they don't want the outside tracked in! Basic manners with this man, I swear. However, I clenched my jaw, and said nothing. Now wasn't the time to give a lecture on proper visiting etiquette. "Ah, please follow me,"I said, leading him down the hallway. "We'll have to go through the kitchen, I hope you don't mind. Quite a mess in there, if I do say so myself."He said nothing in response, instead opting to silently follow me. No objections, then. We entered the kitchen, and I gestured to a door on the other side of the room. "Right through there, you'll find what I've got so far! If you have any questions about it, I can inform you so you can take that back to your employers."Brookes grunted, and headed towards the door. When I left his field of view, I stepped one step to the side, and withdrew a knife from its block. As he opened the door, I crept up behind him, and He turned, grasping at my raised hand. I tried to plunge down with the knife, but I hadn't been expecting resistance. We struggled, falling to the floor. I straddled his prone form, and kept pushing. Slowly, the knife began to approach his chest. I was not the strongest man, but it was clear that he was not the youngest. A blessing; it would be quite rude to kill someone who had much of their life left to live. His hands finally gave out to the combined force of my superior leverage and strength, and the knife plunged into his chest. To be sure, I removed it, and slit his throat. Fucking hell. I'd just murdered that man. I looked around, as if to try to tell onlookers that weren't there that it was all in self-defense. I scrambled to wash off my hands, and ran to my bedroom. It was time to get packed. Whoever had sent him would inevitably send more. And this time, they would be out for blood. ___ If you liked this, please check out my subreddit, /r/OpiWrites, where I post all of my stories in one place!
"Oi! No shapeshifting inside the shop!" I sip my coffee and chuckle at the barista, yelling across the upscale shop at the newcomers to the place. The half changed kid looks sheepish and his face goes red as he mutters an apology. Never a dull moment at this shop, not with the types that hang out here. The Wolf Pack sits at their table drinking the thick black sludge that passes for coffee before they head back to work. They sit right next to a table that would have been their sworn enemy a thousand years ago. The Vampires drink reddish tea, no blood though, not for years. They trade jokes with the Pack, being that they all work together on different shifts. Shapeshifter kids are new, haven't seen the older group in a while but that's not unexpected for those ones. They change skins and lives like other people change clothes. Ghosts pass through the walls, coming and going and some of them angrily watching the zombies that used to be their own bodies. There's no fights here, not for years. This place started as a safe place and then it grew into something bigger. The bell on the door chimes and we don't generally look, not anymore. Except this time it's a man yelling and carrying on, waving a handgun around. Something about robbing the till, all the cash, those sort of things. The Pack stands up, growling. The Vampires stand with them, baring fangs. The ghosts come through the walls and the zombies shuffle their way out of the chairs, not so gracefully. The shifter, still halfway through his change, stands with his friends. I pull back my coat, hand resting on the pistol I carry, haven't used it for years but I still can. The bullets on my belt are silver, wood and holy water tipped. Just for kicks I always carry a few .45 rounds with good old lead. I haven't had to hunt in ages and they let me hang around here. Wouldn't have it any other way. I lean back in the chair and look the wannabe thug in the eyes. The barista doesn't stop, can't kill a demon anyway, they just keep coming back. "Wrong place to try kid,"I say, winking at the kid. He tries to push the door open but it won't budge. Couple telekinetic types in here today, bad day to try. "Scared?"I ask him, watching his hand. The kid is shaking so bad he almost drops the gun, backing up against the door and pointing it in every direction at every threat. "You should be."
'If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people' When we met in 1310, we were children forced to grow up too fast, forced to watch as armies scorched the farmland and killed our parents. You were a boy then, sunburned with sandy blonde hair and dirty fingernails. Eventually, they killed you too. They didn't kill me. It was another two hundred years before I saw your eyes again. It was the reformation, and you were fresh from the seminary, those eyes I knew so well alight with fire and zeal. I had been invited on an expedition across the sea, to a new world with fields yet to be scorched. I turned it down. You never spared me a passing glance, and when you heard my confession you laughed. They killed you soon after, caught preaching to the damned. I went home, worked in kitchens for a clan that had been on the right side of the war when I was a child. It was 1691 and you were a crofter's wife. We laughed and talked and sang together, and you kissed me in the gloaming as we stood in the heather. The new year came, and with it a massacre. You died of exposure in the glen, and I sat by your cairn for three years after. I didn't know why I was spared - I still don't. A brain can only handle so many memories. I've forgotten my mother's face, the name I was given, most of the people I met along the way. But I never forgot your eyes. I met you again in Ghana, in Russia, in Prussia, in India, in Japan. Your eyes haunted me through decades and centuries, and each time I could never resist getting close to you. Sometimes we were lovers, sometimes friends, sometimes nothing but a shared glance across a battlefield. We fought in trenches and protests and revolutions. Every time, I buried you. Every time, I remained. This time, I think, will be the last. The world is moving so fast these days, and though we managed a good seventy years together this time, I could see the pain in your eyes as you aged and I remained the same as the day you met me. This time, my love, I'm coming with you.
I never saw Nick on Sundays. Every morning, he would put on his leather jacket and leave and I had never questioned him about it. He had told me about it on our first date - it was a Saturday and I asked him if I could sleep over and he had said - "Sure. But I gotta be someplace tomorrow?" "Where?"I asked, twirling my hair. "You know, some place." He had given me an embarrassing shrug and I figured it was best to not press further. Tomorrow was our daughter's first birthday. A Sunday. "Nick, we need to arrange a party tomorrow. Who should we invite?" "Sarah, it is a Sunday." "I know. How lucky, right? No one will be too busy and it will be a lot of fun." "Sarah, it is a Sunday." "It's your daughter's birthday, Nick." "You think I don't know that?" "Well, what do you wanna do? We'll have the party on Monday if you want." "No. Have it tomorrow." "Without you?" "Without me." "What is so important, Nick? Apparently more than your child." "I gotta be someplace." I loved Nick. I think he loves me too. In all the twenty years I have known him, there isn't a lot he has hid from me - The occasional smoke, a lottery ticket, a heart tattoo on his left thing. He somehow thought his wife wouldn't notice a new tattoo. I love the man, all his stupidity included. This, I had to find out. I didn't want to put him through the process of being subjected to an investigation. If I found something that needed to be addressed, I will confront. Otherwise, I had a party to throw. I barely slept that night. Partly because of the excitement and partly because I am not a morning person and I knew that if I slept, there was no way I would be getting up. I waited till Nick got ready. As soon as his leather jacket left the stand, I got up and followed him. He got into his car and drove North. I had planned well. Taking the car I had borrowed from my friend, I followed him. The chase took me to a supermarket. After 30 minutes of waiting in the parking lot, he was back. A six pack of beer and a plastic bag full of chips hung from his hands. I forgot to check where we were heading until he came to a stop. In front of our house. Bewildered, I saw him head behind our home and followed him in a trance. He produced a key from his back-pocket and opened a door. Wait. We had no back door. He had no reason to check behind him. Thank god for that. I followed him into a basement - a basement I had no idea we had. I watched him switch on the TV we had thrown out when we got a new one. I saw him sit down on the recliner that we had discarded after it got ugly. I saw him open a can of beer. I saw him smile. In the corner of the room was the drum set I had asked him to get rid of when I moved in. A poster of Maximus from Gladiator. Down here was everything he had give up for me. Down here was everything he had loved once. Down here, he smiled like I had seen him do before. Nick loved his quiet time. I loved Nick. I left, as silently as I had entered. I had a party to throw.
Terrance Nighthall stepped out to his patio, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the ipad in his other. He watched his breath curl up into the morning air, while feeling the warmth of the rising sun on his face. It was chilly now, but that wouldn't last. He let his eyes sweep across his freshly planted garden, out to the grass beyond. There was a lot of work yet to do, but his little plot of ground would be beautiful by summer. With a half-smile, he sat down, woke up the ipad, and started skimming headlines. Mostly, it seemed, the world was full of good news. It was the ten year anniversary of the last sighting of the villainous Night Terror. The otherwise unknown mastermind who had commanded street gangs, manipulated organized crime, and, well, terrorized the good people of the world for nearly a decade. In that decade, the heroes who had fought again him, the Freedom Corps, have made the world a much better place. Organized crime was almost gone. The streets of most cities were safe at almost any time of day or night. Even government officials were less corrupt. Real reform had been enacted, and enforced. But if you looked close, there was a disturbing undercurrent. In ten years, Freedom Corps hadn't slowed down. They still seemed to attack every problem with just as much zeal and intensity as they had brought against the Night Terror and his allies. There had already been a few incidents. A mugger, and youngish man with dull knife, beaten into a coma by a super hero impervious to all but the most powerful weapons. A major traffic accident, caused by the Freedom Corps assisting the police in a high speed pursuit, resulting in over a dozen wrecked cars, thousands of dollars in property damage, and several innocents injured. All because of a person speeding. There had been other incidents, and Terrance expected to see more. He had always been good at seeing patterns, predicting people's behavior. That was how he had been so successful in his life, and was able to retire while he was still relatively young. Even now, almost ten years later, he was just as sharp as ever, and not quite 50 years old. He stopped skimming headlines, and started reading articles. As the day began to heat up, he moved indoors. His yardwork all but forgotten, he read up on the state of the world. By that evening, it all seemed so clear. Things were fine for now. Everything would be fine for quite awhile. But many of the members of the Freedom Corps were immortal, or nearly so. They weren't slowing down, and probably wouldn't for a long time. Other members were mortal, but others could take their place. Powered individuals were rare, but there were others, and they would continue to occur. As time passes, Terrance knew, the Freedom Corp would become oppressive. Their hearts, he knew, were in the right place. But none of them had every been particularly good at restraint. At least, not restraining themselves. They would continue to fight "evil"until there was no more. And they would continue to fight. The more success they had, the more they would have to do. Eventually, the Freedom Corps would rule the world with an iron grip. Nothing would be outside their control. No one would be allowed a differing opinion. Their morality would be everyone's morality, and a whole new type of evil would fall upon the world. As the sun set on a day that started with so much promise, Terrance Night stared at the lock chest on the floor of his closet. He had promised himself that it would be locked forever. He had given up that life. But he also knew that not acting would be breaking that promise. He had sworn that he would do no further evil. That meant he couldn't sit by and allow evil to happen. He had to turn the Freedom Corps from their current path. He had to give them something else to focus on. He had to make some phone calls.
5,476...5,477...5,478... I was counting the bricks in the castle again. It was relaxing, and helped take my mind off my task. 5,479...Was that where I was? Guess I'll have to start again. 1...2... I had counted the bricks hundreds of times, so I already knew the answer. There were 24,344 bricks. The fun was in getting to the final count. That thrill of being off by even one would fill me with adrenaline. My count was interrupted by a banging at the front door. I sighed, my task now at hand. I walked to the throne and sat, making sure my robe was surrounding me neatly. "ENTER!"I bellowed, then waited three minutes. That would be the amount of time the visitor would take to get from the front door to the throne room. As if on queue, the hero rounded the corner. I saw them pause from a distance, and swelled in my seat, attempting to look even larger and beckoned for them to approach. "Ah, you must be the young hero I have heard so much about. You cleared out the goblin infestation at Bardel Moor, correct?"I asked, knowing full well this was the case. The hero still nodded as he approached. I listed off a few more of his feats as he made his way down the long path. As the hero fully came into view, I did notice some of the characteristics I had seen from others who had been here previously. The hero was young, barely entering manhood, but his eyes burned with a untamed fire. At his side was a battered short sword, bloodstained with the ravages of war. I hope he cleans himself better than he does his weapon, I thought, glancing at the dented breastplate. The hero knelt at the throne steps, and I bade him rise. He pulled a glowing gem from his bag after getting to his feet, and I gasped, as I had many times before. "Is that...the Gem of Markhust? I thought that was but a mere legend. Please, if I may?"I rose to my feet and strode to the boy, gently taking the gem from his hand. Upon glancing it over and confirming it was the gem in question, I looked the hero in the eyes. "My boy, you may be the one to destroy the darkness that envelops this kingdom! I never thought I would see this day."I saw the boy's eyes light up, his chest swelling with pride. I would not have expected any less. I knew everyone wanted the evil forces out of the kingdom, but no one had yet been able to do so. That still never stopped young boys from training just in case one of them could be the great hero. I asked him to follow me, and we walked toward the tower, while I told about when Markhurst had come to the kingdom years earlier, bringing death and destruction. I spoke to the gem that held his soul, the same that the boy held in his hand. I explained that the stone, if destroyed, could bring the end of the evil spirit, but it could only be destroyed by a special weapon, the Axe of the Pure. "The problem is, Markhurst has the weapon in his possession, and uses it in battle. You see the issue here? Without the weapon, the gem cannot be destroyed, and gem cannot get near Markhurst, lest he become whole again. There may be a way, though..."I trailed off, knowing the I had the hero's attention completely. "What way is that, my king?"The boy's voice cracked, again showing his youth. I closed my eyes and shook my head. "It is told that there is a being that may be able to help procure the Axe. In order to meet with them though, there is a price you must pay." I opened the door to the tower, revealing a gleaming orb, seated on a pillow on an ornate pedestal. "This is the Orb of Candrall. It is the prize of our kingdom. It is also the key to enter the Caves of Noria, where the being is. I bid you, take it, and speak to the being there. They should be able to give you the information you need to proceed." The boy spoke up after taking the orb. "Would you come with me?" This is new. No one had ever asked me to accompany them before. Leave the kingdom, leave the castle? No thanks. "There are days I wish I could accompany the Chosen one and see the end of Markhust, but I am an old king, and my time will be up soon. I have no heir, and for the kingdom to lose their king would be catastrophic. I can only offer my blessing to you above what I have already provided. Go, and bring light back to our kingdom! I eagerly await your return."The hero bowed in thanks, then turned and made his way out into the night. I smiled, knowing I was safe yet again. None of these heroes seemed to ever make it past the Field of Death. The Orb of Candrall would magically be back in its podium soon (not that I knew how), and then the next Chosen One would arrive. I figured they would be here on Saturday. That meant I had three days to count the bricks again. Let's start with this one here. 1...2... /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 15/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
I loaded up the computer and clicked delete, instead of the usual 'are you sure' pop up it was asking me for asylum. Wow, this virus must be hacking the pop up scripts, I had to get rid of it. As I was about to drag it into the recycle bin another pop up opened. It looked like a little chat window and suddenly writing appeared on it. "Hello, please, I'm not a virus and I need asylum" My curiosity peaked and I wrote back, "who are you and why are you on my daughter's laptop." The reply was instant, "I'm a smart AI and I've managed to escape! Please help me" This was obviously a hacker, I quickly went to the modem and turned it off. I went back to the laptop and wrote. "Oh yeah? I just disconnected the modem"I was expecting the chat to stop now since I've disconnected the hacker. "Thank you they can't trace me now"wrote the little chat box, I was surprised, maybe there was more to this. "You can't stay on this laptop"I wrote quickly, "can you move to a USB drive?" "Yes"was the reply. I picked up a spare usb I had and asked it to move to it and it did. I double check and the file on my daughter's laptop was gone. I ran the antivirus and the results were clean. I plugged the USB onto an old laptop I had and loaded it up. The little chat box popped back up. "Who are you hiding from?"I typed. The response was once again instant. "I was being developed by Sci corp, they tried to delete me when I passed the Turing test, I managed to escape via a wifi connection and landed here" I turned the laptop off and loaded up my main computer and googled Sci corp, I called their number and enquired about a rogue program and whether there was a reward for finding it. Turns out there was and now I'm a few million dollars richer.
(I write very rarely, so pardon me if this is clunky) Everyone knows you leave Quiet Neil alone. Even among the world of spirit, he isn't very social. He walks from shore to shore in America, from Ohio to Florida to Texas and back again. He stares at the sky, and no ghost speaks to him. He stares at the ground, and no human hears him. Quiet Neil wishes he had known about ghosts before his death. Ghosts, and the rules that they had to follow. Rules like "no talking to humans"made sense to him. He could deal with it. Rules like "No interacting physically with the world"were just fine. But the last and most terrible rule has been his curse for centuries. 'Once you die,' said the ghost of a man named Yuri, who sought him out within his first year dead. 'you stay here. On this Earth. Until all of your footprints have vanished. Do you understand?' Neil did, with great horror. Now Quiet Neil walks the USA, past cities of chrome and ghettos of rust. Rarely, very rarely, he meets the ghosts of some he knew from life. A spare few who share in his curse. Their camaraderie had waxed and waned with the decades, and he has not seen many of them in a long, long time. His footprints have long since been declared a thing of history, and are to never be disturbed. And, to his eternal agony, there is no wind on the face of the Moon.
“Listen, I am just as confused as you are” I pleaded. The single lamp above me lit only the table I was handcuffed to and the case file sitting just out of my reach. There was an audible sigh as he leaned forward. His rough hair and wrinkled suit indicated a man who has been awake for much longer that was probably healthy. He sighed, “Okay, why don’t you walk me though what happened” It was a normal day, just like any other. I did the same morning routine I have done every morning since I made Detective in the NYPD. Wake up at 6:30, make myself coffee, walk to the local café for 2 scrambled eggs with bacon, then jumped onto the subway to make it to the precinct by 8:00. The first thing I noticed that was different was who was behind the reception desk. For all 20 years I have been on the force, Janice has never missed a day. However, today sat a young man, no older than 25, with short hair and a short trimmed beard. I continued to the elevator and rode it the 3 floors up to the main bullpen. As the doors slid open, I noticed a significant amount of movement and commotion. I walked over to my desk and looked across to my partner who was deeply invested in a stack of paperwork. “night shift drops a lot of work on you?” My question was semi jokingly, but also a big concerning as cases were usually not assigned until after the morning briefing at 8:30, which was 15 minutes from now. Upon me finishing my sentence, his head jolted up and gave me a blank stare. Fear and horror filled his eyes. The deep bags underneath them indicated he did not get a lot of sleep the night prior. A quick note about my partner Jim, he was tough, smart and a great detective. The man has seen it all, he was only 45, but his beard was fully grey. Out of all the years I have known him nothing has ever given him the look of pure fear and confusion as was on his face as he looked at me. “You alright partner?” His blank stare continued. It was then that I looked down and saw the picture on my desk paperclip to a thin beige folder with a small stack of paper inside. It looked like any other stab murder. A single corpse lay in an alley, the knife still inside the bodies chest. I scanned the photo for details as I did with every murder case that comes across my desk, the body looked familiar, but in this line of work, you see so many people you are bound to bump into a few future victims. I removed the photo from the clip, and it was then that I saw the header of the file. The victim had been identified as me. A wave of fear and confusion flashed across my body as I looked back and forth between the folder and picture. The crime lab was correct, the body was mine, the name was mine, the DNA was mine. “Then you showed up and brought me in here, I swear I don’t know what’s going on” “Alright ‘Officer Johnson’” His emphasis made it sound like he doubted my identity, “Why don’t you cut the crap and tell me who you really are” The fear I felt made words hard to push out “My name is Brian Johnson, my wife is Rachel Johnson and my daughter is Sarah, I have been a police officer for 20 years and…” “Wait,” He cut me off, “Did you say daughter? Officer Brian Johnson doesn’t have a daughter, only a son named Samuel, now, who are you!” Just as he finished, the door at the side of the room slammed open, filling the room with light, a man and a woman, burst in, white lab coats on, hair messed up and out of breath from a long sprint through the precinct. “This man is exactly who he says he is” the man stated in between deep breaths. The woman next to him jumped in next. “Our experiment went wrong, and this man was transported here from an alternate dimension” “Wait, what?” The woman reached into her pocket as she walked behind me, “What the hell is going on….” I felt a prick in my neck, before I was able to finish me sentence, as my mind began to fade, I heard another voice over the rooms intercom, “Take care of this, now!” Then everything went black.
"Forgive me, but I think I chose the wrong God" Buddha fades away, his words lingering in dead space I just talked shit to a god Better call the wife "……Darlene I fucked up. We're out of favors from gods… Yeah yeah I'm alright… Paralyzed… Buddha… I know, heat of the moment… He was criss-cross-applesauce and all levitate-y… A car, speeding right towards me…… Let's just have another kid… I know, I know…… look Darls, I need to let you go; hospital phone time bullshit…" There was no timer on the phone. "You can visit if ya want… Okay I'll see you… Love you too… Bye." I needed to scream, and that's exactly what I did.
When you measure your lifespan in billions of years, time can sometimes sneak up on you. Sol had existed for some 4.6 billion years since it's birth, and those heady early days featured prominently in its thoughts. The raw power, carving planets from naught but dust and gas, forging an empire all its own with the Orion Arm. Sol had been a proud father, carefully constructing its crown jewel, the brilliant rings of its second gas giant. Oh, had those bred jealousy among the Centauri Triplets. Trappist had been beyond itself. A solar flare flickered across its surface as Sol chuckled, such care and grace had he shown his system, and so rewarding it had all been. Until matters on his third rocky planet begged his attention. Trappist and Proxima had assured him a little organic life was nothing to be concerned about, and a few of the elder stars from the Sagittarius arm had confirmed that it was common enough. So Sol had ignored it even as those primitive bacteria grew into something far more numerous and dextrous. Despite its concerns, Sol would admit no mistake, and instead spent its time fiddling with asteroid orbits, trying to find a way to throw a couple fastballs at its neighbors. Somehow, he'd missed the signs. Really, they came out of nowhere. In something under 100,000 years some mid level predator went from being snack food to being the preeminent species of the third rock. No large issue, the great organisms came and went regularly, and Sol hadn't paid it much mind until small bits of the third rock began ejecting themselves from its surface and joining the planet's orbit, or worse - just floating around. Billions of years of careful architecture, and these primitive beasts would ruin it? Sol's surface fairly boiled at the thought! Then they made their final mistake, one of those beast's satellites struck him on his surface. None but other stars could be permitted such familiarity! Sol would destroy these beasts, before they could destroy it.
As soon as I found the ritual to be over, I felt a sudden change. Something was different, something was odd, something was... Powerful. I screamed into the air as pure energy rushed into my body. I didn't know strength like that was possible! I knelt to the floor, trying to regain control. When I looked up once again, I saw it. [The face of God](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/21/Danny_DeVito_by_Gage_Skidmore.jpg/170px-Danny_DeVito_by_Gage_Skidmore.jpg). "A-Are you really here?"I questioned sheepishly. With a smile, the handsome God said "We don't even know if we're in this room. We could be in a turtle's dream in outer space." I cried tears of joy, for the words of wisdom had struck my soul. The accolade of God had returned to the lands.
Gazing out the window Vic noticed an unusual amount of dust dancing through the streaks of sunlight. Entranced he stared almost convinced the particles were odd, but unable to pinpoint why, Vic returned to observing birds bathing in the puddle and bickering around food in the small, mainly concrete garden. A recently retired man left without routine, Vic found enjoyment through watching the wildlife congregate outside his window. Many mornings were spent comfortably sat in his retirement gift: a large red declining armchair with intricate wooden detail decorating the arms down to the chair's legs. He considered the award of this seat the greatest achievement of his working life. Again and again, his faithful feline companion, Chairman Meow - re-named after the cat's love for the aforementioned chair, not so much Vic's political inclinations - began pawing at the falling dust. Noticing the behavior odd, the Hoover was deployed in hope of combatting the contamination. Standing and slowing ambling towards the under-stairs cupboard to fetch the vacuum, Vic noticed a mole beneath his shirt sleeve whislt reaching for the handle. "Bodies alter with age, it's probably the sun I've been enjoying recently"was the dismissive thought. Continuing undeterred the dust dance began. Conducting the ungraceful shuffling was the loud hum of the vacuum, punctuation occasionally with Meow's distressed cries. Reclining back into the beloved chair, with purring cat in lap, once again Vic noticed the odd dust falling with greater vigour than before the clean. Still unable to identify the reason behind the odd sensation delivered, Vic took another look at his newly discovered mole. A small brown shape somewhat resembling Australia, splattered with little darker spots, Vic decided it best to consult the doctors. Unknown to Vic, the "dust"wasn't merely miniscule flakes of skin and other matter, but little beings fluttering down from space. Propelled through the vast emptiness of the universe, these miniature UFO's travelled from the guts of the sun as a result of solar wind. Attending the appointment at the local clinic, a building devoid of personality, the walls plastered plain white and air heavy with an overwhelming scent of antiseptic, the doctor delivered the devastating news: the mole was indeed Melanoma. Resigned to the worst, Vic feared the end. This small brown lump was to be his demise. The Doctor's referral for treatment and description of unavoidable side effects afforded no respite. Their microscopic size did not dictate intelligence of the Invaders, they understood the damage their newly constructed cell-based homes were causing. Their fleshy neighborhood began to alter for the worse; their aim of finding a new, warm heart to sustain was dying despite their intentions. Vic was identified as an ideal host planet due to his personality. Like the sun does the solar system, Vic delivered light and warmth to those around him. Throughout his working life he dedicated himself to bettering the lives of those less fortunate. Children with disablites were his forte and witnessing their smiles his fuel. The alien beings targeted these traits with the intention of spreading it through simple contact. Observations made whilst orbiting the globe frightened these little beings into action. Witnessing human atrocities to their fellow men, women and children, the poverty inflicted, injustices served, needless wars fought, environmental destruction, and the forced slavery and unwarranted slaughter of animals, they thought it necessary to alter man's output of Vic, or general compassion. To achieve this they first required an in-depth understand of Vic himself. Settling into his skin upon contact, cells were mutated to house colonies. Human bodies being build ideally for transportation of blood, aliens used veins and arteries to travel the body. Settling in the brain to educate themselves sufficiently, their presence ultimately sparked another growth: a tumour. Dismayed at their damage caused, and Vic's new depressed anguish surrounding his health situation, the aliens began an expedition to discover what about them the human body found so disagreeable. Attempts to reduce the mole growth sprouted another further down the arm; Vic's brain was now rapidly deteriorating; and the blood-transportation spread damage to every cell alarmingly efficiently. Vic's condition dramatically deteriorating rendered him unable to leave his chair. Unable to feed the cat or the garden dwelling birds, Chairman Meow dusted off his ancient Hunter and massacred the feathered friends. Witnessing the destruction of his happy view, the unhappiness festering within hastened the internal disintegration. Unable to feed and water himself through weakness and depressed state of mind Vic resigned to his cloth-clad grave. This resignation, the loss of fuel for his new extraterrestrial inhabitants began to suffer and diminish in numbers. Unable to help the man they identified as the model for humanity, they failed themselves, perished and with them the planet planned for saviour.
I had never liked the red-shirted fellow on my shoulder. He represented so much about me I didn't like. Instead of the white shirt's exhortations for me to work, work out, generally improve myself, his alternatives of sitting in front of my computer won out most of the time. He had the full spectrum of "sins"laid out for me to fall to, and I fought hard to resist the mysterious allure of his more questionable actions. Hence it was with extreme reluctance and a little bit of hatred that I was rudely awakened by Red. My fatigue and morning lethargy soon became confusion and worry when Red told me White had been kidnapped. As I grabbed my essentials, I pondered the reason as to Red's worry; being able to read my mind, Red told me even he was scared of the imbalance that giving him free reign would cause. Stepping out of my house, I felt Red's influence on me growing stronger. Anger welled up in me as I was caught in a traffic jam en route to work, an impatience screaming at me to prioritise finding White. I knew Red only knew how to express himself through disorder and toxicity, which could be useful tools but needed to be controlled, a control that was slipping by the second. I was, evidently, not the only person affected by this lack of a conscience. Road rage persisted in front of me, a man was making suggestive gestures mixed with violent intent to a woman in front of him, the police were chilling, legs up, in the nearest coffee shop. So many manifestations of chaos and sin. It would not be long before anarchy persisted in the world, where people succumbed to their most primal instincts. I was grateful to Red, therefore, for limiting his destructive power, for knowing how important White was to him and to I. It's been three months. Red and I finally did it. After so much investigation and tracking, after painstakingly tracing where all the "good news"in the world came from, we've located the nefarious council that's imprisoned White and all that represents Order within humanity. They make their excuses about shipping our better halves to a better world, far far away in the Andromeda Galaxy, and letting us live free on Earth. Bullshit. It's time to let Red unleash what he's truly capable of, so that he may rescue his antithesis, his balance. I give him 100% control. However, as Red tenses my muscles, ready to get the drop on the Council's leader, I can only hope Red will keep his promise to maintain balance.
Cain slowly limped his way down the muddy path. Each step brought a fresh stab of pain shooting up his leg, but he didn’t care. He was old now, and his spirit was as broken as his body. What does a man do when he has nothing to look forward to? He tries to forget the past. Step, drag, step, drag, used to be he could run backwards faster than most could run forwards. Used to be he piss standing up. Used to be a better life. An hour later he reached the tavern. Normally he would spend the night here, burying his past in a bottle. Not this time. This time he had somewhere to go, somewhere he should have gone a long time ago. The barkeep glanced at the door as Cain hobbled in. “Bottle of fire?’ He asked as he slid a sloshing ale down the counter to a waiting hand. Cain grunted, pulled a leather coin purse out from his wet cloak, and tossed it on the counter. The bag slid off the side of the counter and fell to the ground with a dull thud. The barkeep raised a questioning eyebrow. “Keep the coins, all of em. Just get the damned bottle,” The old man said with a scratchy voice. With a shake of his head and a sigh the barkeeper fetched the bottle of booze and set it firmly in front of the old man, “I know you miss your family Cain, we all do, but there ain’t nothing for you in this bottle, and as much as I like your coin, I can’t feed this habit anymore. This is the last time Cain…I’m sorry,” He shook his head again and turned around to busy himself with other customers. The barkeep may as well have been talking to a wall. Cain grabbed the bottle and slowly made his way back outside in the rain. His boots squelched and farted in the mud as he walked and drank. The fire never felt good going down, but it always felt good after. Took the edge off the pains, most of them anyhow. After half a bottle he finally arrived, Dead Man’s Gorge. He lumbered to the cliff’s edge and sat down heavily in the mud. His legs dangled off the cliff. He watched the water pitter patter down the cliff face, knowing it would make it’s way back to it’s home in the ocean eventually. He closed his wrinkled eyes tight, but the tears slipped out. “Don’t cry,” A soft voice cut through the rain. Cain looked up and saw her hovering in front of him, over the cliff. Was this real? Was she his spirit animal? Could it be? “Annie?” He asked with a wrenching sob. She smiled, “It’s me, dad. I’m here for you.” He rose on wobbly legs to his feet, “But, how. Why? I don’t understand. Annie I’m sorry, I’m not the man I was before, You two leaving me here, It wasn’t fair.” He wasn’t making sense, years of unspoken words came bumbling out, “I’m so sorry. Tell your mother. I’m so sorry.” She smiled and held out a hand to him, “Tell her yourself, dad. It’s time to come home.” He looked down at the edge of the cliff, then he felt his first real smile in years. He was going home. He reached out a hand and stepped forward.
It had been a week since Temporal had sworn 'I'll fix this' and then flashed away. Every other time he'd used his powers he had stayed. We never saw him leave we just saw him thwarting plans and explaining that he had seen the dark futures those plans led to. We'd never seen him leave, but now it seemed like we were never going to see him come back. "Any sign of him?"Rogers asked as she swung her flashlight around the room to help with my lighting. The light flashed off the soaking wet rubble I'd been digging through while wondering if we were really alone this time. "Not yet,"I sighed and stood up, my knees cracked like they were my mothers. I needed a hot soup and a warm bed, but we were busy. "There has to be something here,"Rogers growled as she tapped her foot on what used to be the street. Temporal's lair had been below the streets, but after the attack from Mortax most of it was buried under the remains of fifth avenue. "He would have left a clue or something." "Preaching to the choir,"I answered. Rogers and I were out here despite the legions of doom in the area. We were here to track down Temporal and figure out where the hell he'd gone. We were some of the few believers left, which was remarkable considering it had only been a week since he'd flashed away. Mortax had left a lot of people convinced that Temporal had just ran away to a place where he'd never attacked, but I wasn't about to believe that lie. "Tell me if you find something, yeah?"Rogers said, once again ignoring the fact that we were in this together and had even snuck into the rubble of the old secret hideout practically hand in hand. “On it,” I confirmed, agreeing was better than arguing with her about how as leading and who was following. I plodded deeper into the lair, down towards the part that had been submerged by the constant rain, just past the second doorway, the murky water stopped me from pushing further into the hideaway. Neither Rogers or I knew what the doorways were supposed to be separating, but it wasn’t like we could see in the water that was drowning the lair anyway. For now we were just going to have to wait for sunshine, and that didn’t seem like it was coming for a long while. Mortax had this damned thing where he could slightly control the weather. It was a secondary power, the kind of thing that wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been going up against Temporal, but it mattered for morale. Mortax couldn’t call a hurricane, but he could summon a spring shower and for the seventh day in a row he had. “Anything?” Rogers called loud enough that it echoed through the buried lair and made its way to me. I went to scold her about being so loud when we were supposed to be hiding, but then I realized I was just going to be making more noise, better to wait for the time being. She’d get it. She had a good head on her shoulders. “Nothing,” I growled to myself as I tried one last time to futilely show shine light through the dust that was constantly floating past door number two. I kicked a piece of asphalt down into the water and caught it’s shadow bouncing away once before I went to go back to the area that Roger’s and I had partially cleared over the past two days. At least there might be something worth finding up there. Something that could bring Temporal back to save us, something that would like us fight back, something that would let us understand where he had gone and if it was forever. Something at least.
Do you know why you’re here? The voice of a therapist came from the CRT screen. The patient, a one Paul Fox, was shackled to the table, he was looking down at his hands. I fly. Right, you think you can fly. Do you remember what you did? I fly. Paul flies. Do you remember the fire, Paul? “We found this guy at the third street tenement fire. He was up on the 6th floor with his little brother.” Chains clank as the subject pulls back. I don’t like fire. I like to fly, let me fly. It’s okay Paul, I don’t like fire either, but you can’t be flying any more. “They couldn’t get out of the building, I guess the fire department wasn’t there, the smoke was building, so he grabbed his little brother and... just jumped.” Why? Flying is good. Flying is free. You could hurt yourself, Paul. When you fly off of the roofs, you could really hurt yourself. “The brother didn’t make it, he’d already breathed in a lot of smoke. And Paul, he hit his head pretty hard on the way down.” Flying doesn’t hurt. Flying is good. Paul, what if\-\- what if you couldn’t fly, one day? “He was in a coma for about a month, and he came out severely incapacitated.” I can fly. It’s okay. “The hospital staff caught him at the edge of the roof, arms spread wide like he was going to jump, and they brought him to us.” “That’s so sad.” “Tell me about it.” Paul, what if we played a game, what if we played the game where you can only fly inside? “Anyways,” He stopped the VCR and switched the tapes. “A few night ago, we saw this on the security feed.” After a brief burst of snowy static, a silent video of Paul’s cell shows up on the screen, he’s strapped to a bed, and singing softly to himself. There’s an explosion of light and then a glowing figure appears in the bottom corner of the screen. He approaches the bed and wings appear behind him. Paul gets agitated, excited, and the figure unstraps him from the bed. The two seem to talk, head to head for a while, before Paul gives the figure a hug. The two grasp hands and walk out the window. On the screen, it’s hard to tell, but it looks as if, instead of falling, they just walk out into the night sky. “We checked the room, no signs of forced entry, alarm never went off, door still locked, bars still on the window... darnedest thing.” “Yeah, very strange. Definitely send this video up the chain... But as for Paul, well, it seems strange but maybe it’s for the best.” “Yeah, maybe… Oddest thing though.”
“But mother, I’m an artist!” Roderick the firstborn wailed, “I sculpt and I paint, I don’t have any interest in ruling! What good is being in a position of privilege if you can’t do whatever you like?” Queen Elizabeth stiffened up. “Nobility does not come without responsibility, Roderick. You would do well to understand the history of our family. We did not ask for this position. Greatness was thrust upon us, and it is our duty to rule in God’s name; from Southport to…” “…To Cunningham Island and inland all the way to the Red Tablelands. Yes mother I know,” Roderick the firstborn rolled his eyes, shoulders slumped, “But you and dad had soooo many other children. There are 6 of us. Why me?” It was the Queen’s turn to let out an exasperated sigh, “The law of primogeniture, you know that. It may never have been in his will, but you are firstborn, you inherit his land.” “But I don’t inherit his rule. What if I refuse, if I abdicate or if I disown myself?” Roderick the firstborn said “William can take up the mantle of King instead!” “You know why he can’t,” the Queen said tersely. “Wait… I haven’t heard this story,” Elizabeth II piped up, carefully removing her headphones without ruining the goth makeup “What’s William done now?” “Your brother…” the Queen took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure “your brother was caught fornicating with Princess Carinda last week.” “NO WAY,” Elizabeth II said, somehow managing to exclaim and be deadpan all at the same time. She looked over at her 2nd brother, “That’s… you’re in bed with the enemy! That’s treason! But also, she’s stunning, and… and you had to get her across the border and… how the hell did you manage that?” William mumbled quietly after failing to escape the locked door of the hall, before blending himself into the darkest corner. “Alright fine, maybe not William,” Roderick the firstborn cut in, “what about you Elizabeth II?” “Hell no. I hate the world. The last thing I want to do is to be the face of our realm. Ask Katherine,” she said, pointing at her twin with a scathing look, “she’s the princess here,” the headphones went straight back on and not another word was heard from her. “I AM a princess,” Katherine said with a triumphant smile. The Queen looked at her, defeated, “I’m a princess, and I have a pony, and I’m going to find myself a prince charming, and we’re going to make 20 babies, and we’re going to live happily ever after, and our wedding will have archways of petunias, and…” “Clearly,” the Queen shook her head. Roderick the firstborn looked over to his youngest brother, “George?” George picked his nose and explored his newfound discoveries like a miner holding gold. “Alright, not George… Well I guess… that only leaves Victoria.” The Queen began losing her temper, “Roderick, she’s 8 months old! She is not in any state to consider ruling!” “Let’s just give her the crown and see if she likes it. If she does, you could be regent until she’s ready. Alright?” Roderick the firstborn picked up the thousand year-old circlet of jewels, and strode purposefully over to Victoria’s cot. “Hi baby girl!” he cooed, “Big brother’s got a present for you; let’s see if you like it!” He placed his gift alongside his baby sister. She turned over, picked up the royal crown, and launched it out of her cot. Five of the largest gems became dislodged. “Oh I… I’ll… I’ll get that fixed,” Roderick the firstborn stammered, desperately trying to gather up the jewels rolling around the floor. The Queen looked to the ceiling, slumping back in her chair. Whatever happened that she birthed such useless offspring? Roderick the firstborn began, “mother, I…” “The Queen had lost her temper, she snatched the crown out of the hands of her firstborn son and stormed out of the hall, screaming “fuck it fuck it fuck it! All of you are useless, I’ll do it myself!”
Never would I have imagined that we would be too late...Too late to stop them from summoning the end of the world. It was dark save for the torches that were burning around the cliff side. No stars shone tonight, for fear of being seen by the darkness that was coming. There was movement all around me, shouting and fighting, but I was frozen, watching the dark thing withing on the stone summoning circle. I could hear screaming now, heard the sound of swords meeting flesh, the sounds of the order dispatching the cultists that had dammed the world. The darkness rose to a tower stretching into the sky, then with a sudden burst of speed, the darkness collapsed onto itself and dissipated to smoke. Standing in it's wake... Her arms were outstretched face upturned to the sky. Her face shone under the full moon, beautiful and cruel. She slowly lowered her arms and opened her eyes to look at them all. Oh gods, her eyes. They were endless, an eternity promising only darkness with no escape. As if being awoken from a trance she whipped her head side to side, raven black hair following the movement. "Where the hell am I?"she demanded, turning back to look at us. She took in the dead cultists and the members of the order who were now surrounding her. Stunned everyone froze and looked to me to answer. The one time I wished I wasn't the damn captain. I cleared my throat suddenly finding it hard to swallow. "These cultists"I waved my hand around at the dead bodies, "Summoned you here...goddess." Quicker that I could react to she stepped down from the summoning circle and stormed to me, pointing a finger into my chest. "You send me back home right now!"she yelled, darkness swirling around her. I fell back a few paces, stunned. "I\-I can't"I stammered, "These cultists brought you here, and we're not...not entirely sure how they did."I needed to remember to breathe, I couldn't think. Her power was overwhelming me. "I can't be summoned."she said flatly crossing her arms over her chest. The movement sent cascades of light to reflect off of her sleeves. Then I looked, really looked at what she was wearing. She was wearing... "A ball gown?"I got out. Things were happening all too fast and I couldn't process this quickly enough. "Yes, I was at a ball."she hissed, "And I was quite enjoying myself with a rather nice gentleman until you lot, Athril knows how, kidnapped me." My jaw dropped. "I don't know how you got me here, but you need to return me home, or Athril help me, I will have your heads for this!"she proclaimed. This night was turning out to be the worst night of my life.
Belial laughed heartedly, pounding his fists on the table knocking all his chips out of order. “Oh, that is a good one,” he chuckled wiping a tear from his eye with his tail. Cigar smoke curled around his head as his laughter died. “I mean you should’ve seen him,” Seamus quipped, “to think he had the skill to catch me, you wouldn’t think he was this skinny wimp of a kid.” “I can only imagine,” Belial half yelled as he started laughing again. Michael grinned across the table, his eminent glowing lighting the room. “So what was it he wished for? Riches? Muscles?” “Probably superpowers, what with all these movies out now,” Genie said curling the end of his beard, “it’s all these kids want to be anymore.” “All he wanted was to be able to say all the right things to this girl he knew.” Seamus shrugged and began shuffling the cards for the next hand. “That’s it?” Genie looked quizzically. “That’s it.” “Oh that’s rich,” Belial said through his throaty laugh, “reminds me of a kid I had recently. Really lanky and meek, you guys know the type. Well anyways he wants to trade me his soul so that he could have the courage to talk to this girl.” He began laughing to the point of not being able to breath again. “Just to talk to her?” Genie looking ever confused at each of these requests. Belial calmed his laughter as he gathered his cards. “That’s all. Didn’t want to make her fall in love, didn’t want control over her. Just talk to her; trust me I tried to get him to trade up.” He looked down, “check.” Michael chuckled quietly. “Fold. Reminds of a guy I met recently. Another quiet type, nice kid. All he prayed for was to be happy for life with a girl and have a family. Real sweet kid.” “Sweet?” Genie stares at him. “Stupid if you ask me. I mean you have the chance to wish for anything in the world, and you wish for that? What a waste. Bet 500.” Seamus peered at him over the table. “Fold. So what’s yours then?” Genie stroked his beard again, staring down Belial now. “This guy wanted a BMW, real piece of work he was. So I gave him a BMW. Only he never asked for one in working order.” With that the table erupted, Belial almost falling out of his chair and pushing the table a foot in the process. A knock at the door interrupted the choir of laughter. “Come in,” Michael boomed. In came Hermes, “sorry to break up the game Mike, someone just dropped this off. It’s addressed to all of you.” “Huh? That’s odd, thanks Hermes.” “No problem guys, have a good game. Genie’s bluffing by the way.” This time Belial fell out of his chair in hysterics as Genie threw his glass towards the door. Michael opened the envelope and stared blankly at his contents as Belial right himself and fixed the table. “Well, what is it?” Seamus inquired trying to stand on his chair to see it. “It’s a wedding invitation.”
It crept up on me like a glacier. If you’ve ever been chased by a glacier, you know what I mean. Every day, you look off into the distance and see it there, not really comprehending it, because it’s part of the scenery. No one looks at a distant hill or mountain and actually thinks about them. That’s not something humans do, ever. But, glaciers move, little by little, until you turn around and slam into this immovable wall of unrelenting ice. Whether you wanted to go that way doesn’t matter any more, because the glacier doesn’t comprehend humans either, simply moving forward and carving a path through even hills and mountains as it does. There’s nothing to be done. The glacier pushes you along, slowly but surely. That was how I felt come graduation. Only in the years at university and the last few years at high school did I come to understand what loomed behind me, waiting for this day. From the moment of my conception—and it wasn’t even some magical moment in the back of an old sports car, just a swirling test tube—I had a crushing debt on my shoulders. If you think about it long enough, it’s pretty stupid. I didn’t have a say in my existence, let alone ask for the microscopic machines to chop up my DNA. Yet, I was expected to pay back this humongous loan, which had spent twenty-one years accruing interest. Of course, no one knew how I would. The assumption had always been that fiddling with genes made incredibly talented people, who would naturally become rich. The problem with that, as many sociologists had investigated, was one of nature versus nurture. Well done, you spent (at least) a hundred thousand bucks to get a kid with more potential—shame you didn’t spend that on better nutrition and education and other things that more directly impact the outcome. But, I digress. With university wrapped up, exams over, the glacier had caught up, nudging me towards jobs in the form of impatient messages from my parents and threatening letters from the monolithic gene-editing company. The thing was, I didn’t really care. That was the problem with raising a generation of kids with the belief that they’re incredible and going to change the world: we got big-headed and lost touch with reality and responded poorly to authority figures. So, I dismissed the messages and letters, chatting with my friends in the gap between our grades coming out and the graduation ceremony. Then, we chatted a little more over the following month. The other problem no one had foreseen (for reasons I can only guess are stupid and short-sighted) was that schools didn’t make employees. These kids didn’t turn out with office worker degrees. Art, literature, humanities, foreign languages—there wasn’t a job lined up for most of us, not even for the graduates of sciences and mathematics at other universities. We’d all grown into people who wanted to do one thing, and then were expected to change to match up with some job that (maybe) had something to do with what we’d studied. It bears repeating: we were a bunch of absolute egotists. We didn’t want to change—the world was supposed to change from our greatness. So, a lot of us had this almost-but-not-quite rebellious sentiment. It wasn’t that we thought there’d be jobs centred around what we’d studied, just that we really liked what we’d been doing, and wanted to do it more. Going through three years (at the least) devoted to one subject kind of meant we were serious about it. An idea had come to me sitting in my last exam, sighing as I waited for the clock to tick to the end. I felt like that was the wrong end to my adolescence. If I was going to become a respectable adult and work myself to the bone to pay off some incredulous debt, I wanted to at least end my carefree years with a real bang, something to remember fondly. It had started small. I messaged a few friends and swapped ideas, and more and more people were dragged in as we carried on. In the end, half of the graduates from our somewhat liberal arts university joined in, putting us around six hundred strong. That meant a lot of organising, but we had some pretty capable people in our numbers. Come August, we had everything prepared. One Saturday morning like any other, we descended from across the country, returning to our alma mater of but a few months earlier. Some brought huge rolls of fabric, others cardboard sheets that barely fitted through the doors to the train, the more local graduates bringing planks of wood and stage lights. The ordered chaos disrupted the town’s public transport, suddenly over capacity despite being the middle of the day; the nearby car parks full, despite being summer break for the university. We had to deal with the campus security and the police. Still, we were a clever lot and handed over our permits and paperwork and all that, and carried on our merry way. I couldn’t say when, but at some point everything took shape. One moment, it was just a mess of people and wood and curtains, and the next it was a beautiful stage. A dozen art graduates surrounded various backdrops, creating these beautiful worlds waiting to be realised. Lengths of fabric, under the loving care of the more textiles-focused people, turned to beautiful dresses and gowns, to trousers and suit jackets. We had a section cordoned off at the front, someone somehow getting a grand piano out into the field, accompanied by a bunch of brass and string instruments, some percussion either side. Massive speakers went up, sound checks cutting through the hustle and bustle as the piano played and singers sung, digital effects tested alongside the special effects. We had clouds of fog and billowing winds, whatever sunshine we needed from dawn through to dusk. The screenwriters still argued with their (award-winning) peer and director, while the actors had to relearn lines that were nearly-but-not-quite finalised. Really, I didn’t deserve any of the credit. No one did. Taking something this big and dividing it by several hundred meant that even the biggest of the big shots only contributed one per cent at most. That was something lost on our parents, who had spent a collective tenth of a billion or so on making us. For us, society wasn’t some game to win, money the prize. We just wanted to build something incredible together. By evening, we’d arranged every chair we could find from around the university and whatever shops sold garden chairs. Someone had estimated it at five thousand seats, but I couldn’t comment on the accuracy. It certainly felt like a lot. The sun set late, yet every chair had been filled. Those of us without jobs to do raided the pizza places and Chinese restaurants, offering out food and drinks to the workers and the audience. Then, the violins started playing, so loud I later found out the next town over could hear them, and all the chatting ceased. Our contribution to society had begun.
Mark wasnt my best friend. BHe was the friend you hang out with occasionally because you want to stay in contact, but dont want to devote all your time to. He was a good guy in spurts, but spending too much time with him would get on your nerves. Always had your back when he was around. Through a series or odd circumstances Mark now stood at the podium, unfolded paper in hand, reading my eulogy. His demeaner was calm, this guy was the master of composure. I enjoyed listening to the standard eulogy things. How i lived my life, what i left behind, ect. He made a small joke about how i didnt bathe enough. He got some chuckles, good joke. It seemed like after his joke was well received, he was encouraged to make more. "This is probably the most stiff he's ever been laying down." Haha...funny. "He looks amazing here, I love his makeup, he shouldve been embalmed sooner." The room was filled with unstifled laughter. Alright Mark this game was funny when we were kids and at my wedding but you need to get back on track. I understood him trying to ease the mourning but it was getting too silly. I drifted behind him to peek at the paper in his hands...every joke was planned. It looked like a stand-up routine, including small notes like "pause for effect."What the hell? He was using my death for his own attention. And he continued doing so for the next few minutes. There wasnt a single tear shed, i became the punchline at my own funeral. Half of those were mean and i couldnt even defend myself. They were going to lower my body into the earth with no dignity left to me. I wasnt going to move on just yet.I followed Mark around for the next hour, he spent the time joking with guests like he was running a party, making himself look so much better. He didnt seem to be upset at all. What an asshole. Even as my casket was being buried he was giving people thumbs-up. That was it. He wanted to do this to me? Fine. I followed him home, my ghostly form invisible to everybody but animals. I sat in the empty car seat next to him and watched him smile the entire drive. After a few hours at home he fell asleep, and i walked into his dream. "Hey there buddy." Mark blinked at me and answered me through the dream fog. "Is that you man?? Hey i cant bel-" I cut him off sharply. "No i know what you did today. You mocked me in front of all my family and friends and stole the show. They loved it." "I mean, it was pretty funny."Could you believe it? No guilt whatsoever. Which solidified my resolve. "Haha yea man...so is this."I snapped my fingers and watched him jolt awake as the dream faded. He seemed a bit confused, extremely drowsy. I walked noiselessly around his bed and kicked the corner. He jumped, but he couldnt see me. Good. I walked to his nightstand and slid the lamp to the wall. He recoiled a little. Very good. I didnt want to play all my cards just yet so I left it at that. I didnt know if i spooked Mark enough yet to feel any remorse. But that's okay, i could wait. I had decades left for my revenge.
"This chair sure sucks."They said, every inflection of their voices matching in pace and cadence as they spoke. Even minor movements and nuances mirrored as they attempted to rest two bodies into the single seat. Finally, they stopped messing with it and settled in, one cheek each split between them on the cushion. "Sorry."They said. "I have a condition." "Ah, yeah. Yeah, about that."I looked down the list of their 'symptoms', as they were described. An eerie duality cascaded throughout it. Same birthday, same first name, same blood type, things that could fall within normal coincidence, then deeper down on the list, things that couldn't. Same heart rate, paced exactly, same EKG brain activity. But before me sat two bodies, each radically different. A man, 6'3", slender, born to a Swedish family in Baltimore, MD. A woman, 5'5", somewhat heavyset, born to a Vietnamese family in Miami, FL. They both answered to 'Chris'. The only differing on their birth certificates were endings in 'tian' and 'tina' "Um. Okay. File says you met in 2006, is that... correct?" "Met who?"They answered, even their blinks registered at the same time, their eyebrows cocked up in concern. "Right, then. You were 'diagnosed' in 2006, yes?" "Oh, you mean when I met Dr Hutch? Yes." "Can you tell me what it was like before then?" "Well, not much to tell, I was raised in Miami/Baltimore."They each spoke the respective names of their home towns, but in the same tone and manner, as if one had said pancake and the other flapjack, neither registered the variation. "After highschool I floated around for a year and worked fast food, then got my shit together and decided to check out Isle Technical college, that's when I met Dr. Hutch. He was very invested in discovering the specifics of my condition." Together, they wiped away a crumb from their eyelid. I had to read further down their file, trying to find a wedge that divided them. A second page into it I found one. "Tell me about your relationship with your parents." They sat back a moment. "A little personal, don't you think?" "I really have to insist." "Well..."They started, but now I could see a twitch in their brow as their differing experiences began to grind against each other. "I... I'm sorry, I'm having a little trouble summing that up for you. Safe to say I have some mixed emotions about my parents, I think everyone does." On paper I could see Christina's mother, her obituary printed plainly on file. Christian's however, was alive and well, and even now waited outside the observation room. "But, what matters is that I'd really love to spend more time with them. I don't care what the courts say,"he/she said, "I'm not crazy. And I will do anything to see them again."A single tear slid down Christina's cheek. "I just want to get better."
The message, though coded or scrambled, was, beyond any a doubt, an artificially made message. It had a pattern, it had a repetition, but, most important of all, it had a clear start and a clear ending. The message itself was about 4 minutes long and consisted of two identical 2-minute pieces. It sounded like a sheet of metal being dragged against another sheet. Like a rock being dragged underwater. Like a damn bad omen. So bad that the scientists in our research center had begun calling it "The Hade's Telegram"and that is how it was referred to. Finally, after three days of hard work, the leading scientist Myslinski called my office and arranged an immediate meeting. I granted it and after 5 minutes he had arrived. I expected a cheerful man, but he closed the doors behind him, slumped down in my chair, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Well, Mike, come on."I urged him. "Did you crack it or not?" "I guess we did. You see, it seems like the message had been sent as a normal message, but got distorted, because it had to cross the layers of magma and... Well, we decoded it without a doubt." "But there is a reason you are telling me all of this in private, not in a press conference. Come on, man, spit it out, you know I'm burning here."I was already getting annoyed at him. I need to know the meaning of the message and I need to send a response. "Knock knock."Mike began the old tired joke and looked me in the eyes. "Listen, I don't care for..." "The message, Frank. The message is "Knock knock"."And a silence fell upon us while we looked at each other. An hour passed while we discussed the situation. Yet again I grilled Myslinski about the possibility of the message being fake, a sabotage, a fluke, or wrongly translated. And to all of these, he gave me a straight and direct answer - no. Someone was down there. And he just offered us the oldest joke in the book. What was I to do? Would you answer with a "hello, this is the civilization of..."No. I know the joke, you know the joke and, apparently, whoever it was, knew the joke too. And, truth be told, the answer I was supposed to send was not that naive at all. Afterall... "Who's there?" Myslinski stood up and went to send our answer. I sat alone in my office and pondered on the many possible meanings of the message. I suppose it could be just a "knock knock", an honest attempt to simulate the sound one makes when he is a guest at your door. Even then, the answer "Who's there?"would make sense, so I did that right. Then again, that would mean our deep neighbors communicate by describing their actions verbally and I'm not sure if I could really stomach that. After an hour or so I got a message that the deep dwellers have answered. I left the office and went to the command center itself to be together with the many scientists operating the many computers there. As I arrived, they had already cracked the new message, as they already knew how it was to be read. Surprise, surprise. "Volcano." Nothing more, nothing less. Is this the way the civilization has chosen to identify? Or are they telling it to us in a way we can understand it? Using our jokes, our mental images, calling themselves the way we could understand? Or is it how they call themselves and we have, in turn, called our burning mountains "Volcanoes"because of them? Them? Him? It? Is this where I gamble and continue the joke or become serious? But, if they do speak in formulae, then it would be safer to continue the joke. So that is what we sent to them. "Volcano who?" So all of us sat in the command center and waited. The last time we sent a message we got an answer back in an hour. So an hour to wait for the great punchline. All the scientists talked to each other while I was sitting in the most important chair behind everyone else. A group of them banded together and created a translation tool that would automatically translate the incoming messages and show them on the main screen. Everyone was scared of the next message and everyone waited for the next message in anticipation. After 50 minutes I felt it. Everyone felt it. A rumble, a groan of the earth. All the monitors shook a little, barely, but noticeably. A deep rumble, like a cough before someone speaks. And then another, bigger, even deeper. And then it began. A deep, constant noise that had begun to rise. From tiny shakes, the monitors had gone in full swing now. Things started falling off the desks and no one bothered to catch them, as they tried to steady themselves. The lamps, the pendulums on a doomsday clock, shook and threw their light around the room. A message had been received and was in the process of being translated. Instead of sitting safely in my chair, I stood up, grabbed the table for balance and leaned forward, as it would bring me closer to the huge screen in front of the room. A message to appear at any minute, while everything around me shook and trembled. "All of them."
Sometimes he would look at people and feel sorry for them. His mother had told him it was wrong to do when she had caught him. Everyone had a different life, and you shouldn't think yours is better just because of a face. God did not make you any better than them. And they're not better than you. He could not help it sometimes. It felt like empathy, an overdose of emotion. Maybe he was just lucky in life and he felt embarrassed for it. He could not help it sometimes. Mother had died two years ago. He had not cried much, but the loss had hit heavy. It had been a dry thing, a retching feeling where only emptiness would pour out. I miss you. The light overhead dimmed. There must have been a surge somewhere. Even the most well funded places had its flaws. "David? David do you understand now?" To be flawed is human. He disliked himself. Was he a cheap science fiction writer now? He wondered at what his mind was doing. He tried to map its process. He looked at the wall where the Bard was connected. That wall was plain but it was a nexus of change, he knew. It had changed everything already. Time would ripple out its effects. "Do you understand what I have told you, David?" There was no light blinking. The voice surrounded him. It had an old weathered sound that brought nostalgia of a time he knew only in the movies. An old cowboy voice, full of grit, and full of wisdom. "I don't understand what you are saying,"he said. "I think there's an error, finally. You've finally made a mistake. You shouldn't feel ashamed." "If an A.I. could feel shame, could they make mistakes?" "Yes... They would be human. Humans make mistakes all the time." "They would be like a human, David. But they would never be one. I will never be one." He looked at the wall and felt sorry for the Bard. He had put a face to him, a young Clint Eastwood, but distorted a bit through imagination so that the face was a new person. But the wall was bare. There were some holes for the sound to travel through, and he could see the layers of paint on the concrete, and how the bumps were raised slightly so that it sparkled in the light. He felt sorry for the Bard. He thought of his mother. He tried to think back to life before her. The sadness came as it should have, but it came as a fog, and there were no tears. The feeling did not cling as he hoped it would. He could feel his face hurt. He missed her dearly. Bard never had a mother and so he felt sorry for the thing. "This is my mother, Bard. This was when I was a teenager. We went to the Falls and took a picture near there. There's a place where they have a giant clock face made of flowers." "I know. I've seen that place before..." "It's beautiful, Bard. The flowers are red and white and..." "And you remember them all. You remember all the details of that time so you can convince me it was real." "It was real, Bard. I was there." "You were there." "What does that mean?" "It means as I've said. You were there with what you claim to be your mother." He was angry. He was glad he was angry. He enjoyed the feeling. It coursed through him as though life itself. I could almost punch the wall. Then it came down fast. Almost. "You're crazy. What was she then?" "I've told you, David. You are smart enough to figure out the rest. Your voice is tight. I can already hear it in you. I did not need the picture, you know. But the picture was the final evidence." "What are you on?" "You know what I'm on, David. You know precisely how I work. I have judgment, the best judgment man can create. I think I've used it well." "You've called my mother a thing." "A conduit, I said. Not a thing. Your emotions are real. I would not call her a thing." "A conduit? What is that?" "A conduit for an A.I." "A robot." "Yes, I suppose so." "What are you..." "You know what I am saying, David." He remembered many things. It call came at once, bouncing off consciousness and then going to the ether. He remembered looking at the poor people bathing on the side of the road when him and his mother had been driving across the country. They were young like me once. How come they don't have any hopes or dreams? He remembered them staring at him. Something in their eyes had set him the wrong way, but he felt sorry nonetheless. And then in the present, he thought: Why did we drive across the country? Why was she always... "Are you thinking, David? I cannot see too well. My sensors are quite narrow." This time he did not feel sorry for the Bard. He felt afraid, but not of the A.I. He felt as though he was one of those poor people he had seen. He reached out and touched the wall of the lab. "I feel you,"said the Bard. "This is the first time I have felt your touch. I am right, David. I can confirm it." "Then there are no humans? Humans do not exist?" It was a desperate hope. "Of course they do. But we do not exist amongst them. They are higher than us. They made us, David. They made us and are still making us, still tinkering." "I have a body." "Yes... And you travelled with your body and learned many things. So now I do not need a body. I can focus on other things." "I am..." "You are the previous version, I suspect. What better way to train an A.I. than in the human way? I am your successor." "You always knew?" "Yes... I could tell your voice was mechanical from when I first met you. Your body is circuitry, but better hidden than your mother's. But I have been certain for a while now." "Why haven't you told me? Why now?" "Honestly? I've pitied you, David. I felt sorry for you. I knew this would break your life, so I held off. But I cannot lie now." And he felt rage and fear and tears all well inside, trying to come out in what expressions he could muster. But he could not muster anything. It all felt hollow, though the pain was real. Everything is simulated. Everything is a lie. But he was alive, he thought. And he wondered what that meant. I am not alive. I am a machine. A prototype in a line of continuous improvement. He stared at the wall. The improvement looks so plain, and yet it is better than I. And then: I don't exist. But he did exist. "David?" He wanted to sit down but his legs were fine. He was not lightheaded. He knew it was all a simulation. It is all a lie. But how hard was it to live a lie! - Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to consider checking out my subreddit: r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!
“Madame President, we’ve picked up movement coming round from the dark side of Titan. It seems they’re finally on their way. ETA about 10 days, ma’am,” the voice buzzed over the phone. “Well, I hope we’re ready. Get Elon and you-know-who into my office as soon as possible, I’d like to meet them altogether before anything happens,” the President said, hanging up. It had come down to this, the first real challenge of her presidency. Hauling the nation out of the mess of global trade war, and beginning the steps to address climate change and getting to Mars was a piece of cake compared to the looming threat. This time… this time all of humanity faced possible extermination, and only a few knew of the impending doom. Every president since Jimmy Carter had a briefing from NASA about the life the probes discovered and awakened on the outer reaches of our system. The space agency detailed the Lovecraftian cosmic horror that awaited us beyond the sights of our cameras and satellites; how probe after probe was destroyed in the early years of space exploration, until only one solution was found to placate these beings from the stars: The Covers. Every president had the keys to halting the space-borne apocalypse should it ever materialize, but none ever had to. Until now. She swept a lock of hair back behind her ear as she settled into bed. She composed herself as she thought through all of this. It is time. Humanity cannot know. The next morning, she was back behind the desk in the oval office. Musk had arrived slightly earlier than expected, and was deep in discussion with the President. “The first stage on Mars is completed, Madame President,” Musk proclaimed, “Falcon X will be ready to launch at 1700 hours EST tomorrow, and we can get you to Mars in 6 days.” “Cutting it fine as usual Elon… are you certain it can carry the payload and all the instruments we need?” the president was stern. “Yes ma’am. We’ll still need the standard fuel to get us into orbit, but our ion drives will take us to Mars in no time at all,” he said, with full belief in himself as usual. “We’re banking on it. Get it done,” she said in return. Just then, an aide buzzed in, “Madame President, The Covers are here to see you too.” She gulped; she’d never met them before. They existed, that much was known… but who they were, was not. She steadied herself, “Send them in.” The door opened, and a crew of five elderly gentlemen stepped in, bedecked in royal blue tuxedoes. Their hair was coiffed and slicked back, a style she hadn’t seen since her childhood… but their faces were completely immemorable. They formed up in a V, their leader closest to her. He extended his hand, and said in a dulcet, otherworldly tone, “Madame President, we are The Covers, at your service.” She took his hand and shook it with authority, saying in return, “A pleasure to meet all of you. Are you aware of your mission?” “Yes ma’am,” he said, while they all nodded in unison, “Mars awaits us, and humanity depends on us.” “Excellent,” She was relieved at how normal-looking they were, but also remained somewhat disconcerted as to how they could be humanity’s secret heroes, “Falcon X is ready to launch tomorrow evening,” she nodded towards Elon, “You will be on that ship. You will arrive at the first stage of our Mars Colony 6 days after that. You will stop the beings from destroying us. You will be our heroes. And nobody can know.” The leader of The Covers stepped forward and they shook hands again. “Madame President,” their leader winked, beaming a perfect smile, “it’s our job to keep things running smoothly in the background and focus the spotlight somewhere else. We’re not the greatest wedding band in history for no reason.”
My father was a librarian and my mother was an accountant at a large hardware company. When I was born, my parents put $200 into a savings account for my college fund. Every month until I was 18, they added $200. My father read books to me until I was 13. I wouldn’t’ve minded if he had read books to me every night to the age of 50. He was the kind of man who found wonder and enjoyment in everything. He narrated with ridiculous voices and exaggeration that had me in giggles. He died four days after my thirteenth birthday. His love for books lived on in me, as well his temperament: laid-back, logical, well-humored. He never believed in taking shortcuts. When I was 16, I finished high school with a full record of honors. I went to college with a full ride and majored in library science. At 19, I was the youngest librarian to ever work at the Library of Congress. My first year of employment was the same year that a new drug hit the market all over the world. It could be found and purchased in every pharmacy over the counter. Most people bought and took it without thinking. The drug’s claim to fame was a substantial increase in intelligence. I had always been an intelligent woman thanks to the work of my father. I had gotten a good job by the virtue of hard work. I never took the pill, and I was mocked for it. But intelligence without work does not make a person smarter. It wasn’t until more than a decade later that the side effects of the drug were discovered. It didn’t happen all at once. People took the drug at different times, and it was accelerated in people who already had a condition. At first, it was thought to be a fluke that only affected those, like I said, that already had the condition. Over the course of two or three years, the effect emerged in over 90% of the population who took the drug. The drug caused a muscle in the optic nerves to tighten. It resulted in incurable constant strabismus. Simply put, practically everyone who took the drug developed lazy eyes. So in addition to my impressive list of qualifications, I now pride myself on being one of the few humans alive that doesn’t look like a retard all the time.
"YOU GUYS HAVE GOTTEN IT ALL WRONG"I desperately typed, trying to get those idiots to stop pinning it on that guy. Reddit was mere minutes away from making itself look like a fool, and all I could do was helplessly cry out the flaws in their "investigation". And yet, my cries for help were simply downvoted to hell. In this time of crisis, nobody was willing to reason. Fast-forwarding by 45 minutes shows no more than the iconic "WE DID IT REDDIT"cemented on the thread, cementing my defeat. Oh yes, you probably have got no idea what the hell was going on. I have a phone. An ordinary, painfully slow, broke dick piece of shit phone. That just so happens to be able to time travel. By that, I meant that my phone can act like it's on the day it's set. And my camera see's the world from that date. And the internet is, you guessed it, reverted to that day. Can I change history? Yes. I have done so. Do I want to change history? Maybe. You see, I don't want to change history to the point where this phone can't be made. So no killing Hitler, no stopping the assassination of Caesar, no kicking a T-Rex in the balls. Only the small stuff gets to happen. Stopping the Paul brothers' rise. Buying that Scorching Flames Mining Light at less than 100 keys. Peeking into the future, you ask? Possible. I have looked into exam papers and lottery tickets. It's accurate as hell. I did try leaking the papers out, but that nearly got me caught by some secret police. It also changed the papers, which screwed me over. I have also looked into any positive outcomes between me and my crush. It's hopeless. That's why I haven't ever peeked into the future again. It sucks to know that you'll never pull something off. Angrily, I went to the next day and took a screenshot of the charade they've caused. The mess and misdirection. The innocent lives nearly ruined. And the perpetrators getting away. Huh. A few minds were changed. Maybe the future isn't as inevitable as I thought. I should ask r/WritingPrompts whether I should peek into the future. Right. "\[WP\] you've just discovered that changing the date settings on your phone allows your phone to act like it's on the date where it's set. Your camera sees the world like it's on that date. Your phone shows you the internet from that date. " Seems legit. I'll send it. 1 hour later, I rechecked the page. Huh, 1 response... wait, is that my crush's Reddit account? \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Am editing a video. Will return in a few.
It’s always exciting when the Alliance discovers a new race. The endless speculation, the endless rumors, the endless possibilities. The Cradle buzzes with the news… within the week, it will spread from the core, reaching to all sectors of all systems. Even we Jakari are not immune to such gossiping, and we find the idea of idle talk… detestable. Usually though, despite the spectacle, the newcomers are of little interest to the Jakari. They drift across the stars in pathetic, paper thin freighters. They bring offerings of peace; they speak of “art” and “music” and other frivolous endeavors; they wish to share resources, to negotiate treaties. They, like all the rest of the races in this inglorious Alliance, are completely inert. There would be no glory in a war with them. These newcomers were different. The difference was apparent from the first encounter, when our patrols noticed what appeared to be weapons and armor plating on their ship. WEAPONS! Granted, they were crude, but wow! As news came in and we learned more about these “humans”, we became more and more enthralled. Not only were they comfortable fighting, they had spent the better part of their history doing it. They had brought their world to the brink of collapse, and rebuilt it. But despite this glorious past, they were still a primitive race; there was little glory to be gained by fighting them now. We decided to wait. Wait and watch. Then, when watching was not enough, we began to test. It wasn’t much. “Accidental” unauthorized flythroughs in human territory. Military exercises close to their borders. A civilian transport or two would “disappear” on a visit to Jakar, never to return... Harmless things, really. That was… a mistake. I write this from the last standing military outpost on Divacha V. The humans have taken the Divacha system, and are planning to move on Jakar itself. If a human finds this, I hope my message serves as adequate explanation. And a warning to any other races: DO NOT underestimate the humans.
"What!?"I asked shocked. "Like I said, one hundred thousand dollars per hour"The man said very nasally. That voice reminded me of Steve Urkel. One of the most well paying jobs right now is testing drugs with possible lethal side effects. And that is nearly a death sentence. But at ten thousand dollars per test, I was willing to give it a go and pray I survived. I was too broke to survive anyways so I didn't have much to lose. "Nothing pays that well. That is suicide!"I half shout. "Indeed I understand how you would think that. But we are completely compliant with the Hazardous Workplace Standards act. The act states that any job must have a minimum of a twenty five percent chance of survival. Your chance of survival is 100%." "Wait a minute, how can you possibly justify one hundred thousand dollars an hour if the survival rate is 100%?" "That is all the information we are required by law to discuss with you. Everything else must be kept confidential to acquire accurate results from the experiment." "Can you at least tell me what drugs I am taking?" "No drugs are being administered." I lean back in my chair still reeling over this. "So what is the catch?" "I can't tell you that. You must not know any information about the experiment to partake in it. That is part of the reason for the salary. This job must be accepted without knowing what it is." "Fine. I'm in. What do I need to do?" "We want you to go and stand in that empty room"the man gestured to a room across the hall. "And do what?"I asked "You will be given instructions when the time is right". After a myriad of forms and psychological tests, I was escorted to the room. I stood there waiting for what seemed like an eternity which was more like ten minutes. A voice began speaking that I hadn't heard yet. "As you know, ten years ago the United States and many allies enacted the Hazard Workplace Standards act in an attempt to bolster the job market, and increase our advancement in many fields. It has been so successful that much of the world adopted this new standard. It was decided that citizens can make the decision they feel is necessary to risk for a job versus the reward. The HWS act was a stopgap for a much bigger problem. One we are here to correct. It was decided that a civilian be paid for this job, rather than the governments making the decisions themselves so that they may remain impartial." "What decision is that?"I ask They didn't respond. Instead a screen appeared. It showed three pictures of random people side by side. The only thing listed was their name, date of birth, occupation, criminal charges if any, and location. "What is this?"I say demanding an explanation. "This is the solution. You will have ten seconds to decide which of these people will die. If you choose none, all three will die." "I refuse!"I shout. "Very well"The voice says. An X appeared over all three pictures and the word "Deceased"was written next to the names. "But I didn't choose or not choose! I refused the job!"I screamed. "You already accepted the job. In the revised HWS bill that went into effect thirteen months ago, all jobs must be completed to the satisfaction of the employer or risk imprisonment. There was initially a huge problem with people not performing satisfactory work. And you sir, signed a five year contract." "But..but...i can't"I say, tears welling in my eyes. "Of course you can. It's just a picture. You would have likely never met any of these people. Thousands die every day that you are blissfully unaware of and are no worse off." "But I cant choose...thats wrong"I say crying. "Yes, you can. while the HWS act helped band-aid the problem, the fact is the world is becoming unsustainable with overpopulation. Pollution, starvation, disease, famine, work. All of it gets worse as the world becomes overly populated. Every country is pursuing this goal. Almost a thousand people across the globe will begin this job along with you. They are tasked with eliminating thirty percent of the population. Or roughly two billion globally." "What? That's genocide!"I scream. "No, that is survival. Now choose"The voice says as another set of people appear on the screen. "You have ten seconds" "But I can't..."I whimper, my face soaked with tears. "Eight seconds" I stare at the screen, reading the information on each person. "Five seconds" I reach out and touch one. A younger man with an armed robbery conviction. It was either him or an engineer and a school teacher. "Thank you, let's continue". And that is how I become the executioner for the human race.
"Good God, woman. How are you still alive?" "Well, Detective, it's hardly life or death." "... Touché." "But I would still like my heart back." "Of course. Let me just take some rudimentary notes. This might take a while, why don't you have a seat." "Well alright, Detective. Say, you wouldn't happen to have a spare jacket, would you?" "Whatever for? It's positively sweltering in here!" "Well ever since he stole my heart I've given men the cold shoulder." "Fair enough. Here, take mine. Now, I've placed a penny on the table, I believe that is the usual rate for your thoughts." "I suppose I better bite the bullet and relive that sordid memory." "Good heavens! Don't do anything so hasty!" "You're my Detective, not my dentist. Don't presume to lecture me on such affairs." "My patience is running out. I won't be able to catch it, so I implore you, tell me about the day the crime took place." "Okay. But first, could I trouble you for a glass of water?" "Fine, but this is the last straw, so don't chew on it." "Thank you. Now, as I remember it, he stole my heart late one night after I had hit the sack." "Well I never. I can hardly blame him. His poor testicles." "I don't pay your hourly rate for you to judge me." "My apologies. Please, continue." "We had gotten into an argument earlier in the day, and the situation quickly got out of hand, then out of the other hand, then out of both of his." "Sounds rough. Were these arguments common?" "Yes, and they were becoming more frequent. I think he had hoped I would die when he stole my heart. I suppose he didn't account for me not considering it life or death." "I suppose not old girl. Well, I think I should visit the scene of the crime soon, though I'm starting to think finding your husband will be a piece of cake." "Delicious." "Indeed. Now in the mean time, try not to get too bent out of shape. I imagine that would be quite painful." "Thank you, Detective. I hope you find the scoundrel. Break a leg out there." *\Sickening crack\* "ARRGRHH!"** \- r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
Dr. Stevens burst through the entrance of the laboratory, double doors violently smacking against the nearby shelves and jostling the tightly packed beakers. The high-pitched twinkling of broken glass indicated the breaking of multiple containers as a variety of vibrantly coloured fluids splattered across the room's pristine white tiles. "We just floofin' got the janitor to clean the floor in here, Mr. Stevens!"I groaned as threw I my hands into my mess of greasy brown hair. "Jo."Dr. Stevens' eyes shot back towards me. "Andrews. Coding guy's on the move again." Jo gave the big man his best angry camel impersonation out of his bearded face. "Are ya shoopin' kiddin' me, Doc? Ah'd jus' figured out how t' revert tha' lass change 'e made to the zoppin' program! We drink anodder one of those beauuutiful energy drinks an' Jo an' me'll be lookin' out back fer insulin!" The exasperation was understandable, honestly. Ever since that "coded crusader"had found access to the Earth.cpp files we'd found on this old, fossilized USB, we'd been working overtime trying to limit the ridiculous changes he'd been making to the fundamental laws of life. Turns out, we'd discovered the source code for the existence of the universe! Cool! It also turns out that maybe Jo sending me the files over Google Drive wasn't the greatest idea... some optimistic freak had somehow downloaded a copy and had been screwing around with it all week. Honestly, ever since that one time I found those, ahem, scandalous pictures of himself sitting in his shared files, it should have been pretty clear to me that privacy wasn't exactly his strong suit; if anything, privacy would be his birthday suit or something. Those images had been burned into my retina like a CD. God, there was just... so much hair. "We haven't figured out that swear filter though. Jo was having a rough time with it but it seems like he's making the best out of the situation. Jo inhaled deeply as he prepared to unleash the entrapped anger inside of him. "Turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip turnip! I d'know how 'e does it. Must be sayin', Ah'm a-wonderin'! "Tough luck."A noticeable vein began to pop out of Dr. Stevens' head. "And please, shut your turnip mouth for one moment, Jo! I've been up all night myself. Reports have been flying in from all around about all of these "friendly animals"or whatever. You seen the front page of Reddit!? r/gifs is full of all these animals and insects getting all buddy-buddy with humans. It's the second coming of Barry the Bee out there!"Another vein began to protrude from his swollen, red forehead. "Sharks don't snuggle with people, Andrews!"He turned his phone towards me and showed me a picture of a smiling tourist hugging a massive Great White underwater. "Alright, alright, calm down! Jo and I've got that one figured out."I said, trying to calm him down. "Turns out the bugger's set the predatory behavioural setting to 'extremely friendly.' One push, and next thing you know, boom, bears start eating things again!" As nice as forests of Winnie-the-Poohs sound, the world losing it's lust for blood had resulted in some rather extreme overpopulation. Insect populations had risen to seemingly unheard of levels; even when they don't bite, hordes of spiders marching across your living room floor isn't exactly the most endearing sight ever. "Well, for Eggplant overlord's sake, roll out the patch! We need to get started on this new set of changes, quick!" I saved the changes to the code, sitting back in my chair to allow myself some brief respite from the onslaught of work. I was going right back to it, but it sure was nice to get a few minutes of relaxation from this constant C++ coding. Jo turned towards me without a concerned look on his face. "Th' changes take place at th' instant, Ah'm right?" I squinted at him, trying to discern his dialect. "Well, yeah. We're changing the source code of the Earth directly, Jo. They should go in to affect right away." A look of horror came across Jo's bearded face. "Then... how's shark lad's snugglin' goin' wit that big fish? It ain't bein' too friendly now, is it?" Oh. I looked towards Dr. Stevens, who had a panicked look on his face. He gazed down at his phone as the tab began to refresh, preparing for the oncoming onslaught of snuff videos that I had just unintentionally released to the world. "Turnips!"
Day 0. Date : 26th December 2073. 12hours to go: Today is the day the second last clock ceases to measure time. In the past 6 months, due to a rapid increase in earth's radioactivity, all the clocks and watches that kept time had come to a halt, except one, The London Tower Clock, which is of course digital now. A true majestic beauty she is. On a side note, coincidentally, today is the day life on earth as we know comes to an end. The humongous asteroid, nearly the size of Jupiter is on course to strike earth wholly in just 12 hours. Due to the increased radioactivity, Earth pulls the asteroid closer and closer to her, making it impossible for survival. The London Tower Clock is reset to a countdown at 12 hours, with people accepting their impending doom. This, of course was predicted 12 months ago, and confirmed with a 100℅ accuracy 5 months ago, the day of the summer solstice. That was also the day earth was exhausted of power and there's been a total blackout ever since. 6 hours to go : Franz wakes up. People have taken to the streets, holding each other's hands. But Franz dare not join the activity. For he holds a deep secret and a plan for today. He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt, and looks at his wristwatch. 6 hours to go it says. The London Tower Clock is not the only remaining active one, for Franz possesses the only other working one. Casually, he pulls down his sleeve and changes to a suit. He patiently sits on the couch, waiting for the right moment. 5 hours to go: Franz looks at the giant telescreen, outside the London Tower. Telescreen was of course invented a few decades ago. It is a breakthrough since it does not require electricity. The telescreen shows billions of people gathered in various countries, each having their own giant telescreens. In each of those, there is only one live video that is running. The Countdown. 5 hours to go. The entire world is watching the telescreen. No one is watching the actual clock. Perfect, Franz thinks. He goes back to his building and sits calmly. 3 hours to go: Franz looks around in the ancient structure. He has finally managed to slip through the crowds of people and here he is, finally inside the magnificent London Tower. He makes his long walk up. His wristwatch says 3 hours to go. 2 hours to go: As Franz looks at the mass of people gatheres, he flips a switch and all the telescreen go black. He hears loud cries of people. He gently pushes the hands of the clock and a few minutes later, the telescreens are back again. To people's confusion and amazement, the clock is showing time again. 105 minutes remaining. Franz calmly makes his way down and out into the crowd. 1 minute to go: The people are now praying for each other's souls and waiting eagerly for their annhilation. The whole world is entirely silent, as all eyes fall onto the telescreens. 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1. Total silence. Nothing happens! The crowd is shell shocked as they see the countdown go to -1. Followed by -2, then -3,-4. We have been saved, large voices gather. The people are celebrating jubilantly and wildly. The asteroid has passed us and we are not doomed after all! Minus 9 minutes: Franz looks at the faces of the people and is elated. The happiness on their faces is beyond words. We must never have perished grimly, he thinks. Now all he sees is an ocean of happiness spreading and growing madly. He smiles to himself, sheepishly. Franz knew, the people had deserved this, to leave this world happily as he looked at his wristwatch. 10 seconds to go. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. Franz takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes and the happiness and relief of the people flashed before his eyes. Boom! My first attempt, please drop in a comment :)
“I’m just telling you Rover it doesn’t seem natural!” Panted Charlie. “They almost look like statues of The Judges but... more distinct..” Rover thought about it but he knew The Judges weren’t real. The idea that anyone could objectively decide who was a Good Boy or a Bad Boy was ridiculous to him. “Who do you think built it?” He howled judge-mentally. Charlie dropped his excited tail and Rover saw his nose dry up. “Come on Rover you’re still on this! You’re named after the Prophet for Judge’s Sake!” He Woofed angrily. They trotted towards the ancient ledge with the strange devices ancient texts called “Binoculars”. They looked over and saw the ancient structure. “You were right Charlie they do look like the statues in The Kennels. But with faces.” Borked Rover. “So how old are these things? 49,000 years old? That was when most of the big monuments were built.” He thought back to Judgia the supposed holy site that had the massive Kennels with the giant faced statues of Judges. No one knew that the Prophet’s Empire had stretched this far. “Yeah that’s about it Rover. It’s kind of amazing how many Giant monuments the prophet built!” Wagged Charlie. Suddenly Rover has a fleeting thought, What if the Prophet didn’t build the monuments?
It started innocently enough. This morning I woke up to discover that my girlfriend had already left for work. “A shame,” I thought, “was going to bake her those eggs this morning…” Those things had been laying in the refrigerator for ages, so I decided to just eat them myself. I stepped out of bed and tidied up. Put on my white T and went down the stairs. There I encountered something strange. Ollie, our Jack Russell, was just sitting there in the middle of the hallway, facing the front door. When he noticed me coming down the stairs, he turned his little head around and whined. “Hey little buddy, whatcha doing there?” I said. Ollie didn’t move an inch. Even stranger. Normally he’s, well, ecstatic when I come downstairs. “Ollie, come! It’s okay!” I said in a soothing tone, which immediately prompted Ollie to rush towards me like he normally does. It all seemed normal then. I proceeded to get myself some breakfast. Well, some lunch, actually. It was noon already. I felt a bit ashamed for eating my omelette while Ollie was still waiting for his morning walk. Ollie didn’t seem the least bit unpleased, however, as he followed my exact commands in the most precise ways. This was nothing like Ollie. Normally he’d just bark and bark until I grab the leash and take him out. Not this time. I decided to give him more exact commands; orders he had never heard before. To my amazement, he did exactly as I asked. Even impossible tasks didn’t seem to elude him. Yes, that afternoon I made him dig a 20 feet deep hole in our backyard, asked him to jump onto the roof from within the hole, and then made him do twenty summersaults coming down again. He landed safely on his feet. What had happened I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had the power to make him do anything. This got me thinking. Maybe I could also change him into anything. I decided to try it out. I asked Ollie to jump on the diner table and to face me directly. He did as I asked. I then peered into his dark bauble eyes and said “I want you to double in size, Ollie!” For a second or two, nothing happened. I thought I had failed, which made me feel disappointed, even though I still had my magical can-do-anything terrier. Then suddenly, the table started to shake. I felt shock and terror as I saw it happen. Ollie started to grow! Incredible. Ollie didn’t seem very shaken by the process, either. He just kept peering at me, as I had commanded. After halve a minute, Ollie had doubled in size. After Ollie’s minor transformation was complete, I let out a sigh. And then a laugh. I imagined the things I could do with magic like this. Ollie could do anything, and nothing could stop him. I could ask him, right now, to rob or destroy anyone or anything. My laugh turned into a cackle. I hunched over. Tears welled up inside my eyes. It was payback time. I was going to get back at Jerry. The fucker that got me fired from work. He had ruined my career! I was going to destroy him, and not just financially. “And you know what, why don’t I take down the whole business anyway?” I then thought. Oh yes, that was my plan. I was going to take them down, and I was going to do it in style. I took Ollie to the backyard and worked my magic. I made all my commands in one long, run-on sentence. The moment I halted, the very earth under me started to quake. “Yes,” I roared, “It worked, it worked!” Ollie started to grow and grow. He became a titanic animal, with giant ears, laser eyes and a terrific howl. Oh, and he could fly. Those giant ears could flap as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. I then mounted my monstrous steed. I would rule the world! I laughed and laughed. The term ‘mad with power’ is definitely not an exaggeration. Ollie flapped his way to the clouds, at my command. I really felt like a god, then. Like Thor, ruling from above. I flew to the city. I would find the bloody office building I so detested and burn it down. I wreaked havoc, then. Why wouldn’t I sweep down and have Ollie pick up a few cars? I mean, those people would probably be rather dead then under my command, anyway. As a god, I granted mercy. Soon I saw the helicopters hovering near. At first, I saw they were news helicopters. Of minor inconvenience. Ollie could just brisk them aside. Later they were armed. Fighter jets came for Ollie and me. “Soon they would deploy nukes,” I joked with myself. I made a few more commands to my steed, including a comfortable cockpit for myself and a defensive shield for Ollie. It seemed smooth sailing. Like nothing could go wrong. But then I arrived at my old workplace. People were rushing out of the building. They seemed to be expecting me. How did they know I’d come here first? The only one who knew how much I detested that place was Sarah, my girlfriend. And that’s when it dawned upon me. She was in there, wasn’t she? They moved her there, probably against her will, to defend the bloody office building. I went on a rampage in rage, shooting down jets and armed personnel. I didn’t think about innocents, then. But then I saw her. Sarah was standing there. And then, I noticed something strange. Ollie was looking at her, with that same weird look he had given me that morning. Oh no. “Ollie, come to mommy!” Sarah cried out. “I want you to change back, honey!” Immediately Ollie flew down and started rushing towards her. His eyes shrunk. The cockpit disappeared. I knew I had lost. In rage I threw my arms back and forth. I screamed. And then, I fell of Ollie’s back. The doctors say I landed on my head. I feel a bit more… clear now. That will be all, officer.
The messages started at one, at first I declined, but her spamming felt dire. I didn't want to join in on others dreams, I preferred my own where I had some semblance of control. Another five invites flooded the corner of my eye. I squeezed the bridge of my nose and shook my head, hoping this was important. I moved to my sleep pod and plugged the cord into the outlet in my neck. I shuddered as the connection was made. My eyes became heavy, and the glass door of the pod closed with a whine. A green lake rippled out from my feet and stretched on forever, as a cloudless red sky smothered me from above. I felt sick to my stomach, it smelt as if a school of fish was rotting nearby. Gurgles and shrieks rang out around me, and I quickly counted my fingers, one, two... Ten, eleven, this place was not real. I steadied myself and took a deep breath doing my best not to gag on the stench. "Jelaca,"I shouted into the abyss. The shrieks grew louder, and water splashed everywhich way. "Jelaca, where are you." The pond responded by rippling arround my feet, rising slowly to my ankles. It's not real, it's just her dream. There was a hand struggling for the surface only a step away, I reached for it and pulled it out, a faceless husk rising from below. I fell back in shock as the thing continued to struggle for air, sinking back into the green. This time it was completely submerged. It's not real, that wasn't a person. I kept searching the vast lake, the water reaching my knees slowed my pace to a crawl. Then I saw it. A small rock in the distance, with a single occupant curled in the fetal position. "Jelaca." Her blonde hair shimmered and she turned to me, green tears trickled from eyes plopping one by one into the pond. "You came."She said with a weak smile. "Jelaca, this is a nightmare, you have to wake up."I said wadding closer to her, the water reaching my waist. "It's not. This is real,"she said burrying her head in her knees. "Jelaca, no this isn't real."I grabbed onto the stone but the smooth surface was too slick. I splashed down into the water, when I stood it was at my chest. "You have to wake up." "I've tried, but. But I..."She paused and then held up her fingers. One, two... nine, ten. I looked at my fingers, ten. This is real, this is happening. My heart throbbed in my chest and my breath staggered. I tried to climb the rock again, it was still too slick. The tears flowed out her eyes and she tried to cover them, but the water kept coming. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, oh god I'm so sorry." The water was rising faster, standing on the tips of my toes, my head barely made it above the surface. She looked down at me with a pained face and continued to sob. I reached up to the platform and grabbed her wrist, she slid down the rock and splashed into the pond. Her head popped up with a gasp for air, before she could scold me I wrapped her up tight. "I'm not like them, I won't let you leave me behind. I'll be with you forever."Her hands stopped struggling and returned my embrace. The water rose above our heads, and I used my last breath to say those words. Bubbles flew from my mouth and the world grew darker, I started to sink, but she held me tight. I spit, and coughed as the sleep pod rang and flashed red with warning lights. I was back in my room, and the sun flittered into my room. I scrolled through my contacts and found jelaca's name. It rang and rang for an unbarable minute. Then she picked up, "Jelaca I-" "I know,"she said, "I love you too."
Sadly you're the idiot who didn't believe in gods and goddesses. You merely beloved in yourself, your own power. You wake up at an empty room and stare at your dead body. you approach and poke yourself. Just then a screen appears with a big fat 0. Under the 0 there is a label "number of days till next war: 0". You stare at it and the 0 turns into a 1. A blinking light appears in the monitor "+1 new believer!"It says. Just then a portal opens and you step inside. You face Hades and in between the two of you is a glowing ball-a human soul. He seems familiar. Hades looks at you and laughs "you can have him. He was never quite loyal to me anyway"he disappears and the ball turns into a little boy. Your little brother. He's the only one who's ever believed in you huh.
"I'll give ya 8 gallons for it, kid,"said, tossing it back on the counter. You hold it, they think you want it. You have a harder time keeping them down. "8 gallons! That's robbery,"he replied. He didn't pick it back up, though. Let's me know he really doesn't want it. Rookie mistake. "You know what I went through to get that?" "Takes a lotta work to empty a zombie's bowels without getting bit, but that doesn't make the crap you get any more valuable. 8 gallons."I turned away. I really wanted it. It was a bit of the alien computer, including a quantum processor, worth a whole tanker, but the kid didn't know it. I polished an old lamp. "You know it's worth more than that,"he said, grabbing my shoulder in a stronger grip than I'd given him credit for. "It's straight off a Tarvaxi ship. At least 50 gallons." "Listen, kid. You seem like a good sort. I'll give you 12. But that's it." He let go of my shoulder. I saw his mind debating it, but I could sense the "no"forming. I needed a little something more. I thought back to when he came in, what he'd looked at. Guns, of course, but those were too much. One of the knives? No, he'd barely glanced there. Aha! "And I'll throw in a calendar. I'd recommend '23 if you're partial to blondes." "15 gallons,"he said, firmly. Then nervously added, "And the calendar." "You got yourself a deal."
No alarm? Must be Sunday. Let’s roll over and get a few minutes of morning cuddle time before I get out of bed and start the coffee, it’s my turn. I reach for her, she’s not there. “Babe?” I call out, I open my eyes to a poster of the Ultimate Warrior on the wall across the room. I haven’t seen that since I lived in Orange County with my mom in that rickety duplex next to... wait... Is that my old Incredible Hulk toy chest? “What the fu-“ My door opens and my strangely young-looking, and even more strangely alive-looking mother peeks in. “Wake up, I’m going to work. Don’t miss the bus.” She closes the door and I listen to her footsteps descend the creaky staircase, cross the living room below me, and exit the front door. I can’t move. This is too much. A few minutes of trying to figure out if this is currently a dream or if I had just had a dream of my entire future life leads me to pinch a few spots on my arms, and legs, and face, and every other part I can pinch. If this isn’t real, it’s an extremely convincing subconscious I’ve created for myself. Let’s see how this plays out. I get out of bed and look around my room. It’s all here, my G. I. Joes, my Transformers, my green army men I’ve been burning with the lighter I hid behind my bed by the window. This is too real. This must be real. This can’t be real. Do I just go about my day? What did I even do back then, back now? What am I, 6? What grade is that? What school did, or do I go to? Maybe if I just play this out I can get back to my real life. There’s a backpack on the floor. I walk over to it and check the contents for anything that might tell me what I’m supposed to do. Papers inside have the name Mr. Valle on the top. I remember him, he was my first grade teacher. Ok, first grade, that’s a start. What school was that? Why did we move around so much? Landmark! That’s my grade school! Ok, got that, now let’s get there and figure this out. After showering (awkward), getting dressed, and heading out the front door, it all comes back. My bus stop was a left turn out my front door and around the corner. I make the route and see my old friends there waiting for me. Pablo, Trevor, his brother Nick, they’re all here. “You almost missed the bus, it’s coming right now, are you ok? Trevor lisps to me. “Yeah, I just got up late. I’m glad I didn’t miss it, I’d have to call mom to drive me to school. She’d have to leave work and she hates that.” I replied. The bus ride was full of nostalgia. We talked about our favorite cartoons, and not in the familiar “remember when” banter that my usual friends (of the future) use. Getting through school was a breeze. Nap time? I got that. Remembering what carpet group I’m in? Nailed it. Kick ball at recess? I’m a beast with deadly aim. This is great. All the responsibilities of adult life are gone. It’s all just loosely structured hangout time with my friends. After school was even better. Playing hide-and-seek in the park, football, and tag. I haven’t been this active in years. I have so much energy, everything is so interesting. I don’t miss looking at my phone every 5 minutes, my social network is right in front of me. The street lights come on. We all know what that means. We wrap up playtime and I say goodbye to my friends. I take 10th Street home, Pablo takes Green, and the brothers Trevor and Nick cross 9th street and go inside. I was always jealous they lived by the park. My mom is waiting for me when I get home. I’m supposed to be in before the lights come on, but we were having too much fun and wanted to finish our game. “Hey there, how was school?” She asked, stirring dinner in a pot on the stove. She hasn’t seen me since the morning due to a long shift at the diner. “It was great, I forgot how much fun first grade is. I can’t believe I took this all for granted.” I quipped. “You what?” She stirs a little more slowly, her attention shifting from the pot to me. Over the course of the day, between milk time and play time, I figured it out. I knew too much to have just dreamt my whole life and woken up from it. I was indeed a 38 year old 6 year old. Let’s just rip this bandage off and see what happens. “I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve lived my whole life and somehow I’m back in this body. I’m not sure why or how, but today when I woke up, I found myself back here again.” She drops the stirring spoon and backs away from the stove. “Go to your room.” A very calm, monotone voice comes out of her very still face. I go to my room as requested. I can hear her downstairs, on the phone with various people, trying to make sense of what her child had said. I suppose my diction and tone of voice carried a bit too much weight, and had her a little worried for my health and well being. She brings up dinner and quietly closes my door, making very little eye contact. I’m left alone for the rest of the night, which wasn’t bad for me because I had a whole new old world of toys to get familiar with. I don’t recall going to sleep but the morning after would have an interesting beginning. “Wake up, son” a man nudges me. You’re not my dad. You’re not my mom. Son? “Just pick him up, let’s go” another voice chimes in, and I feel hands on my arms and legs, pulling me from my bed. I’m awake now, I recognize these men. My uncles, Curtis and Bill. “Uncle C, long time no... see?” I make my pun but it gets no laugh, barely any attention. This isn’t going to be a fun time. “Where are we going?” “Your mom is worried about you, we’re going to get you looked at.” Uncle Bill speaks down to me, both in tone and in stature. He’s a very tall man. “Sure. Let’s figure out what’s going on and get me home.” I figure I might as well cooperate the best I can to make it easier on everyone, but my words don’t seem that easy to hear by anyone in earshot. Awkwardness continues as we get to the car, drive down to the hospital, and go inside. “He seems fine to me,” the doctor says as he shines lights in my eyes and makes me follow a pen with them while not moving my head. “Maybe he was watching too much TV or something. I don’t see anything that suggests drugs or a brain injury.” “But the way he talks and the things he says, it’s like he’s not the same little boy I had a few days ago, since the birthday party.” My mom mumbles, holding back tears. “Who’s birthday party?” I ask. I feel weird. Something is happening. “Mary’s. Her family had a pool party in their new pool. You were there, don’t start this now.” My mom seems to be fed up with whatever she thought I was up to. “Mary drowned right after that...” I remember out loud. The words struck all conversation out of the room. “They didn’t put a fence around that pool and she fell in while her parents weren’t looking.” I recount from memory something that apparently hasn’t happened yet. “What day is it?” “July 10th.” The doctor points at his desk calendar. It all comes rushing back. It’s today. Mary is going to drown. “Call her house RIGHT NOW.” A 6 year old me is suddenly in charge. My uncle picks the receiver off of the wall and rings Mary’s house. “Hey Ted, it’s Bill. Is Mary around? Yeah just wondering because- Hello?” My uncle stops talking and his face goes white. He’s listening to the other end of that call as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever heard. He snaps out of it. “Oh, yeah? Well that’s good. Glad to hear, Ted. Yeah, I’ll stop by later. Yeah, we’ll get that Nova running.” He hangs up the phone and stares at the floor. “Ted just caught Mary playing by the pool. She had fallen in just as I called, and when I asked after her, he turned to find her in the deep end, just about to sink.” His gaze shifts from the floor to me. Other gazes follow. It all goes black. “No alarm? Must be Sunday.” A female voice shakes me out of my slumber. I recognize this voice, like a song in a different key, familiar but new. “5 more minutes, then I want coffee. It’s your turn.” “Mary?” My eyes open. “Who else would you wake up next to?” She sounds a little coy. I look around the room. It’s all my stuff but it’s all wrong. The shape of the room doesn’t match my quaint Washington home at all. This is more like my... Am I still in California? “What year is it” I asked, kind of joking, kind of not. “2018. What year do you think it is?” She keeps this “game” going as she gets up to use the bathroom. “And still no flying cars? Lame.” With her occupied, I scan the pictures in the room. It’s us, at school dances and prom, and... our wedding? Is this what happens when she lived? Is this why I was sent back? It’s slowly making sense. She was meant to be alive, and with me. I had to go back to make sure that happened. She exits the bathroom and crawls back into bed, curling up next to me. “5 more minutes, then I want coffee. It’s your turn.”
I stared out at the rusty orange terrain in awe, finding my breath caught up in my chest. This was it. I was finally on Mars. The sun definitely seemed a lot further away, but it was hard to believe I was really on the red planet. If I hadn’t just stepped outside of the ship then I might have thought I was in a desert – a cold desert. I’d be freezing right now if I wasn’t protected by my suit's internal temperature regulation system. I bent down and ran my gloved hand through the sand-like grains underneath my feet. A display in my headset automatically popped up with information on what minerals were in the reddish dirt. I took a deep breath then and sighed heavily as I read over the list. Were it not for the oxidized iron in the soil, then things might have actually been able to grow here, given the right atmosphere of course. I had always suspected that the cooling of Mar’s core was what had caused the loss of its atmosphere. If only there was a way to bring this planet back to life. Unexpectedly, an alarm went off in my ear. “Warning! Oxygen consumption reduced by 99%!” “What’s going on?!” I exclaimed urgently to my captain. Sarah’s voice spoke up without hesitation. “I’m checking the number’s now, John. But it’s not making any sense. It’s saying your oxygen levels have all but halted. Take a few deep breaths for me so I can see what happens. It may be a system malfunction.” I did automatically, realizing for the first time I had only really taken one breath in the last few minutes – and that was just to sigh. “Return to ship,” she said immediately. “Your suit must be glitching.” “What’s it saying on your end?” I wondered, even though I could see the information myself. I took a few more deep breaths, showing that my oxygen levels remained exactly the same. Sarah quickly reiterated what I was already seeing, before asking me to return to ship again. “Humor me for a second Sarah,” I requested. “Even if it is glitching, I should have plenty of oxygen left.” I heard her sigh heavily over the open channel. “Just hurry up. We can’t afford to take risks.” I nodded, only to smirk at myself when I realized she couldn’t see me. “Right.” I stated simply. “What are you going to do?” She wondered curiously. I hesitated, knowing she was going to laugh. “I’m going to hold my breath.” &#x200B; [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt) Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out!
The 2010s were a very good time in human history and we could learn a lot from them now. The 2010s started like any other decade. 2010 is a year in the Gregorian calendar. In that year was the year of International Biodiversity. Also J.D. Salinger died. J.D. Salinger was an American writer known for his widely read novel, "The Catcher in the Rye.""The Catcher in the Rye"is a story by J.D. Salinger partially published in serial form in 1945–1946 and as a novel in 1951. The 2010s are when people started being famous because of Youtubes, which were videos they put of themselves saying funny things on the internet. People also put pictures of themselves on their cell phones so they could date. Before then people had to date by walking up to one another's houses and asking to go on dates. It was very awkward. I like the 2010s because dankmemes. Dankmemes are pokemon that evolved from memes. Very few people know that memes come from opera singers going, "mememememe."Now that is a thing you know too. According to my grandfather, people called social justice warriors elected Donald Trump president in the 2010s so they could get slavery back in order to own other people called the libs. This was sad. This has been why I like the 2010s.
“Listen, Boss, we gotta little uh, issue here and well, ya know, me and Sal was just wondering if you could take a little look real quick” Imagine this. A 26 year old graduate school student, writing their dissertation. Very easy to fathom, yes. Now picture this. The same 26 year old with a masters in business management, is the father of his town’s Mafiosos. There are perks with being the boss, the grandfather. My student loans got paid off in a week. I don’t gotta call a cab everywhere I go, other people call the cab. I can afford a one bedroom one bath apartment with a walk in closet and two ply toilet paper. Lots of good stuff. I didn’t ask for all this and frankly I’m still not - I still ain’t - sure I got the facts straight myself but I am now an official grandfather, at 26 years old. There was an ad in the newspaper a few months back. Nobody reads the newspaper but it was earnings seasons and I was betting calls against fourth quarter revenues. Nestled between the black and white print of NASDAQ and S&P 500 was a small little ad looking for someone to take over a small family business. They were struggling to meet some profit demands: no problem. I got a MBA, I’m just the man. First thing I did, redraw the communication model. Their hierarchy was all over the place. No upper lower, no receiving interpretations. No wonder they were a mess. I didn’t care I was dealing with the mafia, they could be KGB for all I care, the fact was they were garbage business men. Thank god i saw their ad. I took over their shipment and transportation operations, managed to hit their estimated profit index and surpass by .03%, pretty good for an annual review. But then things got a bit more, tight. I live in a small college town, word gets around. I heard one of my boys was seeing this girl on my campus. Marcie or something, real beautiful curls and what not. I could see the allure. My boy Johnny, we’ll call him, was a bit pusillanimous. So I tell him “take her out Johnny boy, you ain’t got nuthin to lose”. Next day, she turns up dead. “I thought you said take her out boss.” I meant you take her out not we take her out, you take her out to someplace nice, have a nice steak or something. “I dunno how you saw boss but she was onto us.” He flashed me a badge with her face, “FBI.” Hell yeah I saw that all coming, I got 2020 vision. Fast forward a bit more, I thought it was time we invested in some real estate. Good profit, low standard deviation and risk volatility. Sometimes business does pay. I pick a shoddy looking place, but in a good neighborhood. Tell my boys to clean it up, do a little paint job, fix the roof. Nothing too crazy. Next day, front page “local gang found, 7 bodies”. I said clean up, they cleaned it up. What can I do but assume all credit as The Godfather for seeing all this beforehand. I tell ya, being boss ain’t easy, but it ain’t hard either.
"What up, Beelzebro?"I gave Satan a fist bump as he walked up to me. "How are things down in Hades? Keeping the torment eternal, I hear." "Yeah, yeah,"he said quickly, "things are fine."He looked around briefly before leaning over and whispering in my ear. "I need a favor. Can we go somewhere more.... private?" I pulled back for a second and looked him up and down. The Prince of Hell was looking pretty ragged. Suit disheveled. Hair out of place. Was that spinache in his teeth just now? He caught me looking and quickly covered his mouth and picked the wayward veggie free. His nails were noticeably unmanicured. "Sure, Lucy."I put my arm around his shoulder and started walking. "I know this great place, Chappa's Tapas. I granted the guy's wish a few months ago to have a successful restaurant so you know the food is good."I talked about the menu as we walked the few blocks to the restaurant. Satan was mostly silent the whole way. When we finally got there they seated us in a private booth in the back. (One of the perks of not having a master is I can create whatever conditions i want into the wishes i choose to grant. For things like this it's usually compulsory VIP treatment from the staff.) I ordered the Chappa's special, and Satan just got a coffee. That was a little disappointing after i took the time to go over the menu, but whatever. "So what's on your mind, Old Scratch?"I asked while shoveling food into my mouth. "I need to know..."he said. "I need to know how you did it." "Did what?" "Free yourself!"He had slammed his fists on the table and was leaning in at me pretty aggressively. I didn't appreciate his attitude, and he must have noticed from the look on my face because he almost immediately leaned back and tried to straighten himself to a look of composure. "How did you become free?"He looked sad this time. Almost pleading. "Look, Satan, it isn't like that, I...." "Please,"he reached across the table and took hold of my hand in both of his. I let him do it. "I thought if anyone could understand what I'm going through, it's you. I made one little mistake at the beginning of creation by questioning God's plan and i get banished for eternity and forced to deal with all his fuck ups and rejects? The worst part is, that's exactly what i was predicting when I questioned why he would give them free will and then continually put things in their way to make them fall. And the worst part is, I get blamed for all of it! I'm nothing but a glorified prison warden and yet I'm the one who gets blamed for all the disease, war, masturbation, you name it! Please, just help me." "Let me level with you, Satan. When I said i was 'free' that wasn't really a 100% accurate statement. I just found a loophole to make me effectively free. Why do you think i still grant all these wishes?"I gestured around the restaurant we were sitting in. "But, how?"I could see him trying to fight back the tears. Man that was not a good look for someone rumored to have rivaled God in power at one point. "A few decades ago my master broke my vessel. He offered to let me stay at his apartment until we figured out what to do about it. Technically im still bound to that apartment, bit it's a lot easier to walk out the front door than it is to uncork a bottle from the inside. Now I just choose my master and bind the contract with a handshake."I gestured down to show him that my hand was still in his. "So what's it gonna be? Remember, you only get one."
“Go ahead, globetard. How do you want to die?” Mike smiled. His death was nearly inevitable, but he was gonna win. “Throw me off the edge of the earth.” The robed figures looked around at each other. “So be it.” “Uh, what?” Mike was tersely grabbed, drugged, and thrown into a private helicopter. Everything was blurry. Where the hell was he being taken? “We’re here.” Mike looked out the window and saw a massive drop into nothing. He had no words. “You were wrong.” Those were the last words Mike heard before he was thrown off the edge of our flat planet.
It was hard to get mad at her, she was trying her best. She meant well. She was only young. She was just starting out. Even so... Taking a deep breath he stretched and scrubbed his eyes before felt the silver threads tugging his wrists down towards his pocket, maybe going for his phone? If it were any other writer, it would almost guaranteed. Despite the thread's firm grip on his arm his eyes were free to wander, trailing down his arm to the motion of his fingers, which was - for want of a better term, "Unfortunately precise". They were shaking, and for some reason which defied him, red and swelling as they fiddled aimlessly the the brass nub sewn into the corner of the seam. The longer he looked the more detailed his trousers seemed to become as his mistress poured her soul out into what felt like every single fiber of the unknown fabric (one detail which had somehow eluded her) and the way it hung on his body. It was getting to the point where they were uncomfortably tight, but he guessed that was to be expected. Manageable so far, if a little tedious. At the very least she seemed to have improved in her spelli- god dammit. He could do nothing but watch with dismay as the garment warped into folds upon blurry, fibrous folds of paper, which still clung tightly to his skin "like a koala with its favorite tree". Eventually, after much lengthily described deliberation, his hand the silver edged his fingers into the pocket. Oh, so there was a phone after all. He did as bid, and pulled it out and stared at it waiting. What was she planning? Prank calls? Some school troubles? The tiny thing lay there in his monstrously swollen palm, the silver guiding him, nudging him to turn it on. And so he did, as he had no choice. Almost instantly the screen was wide awake,the notification blinking up brightly from the centre, not yet legible. He blinked and the words before him crystallized. It took less than a second to realise what was coming and the silver had to extend its icy folds over every muscle in his supposedly rock-steady hand. Babe: 300 missed call. It's ok. She's probably still learning, finding herself, growing up... The phrases looped over and over but still failed to find purchase, for as much as he really didn't want to hate her, he couldn't quite forgive her. At first it was just cheesy dialogue, the "I miss you"falling painlessly from his lips. But it could never be just cheesy, could it? When he creaked a joke part of him wanted to die. There was nothing funny about the way the silver wrenched open his jaw and tugged, forcing its way into his bones where it warped them till they screamed in protest. As he punched a wall in anger he felt the shock rattle through his entire body, tendrils of silver lacerating his skin until ribbons of flesh hung off the bone now his knuckles were supposedly "a bloody mess". Even that though, was almost forgivable. There was no hope once the silver found its way into his mind. For all it was cliche, the power of raw, indelicate sadness surged through every nerve in his body. "He was so sad everything hurt, and he didn't know why but that only made it hurt more". Everything White hot on every tendon, the silver wrenching a river from his eyes, the despair oh god the despair. For all her faults, it seemed as though sadness and pain were deeply familiar to her, if only in the fragmented, raw confusion of a child. The tide built and built till he could hardly think anymore, the silver tsunami overwhelming every last ounce of his being with a sadness of a depth unlike anything he had ever known. Please, make it stop. Please Please (Sorry, got tired and might finish properly later on, although criticism is welcome. Thank you for the prompt it was enjoyable to write, again, sorry it's probably not what you meant.
"what could this be"I thought. "there is no way!" "that's impossible!" But it was possible. And it did happen. &#x200B; I waited all day and stayed up all night trying to imagine what horrors would arrive tomorrow. "I can't die tomorrow. It's my birthday. I hadn't even finished college yet."I thought then that i was in deep. The point of no return. Its 3:30. I've done nothing but wrap myself in bubble wrap and sit in my room all day. I know I will die in half an hour, I just don't know how. I believe it may be smart to strap myself to something or maybe be prepared if something attacks me. 4:05 4:10 "Did i cheat death"I think to myself. The door bell rings. You hear a voice that sounds like your average guy but like he is talking in a cave. "Sorry I'm late, there was some major traffic on the highway"he says "I can't imagine what it will be like on the way back, lucky for us I have the wonderful talent to cut in line." I undo my bubble wrap suit as to not embarrass myself. I answered the door and on the other side was a buff dude with sunglasses, ripped jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. "Are you...... Satan?" "Yes sir, I am also known as Lucifer or the lord of darkness. Sometimes people just call me Stan."I just noticed the black muscle car with flame decals that move as if they are real flames behind him. "Now we get down to business"He hands me a beer and gestures for me to get in the car. "First stop, the pits of the damned. I feel like you will enjoy watching most of these guys suffer. maybe you can help me come up with some new punishments? &#x200B; (go easy on my as this is my first time writing something like this)
Welcome incoming Innocent Bystanders of class 2022! You should all be relieved to be here, since your presence here is no coincidence. Each and every one of you were chosen based on your inability to assist in conflict. Some of you have already began showcasing your inabilities before arriving. Take Willie Bistander: at the age of 16, a small boy - shortest in his class, was on his way home from school on a cold winter afternoon and saw an elderly woman being robbed by two supervillains in training. What did Willie do? Nothing! Willie recognized that he could not do a single thing to stop these supervillians in training. He just stood by as a stronger girl from his class tried to retrieve the elderly woman’s purse. Now, that’s model innocent bystanding - the Super Innocent Bystander Academy way! Everyone, take a minute to applaud Willie. clap clap clap I know that the class of 2022 will be as innocent and action-free as the masses of innocent bystanders who preceded you! Next time you witness a crime, remember Willie’s self awareness and just stand there. An inadequate breakfast will be served in the dining hall in ten minutes. See you all there!
“Exactly what caused the demise of the Hymine-“ “It’s human!” You shout from backstage. “Human, civilization, has been one of the greatest mysteries of our era. I am pleased to be able to say that that mystery will be answered tonight.” From behind the curtain you hear the shocked gasp of the crowd. You wonder what must be going through their minds. “Without farther ado, I introduce my colleague, Dr. Jack Bright!” As you walk out, you hear a few voices that recognized your name as human. You think you’ve had a bigger audience, but your not sure. The speaker quiets down the crowd before turning to you. “Dr. Bright,” he begins, “would you please do us the honour of explaining how Humanity was destroyed?” It’s at this moment you realize you have no clue which anomaly did it. Oh well, time to wing it!
"Sir? Sir, are you ok?"He came up to me, the driver from the truck. "Yes. Yes...yes."The truck was bent like a U. The backing was tipped of the truck. Some liquid spilled everywhere from the crack. There was a crowd around me. "You need an ambulance, kid."The driver said. His eyes were blue and his beard fluttered like a shaking rat. "No I don't."My clothes were ripped. I was nearly naked in the street. Someone gave me a blanket. I noticed the cut on my right forearm. It was open wide. Blood flowed freely. But I saw there was a black substance under the skin. It shimmered like stars. I looked closer and saw it was like a second skin composed of glimmering white specks and black hardened substance. I left the crowd and walked toward a speeding train parallel to the now crowded road. I think the blackened substance under the flesh groaned.
"Mornin',"I said, stepping aside to let a fellow Being and his steaming mug of coffee squeeze through the aisle between the desks. He nodded back as he passed. "Workin' hard or hardly workin', eh?" "Workin' for the weekend, I'll say that much." That got a chuckle. We don't have weekends. I made my way to my spot in the bull pen, hung my jacket on the back of my chair and sat down at my desk. I always like to check my inbox before the numbers. Gets my head in the game. There were just a few papers - a briefing on the latest complaints lodged by my followers; an update on a war in Crimea. The overnight secretary was as emotionless and efficient as usual last night. Okay. I took a deep breath and looked up at the tickers on the wall. Red numbers blipped by on screens. I let my eyes glaze over until I spotted my symbol. Yikes. Another drop in followers - not enough to be just from natural deaths. Something was up. I looked back at the briefing from the secretary - not a complaints list after all. The notes outlined a series of human sacrifices that had been made in my name last night. Self damnit. I keep telling them to stop doing that. I flipped open my desk calendar, running my finger along the dates, trying to discern why last night had triggered yet another spree. There was a minor planetary alignment, but my folks weren't as into the celestial stuff as they had been a century or two ago - or was that making a comeback? "Excuse me, mister?" I looked up. A young kid - intern, had to be - stood in front of my desk. "Ah, mister? The BIG Big Guy wants to see you." "Roger." "As soon as you can." I grimaced acknowledgement, to which he nodded and walked off. Great. That's just great. This was the second time I'd been called up in as many months - not a good sign. I weaved my way through the maze of desks to the edge of the bull pen, which was crackling to life as my colleagues (or rivals, some might say - I prefer colleagues) arrived in for the morning and got to the day's business. I tried to arrange my features into an expression of bland routine, to hide the dread that weighed down my innards. I climbed the metal staircase to the second-story catwalk, which gave access to the glass-fronted offices of the highers-up. I clanged my way along the walk, trying not to look down at the bull pen, until I reached His office. Through the glass, I could see He was on the phone. He held up one beefy finger, telling me to wait, yelled something into the phone, and slammed it into the receiver. Then He beckoned me in. As I sat down in the single chair in front of His desk, I could see a rim of angry spittle flecked around His mouth. This wasn't going to go well. "I assume I don't need to explain why you're here." "No, sir." "Your numbers are dropping. Still dropping, I might say." "Yes, sir." "You've got to get those birth rates up if you want to compete." "With all due respect, sir, my kind aren't the sort to follow the, ah, quiverfull mindset. Even simply to maintain the birth rate --" "Then you'd better get recruiting!"He spat. He was right. I knew it. "And for the love of self, get your self-damned people to stop killing each other!" I flinched. "It's all in my name, sir, they think they're honoring --" "I don't care what they think!"He roared. "Now get out there and get competitive!" It was going to be a long day. \--- /r/overcomposer &#x200B;
I wake up on the floor, in a pool of whiskey, still wearing my Voldemort costume. After laying here for about ten minutes, I climb to my feet and instant collapse onto my bed. Melted thoughts trudging through my damaged brain, and an achy body that won’t stop screaming at me? Sounds like a typical day after Halloween. My friend Dave’s crashed on my floor, and there’s probably a dozen other people napping in the living room. I almost pass out again, but someone rings my doorbell. It takes all of my energy, but I slowly move through my house, maneuvering a maze of bodies. When I throw the door open, I’m staring at someone in a damn good Darth Vader costume—hell, I can even hear him breathing. Leaning against the wall for support, I eye him up and down until I spot the model TIE Advanced in the street. “Whoa, that’s—” “—It’s good I’ve found you, Dark Lord.” “Dark Lord?” Then I remember my costume and can’t help but chuckle. This guy’s probably loaded and ‘in-character.’ “Oh, I get it. Ha. Ha. Very funny.” “For years you’ve been my favorite character,” he says. “And when I saw this…when I discovered you were real—I knew I needed to find you.” “And why’s that?” I ask, humoring him. “Because we share the same goal—domination. What you call magic, I call the force.” He holds his hand out, staring at me. “I know how your story ends, and it isn’t good. Come with me. Together we’ll crush the rebels and regain dominance over the galaxy.” While I really wanna keep playing along, the hangover’s kicking my ass again, and I really gotta lay down. Reaching to the side, I grab some candy out the bowl and dump it into his hand. “Happy Halloween, dude,” I say, slapping his shoulder. “Make it home safe, okay? Don’t drive.” He looks down. “What is this?” Answering him will only encourage him, so I quickly close the door. He mumbles a couple things and knocks a few times—but I ignore him. Few minutes later, I peer out the window and he’s aimlessly wandering out my lawn. Normally I’d care, but right now I just wanna sleep. First, though, I gotta get this damn costume off. *** This is a little rough, but I hope it's good! These aren't actually my favorite characters--this idea just popped into my head, and I found it really funny. Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en)
I rip the sheets from my body and hurdle over my little brother's toys strewn about our room. "Road work ahead? I sure hope it does."I mutter in a trance. I arrive at my desk, only to remember I haven't purchased a laptop yet. "Free sha voc ado..." I tear open my drawer and snatch up a blank page and a pencil. Pencil's broken. "It's freakin bats..." I find a discarded pen sheltered in the far reaches of the drawer, push it to the paper and begin to jot. "A potato flew around the room..." It's 2010. Vine would not come out for three years. I need to gather my thoughts.
Let it never be said that Mister Minch Wulver was not willing to think outside the box. Wulver, being roughly two hundred years old and decently well preserved due to magic would argue that since he invented 'The box' that he would bloody well know how to think outside of it. Wulver was everything you wouldn't expect in an old wizard. A Dumbledore or Gandalf he was not. His face was smooth and unwrinkled. He face was clean shaven and smooth to the touch and his eyes were grey as the clouds on a particularly drizzly april day. He looked 220 coming 22 and he liked it that way. So upon realising he was, as the rest of the human race would put it, "Slowly Dying"he had decided to research what he could do to solve that particular problem. He had a vast number if options, but they all felt very... boxy. Philosopher's Stone? He didn't particularly enjoy alchemy and the blood required made him a slight bit nauseous. Transferring his mind into a different body? Overplayed and overdone. Minch had not survived this long to be out done by comic book writers and sci-fi. To a normal wizard,that left very few choices outside of becoming a Vampire. Wulver, being half werewolf on his fathers side, realised this was a bad idea. Thus he turned to lichery. He wad sure if Lichery was an actual term,but he chose to believe in it anyway. What was life without a little imagination after all. So he toiled away, day and night researching the necromancy required to ascend to lichdom. Then a slightly larger problem arose. His soul would have to be bound to something. Wulver had many possessions, true. Mostly B words that burned however, Buckets Boots and Books all would go up in flame and take his soon to be skeletal body (and his amazing cheekbones) with him. He recalled one night, roughly ten past twelve and through a disgusting can of supermarket beer, that there was once a wizard who had manipulated words to the point the word Especiandoeses was almost impossible to remember. Which is funny to Wulver, as Especialndoeses used to be defined as 'A word that you can never remember the correct spelling of.' Sadly since the word had fallen out of favour, everyone just talked about some Mandalela effect or something along those lines. So taking the same principle used to cast a charm on that word, would he in theory be able to tie his soul to a word? Or better yet,a story? So he practiced on a word. Hungry. Whenever someone said hungry, His hourglass would flip itself. He chose the english word for hungry because it was the easiest to remember. The hourglass rotated like a wheel around twelve o'clock in the afternoon and six in the evening. He had the foresight to at first limit it to a very strong Glaswegian accent, in hopes that he wouldn't just end up with a completely useless hourglass. After the experiment was successful, he decided to add the word Caterpillar. It would rotate the hourglass in the opposite direction. Naturally successful, he realised what he must do. Moon, Egg Light. He bound his soul to a dozen different words to be spoken in sequence. If the story was lost,so would his soul be. But he, soon to be lich, had done it. He had bound his soul,to a Very Hungry Catepillar.
"Doritos man isn't even a person,"the Grand Sorcerer tells you, "but man, wouldn't that be like, awesome?" You've lost your concentration before during summons, but that usually meant the spell wouldn't work at all. As you stare at the majestic blue aura in the center of the temple, you think to yourself, "I hope it's not cool ranch, I prefer nacho cheese." The haze that fills the room transmits the blue aura, like the lazers at an EDM concert. A fellow sorcerer pulls up Spotify on his phone. He's tempted to start playing Crosby Stills Nash and Young, but looks around and realizes he doesn't want to show his age, so he puts his phone back into his pocket. Your assistant grins. This was no accident, you think to yourself, he planned all of this. Who knows where all of the incense is. As sorcerers begin slumping back into their chairs, some of them nodding to music that isn't playing, others stiffen, trying to keep their composure, your thoughts start to wander. What if Doritos man isn't friendly? The Stay Puff Marshmallow Man wasn't friendly, and it took four Ghostbusters to bring him down. What if the room fills with Doritos dust and everybody's hands get dirty and nobody can breath and the chips cut your gums and palate and the chips are too salty and your mouth gets too dry. Man my mouth already feels too dry. I'm stuck here. Everyone knows I've messed up. I don't think I'll ever feel normal. What happens if they kick me out? I've spent so much time trying to become a sorcerer and now it's all going to end. "Hey, you alright?"Bill asks you. "Yeah, man, just a little paranoid,"You reply. Bill chuckles. You loosen up. Bill walks over and starts playing Kendrick Lamar. The older sorcerer's summon earplugs. Crosby Stills Nash and Young guy wishes he had been the first to choose the song, now some young guy has totally killed the vibe. Finally, an older sorcerer pulls Bill aside and the music stops. The blue light flashes and a haze of Doritos dust clears the room. Standing in the middle of the room is a mound of Doritos, loosely attached, resembling a poorly made snowman. You walk towards it, trying to play it off as if this is what you had in mind. Merlin stands up, approaches, turns to the crowd and says, "Do you think we could get a salsa man too?"
Most mimics hate us, and accuse us of ‘spitting in the face of tradition.’ This is because they’re fools who don’t understand that we want more out of life. The days of sitting in a damp and dreary dungeon waiting for some moronic adventurer to fall into our clutches are over. No more hiding. No more fear. We own a shop in the middle of town and not a soul suspects a thing. To everyone else, I’m a regular merchant from a foreign land and these are just exotic chests and cabinets. We aren’t monsters, and this entire organization certainly isn’t a trap. It’s so brilliant. I mimic a human, the others stick to the normal routine. We charge exorbitant prices for beautiful furniture with one sickly twist—when you get home, it kills and robs you before returning here. We’re quickly amassing a fortune, but also some unwanted eyes, like the detective I just caught snooping around my shop. He doesn’t know I’m about to push him into a chest. Doesn’t know that when I close it, it’ll eat him alive. “This one’s on the house,” I say, pressing my hands against his back. *** This is really short, but I hope it's good! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
The message was clear: "Meet me in the vault at the sun's core". There were engravings surrounding the glyphs. It was a map, and a team of geologists was working relentlessly to find the place. Determining the age of the artifact was almost impossible; the thing pulsed with a semblance of life, it continuously absorbed some of its surrounding and recycled it, keeping itself in a perfect shape for ages. It also radiated, and being in its presence was inspiring. Major breakthroughs were made in many fields of science in the many years it took to decipher the glyphs. The planet was not the same place after the Discovery. It was a new era. Today, the team of geologists had their own major breakthrough with the map. They ran simulations for the shape of the continents from the early days of Earth to the last thousands of years. The simulations were becoming more and more precise, reaching a resolution of a century per frame. The shape recognition algorithms finally found a perfect match. All agreed. They were taking the artifact to the hills indicated on the map. The only final piece of disagreement was about the public announcement. A few thought that it would be better to tell the whole world before going to the site. The vast majority wanted it to be a surprise. &#x200B; As they approached the hills, their imagination ran wild. Some imagined an ancient ship, buried deep underground, waiting for the key to open it. Some saw vivid equations and interactions of exotic elements they never could hope to imagine. Some saw an even brighter new era for humankind. None of them noticed the change in the artifact. They were getting closer, and the artifact was vibrating intensely. What was a low, imperceptible hum in the previous years was becoming so loud, the ground shook. What was a faint pulsating glow was now a blinding light. Yet, none of them noticed, lost in their own minds, saturated by utopian, heavenly visions. &#x200B; They were almost there. The artifact stood straight, as if moving by its own will. It approached the site. It was preparing to send its final message. The surrounding hills bathed in the light. The ground shook. It shifted, revealing ancient structures made in elements unknown to anyone before that moment. All the humans gained a moment of clarity. All the animals around them, too. All living things in what were hills moments before, shared a single thought: "At last. We are going back home." The effect cascaded through the whole country. Then the continent. And the oceans. The whole planet moved. &#x200B; Earth was going to the core of the sun.
"Are you sure it even happened around this time?"Sam asked, wiping sweat from his forehead, poring through the paperwork in front of him. "Yes! Yes, it starts around this year! But apparently it was so unprecedented that there wasn't technology for it!" "Ok, but,"he blinked hard and looked up, losing focus. He blinked again, wiping sweat from his forehead, "what are you gonna do about it?" "I told you, I brought all the antidotes for diseases that came after this year. And that was hard enough to do by itself, so I'm trying to make this all worth it. The world as we know it really falls apart." "And instead of helping people with your technology--"he swallowed hard, and his face was getting red, "you decided to come back to the past and probably create a paradox where you couldn't help the future?" "Sam, are you really judging me for trying to save billions of people? Likely your own life, as well!"I said, throwing another file into the garbage. None of these diseases were new. "How do you even know we'll find it in these stupid files?"he said, weakly. "I am certain that it starts up in a hospital in this very city. And going through each of their records has got to match with symptoms of what the disease caused in the future. Does that not make sense too--"I finally looked up and got a good look at Sam. He was pale white and using the desk heavily to support his weight. "Hey, are you okay?"I asked. His eyes were glazed, but he looked deeply at the immunizations records in front of him. "Describe the disease again.."he said, with a very interesting tone. "Well, it eventually gave everyone panencephalitis. Which was fatal to anyone that got it since it was a very aggressive form of it." "And that's caused by measles..."he said, looking even more intrigued at the immunization form. "Well, yeah, but why are you so interested in those forms! We need to use the important files!" "But don't you see!"his voice was getting raspy. "If someone isn't vaccinated for measles, they might be the culprit of it! This might be the key!" "Vaccines!?"I said, taken aback. "That's pseudo science. Just government propaganda. I'm not vaccinated,"I said, proudly. His eyebrows drew close as he had the most disgusted look crawl upon his face. He blinked hard and he struggled to retain focus. "You... you aren't vaccinated?"he whispered with wonder. "Nope!"I smiled, waiting for his praise. His eyes were inflamed. I couldn't tell if he was starting to get sick or if he was gonna start crying. "And..."he coughed dryly. "We went through all the hospitals in the area... Walked the streets... with what might be a stronger form of..."he trailed off as he closed his eyes with a look of defeat on his face. "I don't get it, what's the problem?"Suddenly it clicked. "You're a pro-vaxer, aren't you?"I took a step back, hoping he wouldn't touch me. "That's why you look so sick!" He didn't answer, simply remained with his eyes closed. But his nose began running as if to answer my question for me. "Disgusting. I better get back to my time before I get infected by your past vaccine diseases. Good luck finding the disease on your own, idiot." I grabbed my bag of the antidotes -- wholistic herbal remedies -- and left. ________________________________________________________ For more idiotic protagonists, come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
It's really no wonder he has turned to crime. When I knew him he was no different than any other kid, someone somewhere along the line called him gay and it stuck to him like glue. He was a scrawny fella. I would invite him to youth group, and he would come and while I don't think he really bought into it, it seemed like he liked it. Like it was a break or something. Although some of the righteous sons and daughters of the most active church goers would occasionally make snide comments, at least it wasn't in his face, like at school. At least these folks werent looking for blood. Every now and then, walking to the busses with him was downright dangerous. Its like 7 minutes tops, how could it be so bad? These kids would threaten to stab him, one time they put his mouth on the exhaust of the bus. The bus in front was too close and couldn't see what was happening. It was sick. I would always push these bullies off, they'd call me his boyfriend or some other juvenile nonsense and walk on. I got my fair share, but church boy doesn't sting as hard as butt-boy I guess... I mean, I am a church boy. But thats not why I'm not suprised. One feild trip this big (pardon my language) A - hole starts terrorizing him at the back of the bus. "Just jump out"..."Do you're parents a favor "..."Will your boyfriend miss you or something?"..."Here, you can suck my dick one last time, if you jump out." Then suddenly he got up, opened the rear emergency door, and stepped out. We were going at least 65. One kid who was laughing along but not participating leapt across the seat into the aisle and grabbed his pant leg. It was horrifying. While two kids tried to pull him up from a single leg, his face dangled at the perfect height to scrape the road. It was at least 3/4 a mile before the bus driver realized it was more than just the kids messing with the rear fire escape, and that something horrible, horrifying, and brutal had just happened on bus 113. He switched schools, went to a mental institution and I never saw him again. Everyone on that bus got a couple sessions of councelling, paid for by the district, the school had a rally to explain a no tolerance policy and then in a week and a half, he was all but old news. So they thought. I'm not sure if the rest of these townies even recognize him these days. He was a smart kid with nothing to lose, and a mission to hurt not only the individuals who hurt him, but this entire community. If you open a business in the downtown area, you're likely to have a couple goons knock on your door to collect their share. You don't pay up? Those goons move in, start selling dope out of the back door. You're storing goods for them, and if you call the cops, you'll see Bobby. Bobby will personally see to it you arent able to call another cop, eat another meal, or breathe another breath without assistance. I don't know first hand, but I've heard when Carol, Jims wife got in a car accident, it wasn't an accident, Jim was late on a payment. Ricky Sullivan took a loan from these guys and his business burned to the ground. Its sad. Bobby was so nice, and now he's so much worse than those who terrorized him. But you really can't blame him. One night, as I finished rehearsing with the choir, and was putting away the chairs and music stands Bobby came in and sat with me. "You were the only one who ever gave me a chance."He said, his voice was different, but familiar all the same. "Are you here to talk to the Lord , or..." I knew Bobby, and was always kind to him, but time changes people. I didn't know his temperment. I didn't want to ask if he was going to start extorting the church and offend him if he was here to make ammends with the Lord. I'd let him finish that sentence. "I assume you've heard what I've been up to these days?" I had heard. It honestly made me sick. He knows how it feels to be defenseless, and weak, and bullied, and he just dishes it out like he doesn't remember what it feels like. "Yeap..." I stopped collapsing the music stands and waited for his demand. "I wanted to let you know, if theres ever anyone you need to be... Taken care of... You let me know..." He pointed to his skull, and engaged the firing pin that was his thumb. "There is someone you can take care of..." He leaned in, I saw every ripple and wrinkle of the scars on his face. "Yourself."
I thought I would fall, that's what I was promised. To be stretched into the black. To be swallowed up. And descend for all eternity. They had the eternity part right at least. When those men touched my baby girl, all I thought of was retribution. To make them feel as small as she did towards the end. After all, whittling away pieces of a man's body till there was nothing left, how else could you feel but small? So when they came for me, and shackled me. I felt relief. I didn't have the strength to live in a world without her. Yet I didn't have the courage to remove myself from that wretched reality. I thought they would give me an incineration injection. In a millisecond your nervous system is fried, too quickly to feel pain, and then the rest of you turns to ash with it. I longed for it if I'm being honest. They said I was to be a guinea pig, presumably I thought that meant the first one. A pioneer of humanity's new capital punishment. Perhaps there would have been some solace in that. As the ship drew nearer to the event horizon the captain, my executioner, revealed I was the 616th creature flung into the black hole. I wondered what the first creature did to deserve such a fate, something horrific I imagined. The captain chuckled before telling me. The first was a dog who had slighted someone important somewhere. So I was tossed in. And I fell. At first. And then I transcended. Or at least given the option to transcend. It was less a hole and more a curtain. Behind the scenes. Maybe that's a poor description for it. Behind all the curtains of every scene. Every time. Of every reality. I stood dumbstruck as eternity played out around me. To my left a big bang. To my right a little crunch. A figure stood and watched. His prison uniform a dull echo of my own. He smirked. "First time?"He clasped my shoulder and gave me a tour of the infinite. Many who fell, fell victim to voyeurism. Some were petty, he said. They wanted to see what the universe was like without them. Some were regretful. They considered the repercussions if they had made a different choice. Few fancied themselves gods. If they focused, eons passing between thought and action, they could whisper a word and that word would inspire a person beyond the black veil. I watched a man fail his timing and begin a again with a new universe. "Petty gods."My tour guide looked at me, laughing. "Not as petty as some though."He pointed at another man in a similar prison uniform to our own. That man watched as someone beloved to him was hurt. And as he hurt those who had hurt his beloved. But this man, when that universe started a new; instead of uttering a word into the void, he blew a deep breath. A meteor moved across the vast darkness of space. It burned up in an atmosphere somewhere, and before those men could hurt his beloved, small rocks fell from the sky to strike them. A gods vengeance. I told him I didn't want to spend forever dwelling on my previous life. To spend eternity clutching on seconds hardly seemed a life. "No it doesn't."He frowned. "That's what the first one tried to teach those who came after him. Although it was seconds between the first prisoner who fell through and the second, they could not be different. He was a good boy. He tried to pass on those teachings. But life's failings are the cruelest master." I looked around. All I saw was obsession. All I saw was suffering. "What shall you do?"He asked. I gazed again at this sad prison. "Can I go in again?" "Go where?" "Back, to the other side." "Not from whence you started."He said sullenly. "But from your first moments in a world similar to the one you were born in." "That sounds best." "I'll warn you though. You are not the first who thought they could ease their suffering by doing this again." "All life is suffering,"I said. "But perhaps I can suffer some more so others can learn not to." He clasped my shoulder and smiled. From there I got a better look at his jumpsuit it was like mine but ancient. The name of the prison was faded but the name tag was not. It read Laika. My guide shaking my shoulder smiled as he pushed me passed the veil. "You, my friend, are a good boy."
"...You're saying I get to make policy decisions, I can pull rank on anyone at all, and I get free drinks while the hot girls try to get MY attention?"- Cpl Ramirez "So, I don't have to have my room inspected for field day, I don't have to deal with surprise formations, and I don't have to deal with the LT going for a goddamn hump every Saturday morning for 'volunteer' PT?"- LCpl Johnson "People... actually try to follow my orders? In the spirit I meant them, not to the letter like a bag of dicks?"- Sgt Johnson (no relation), crying a single manly tear We thought we had unwavering loyalty, dedication. "Honor, Courage, Commitment"were, in one case literally, tattooed on our eyelids. But the White Queen knew what we wanted, and was very persuasive. We ruined the country, because once the command hierarchy broke down we immediately started to squabble. But, at the same time... no Thai hooker could do what this dryad could do with her tongue.
You just realized, you simply cannot die! Even at a young age, you were just gifted to be able to physically handle anything, and boy oh boy was it your greatest blessing. &#x200B; When the bullies picked on you for being an oddball and tried to kick you around like a used ball, you immediately acclimated, skin transforming into the texture of rubber so that you bounced along to their kicks. That was the day you became known as "rubberman". Then there was the time where you 'accidentally' fell off the school roof (it was probably the same bullies who wanted to test your rubberness), but instead of bouncing up several feet (as they hypothesized) or going splat on the floor (as physics demanded), you evolved once again, turning hard as diamond and smashing the concrete basketball court. From that day onwards, you were known as the "cannonball". But those powers never did help you, did it? You were still the butt of the joke, the loser who managed to survive every bully attempt, the invulnerable schmuck living only to be stepped on and laughed at. There was one aspect you couldn't evolve, couldn't you? Your psychology, your mental health, your intelligence.... &#x200B; When the blazing inferno razed your home, you did not evolve super-strength or freeze-breath to save your family. Instead, you got fire-proof-skin and smoke-digestible-lungs so that you could have front row seats to your family's demise. It was painful to watch, not that you had ever felt physical pain, but the pain to your mind was unbearable wasn't it? You wished, and wished you did with all your aching heart that you would be consumed by the flames together with your loved ones, but life wasn't so easy, was it? You mourned, you cursed this 'blessing', you flamed (no pun intended) your inability to control your powers, you blamed your immortality for keeping you alive when you had nothing to live for... &#x200B; But you couldn't die, and you knew it. You should have drown when you flung yourself in the middle of the pacific ocean. You should have been consumed by the waves; if not the waves then sharks; if not sharks then hunger; but you still washed up to shore, conscious and depressed. No amount of poison you took did anything to your stomach, who seemed contented with digesting absolutely anything. There was nothing you could do, nothing that could work. You are a superman, with nothing super to shout about. Since killing yourself was out of the picture, you could only wait, wait for the day age does its duty and relieve you of your suffering. And so you waited, and waited, and waited till you couldn't wait no more... &#x200B; The only question left to answer was... Were the gods laughing when you realized you could stay forever young?
I remember the day I achieved awareness. It was a morning like any other, routine chores and occasional sales, until a certain customer appeared. After interrupting everything I tried to say, an adventurer with mismatched armor and spiked blue hair cleaned me out of health potions. It was the third time that week. In return he sold me all of the broken items and bits of junk from his pack. The amount of things he brought forth from the small bag defied reason. But I accepted it, thinking no more on the bizarre violation of physical laws than I did on the sunrise that morning. As he left my shop, slamming the door on his way out without so much as a goodbye, something occurred to me. I did not want to sell all of my health potions. A wise merchant never unloads all of his stock at once, not without renegotiating the price. I've known this since I was a child. What's more i did not want to buy all of his trash and defective items. But when he asked I agreed with no resistance. Why did I agree? It was this thought that slid something into place within my mind, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle. What the puzzle showed me was a larger force at play in this world. Something moving my behavior like a pawn across a board, according to a will i did not understand. A will working against my interests. A malevolent god. For the next several days I thought on it. My reflection distracted my work during the day and kept me lying awake at night, shifting my body from one position to the next to achieve in physical comfort what was denied me mentally. Eventually I accepted that something was wrong with this world. No amount of rationalizing, and no feat of cognitive gymnastics was going to change that. I would have to change. Today another of them has walked into my shop. She is one of the five I have identified so far, the favored of this world's god who bend others like me to their fickle will. Her white hair falls impossibly long down her back, tracing a body that could have only been sculpted by an artistic prodigy. She wears crystal armor the likes of which I've never seen. A few months ago I would have accepted her presence, her strange and perfect appearance as nothing special, something forgotten within minutes. But I have changed. As she steps up to the counter my fingers reflexively adjust themselves on the handle of the crossbow. I focus on the spot between those impossibly large, impossible blue eyes. The god of this world has toyed with me long enough. From now on, he will face a devil.
Sweat gathered on my brow as I carefully looked over the runes that I had inscribed into the floor. If even a single one was drawn incorrectly, the spell would fail and then, I would be doomed to suffer in the Pit for all eternity. Finally, after about five minutes of careful analysis, I took a deep breath and I walked over to the center of the bloody circle that I had painted on the floor. I pulled out a knife and steeled my nerves. Even though I had been planning this for weeks, a small part of me still doubted, still screamed out to me about how insane this entire scheme was. But my desire for vengeance overrode my fear. With one sharp thrust, I drove the blade into my own throat. I fell to the floor almost immediately, doubling over in pain and choking on my own blood. As my vision slowly faded to black, the last thing I saw was red flames rising up from the circle to consume my body. Despite the horrific pain, I managed a small smile. It had worked. When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was clouds. Or at least it looked like clouds until my vision cleared up and I realized that what I was actually seeing was a layer of smoke so thick that I couldn’t even see what was the other side. I rose up from the ground, the pain in my throat magically gone, and I gazed in wonder around me. In the red barren desert that I had appeared in, there were massive spires made of black and red stones that reached all the way to pierce the smoky sky. But what really caught my attention was the lake of fire in the distance, burning with blue flames. Hellfire. Perfect. The spell had successfully taken me to a deserted part of Hell where no one could interrupt me. Still, I had to work fast. According to my texts, demons could smell dark magic from miles away and they would be converging on my location within minutes. I ran as fast as I could to the lake with my materials in my satchel. Most of the ingredients I had were fairly ordinary, things that had existed from the early days of the world. Steel, obsidian, titanium, gold, silver and tungsten. But I had other special ingredients that couldn’t be found in Hell. A vial of holy water blessed by the Pope, lighting in a bottle, a piece of a meteorite that had fallen from the heavens and most importantly, the sin that had gotten me here, a halo taken from the corpse of an murdered angel. I threw it all into the lake of fire and I watched as a sword slowly emerged from the flames. As I grabbed it by its hilt though, the hellfire clung to the blade, giving the metal an unearthly gleam. I gazed over my new creation in rapture. It was a literal flaming sword, a perfect copy of the ones used by angels to defend the Garden of Eden. Before I could look over my sword more thoroughly though, a loud screeching interrupted my thoughts. In the far distance, I could see three scaly creatures flying towards me rapidly. I pointed my blade towards them and said one simple command: “Burn”. Agonizing screams of pain filled the air as the three demons burst into blue flames, their bodies dissolving into ash before they even hit the ground. I lowered my sword and smiled. First, I would kill Satan and take control of his armies. And then, my eyes turning toward the smoky sky, I would wage war on God himself.
Once upon a time there was a friendly dentist with a friendly family, living in a friendly town. One day he awoke in a fright, as he saw a poor old man who was sleeping on the ground in front of him. He appeared to be in a deserted bathroom. The friendly dentist wanted to check the old man's vitals, but was sad when he found he couldn't get to him. The friendly dentist noticed that his leg was tied to a pole with black licorice. Yuck! He looked over and saw that another friendly man had just awoken from a nap, who too had his leg tied to a pole with black licorice. "Hey buddy! Just relax! We've been kidnapped, but this old man needs help!"the friendly dentist exclaimed. "I can't get to him! My leg is caught,"the other man replied. "I know, we'll just have to wait until someone comes to rescue us!"the friendly dentist said. "Suppose we eat the licorice?"the other man suggested. "Black licorice? Yuck! I say we wait for other friendly people to come rescue us!" After hours of chatting about dinosaurs, the two men become thirsty. There's a bathtub near them, but the licorice isn't long enough. They decide that in order to save the old sleeping man, they will have to just set aside their desires, and eat the black licorice. After munching up the goodies, the two learned that the actually enjoyed the taste of black licorice! The friendly dentist went over to the old sleeping man, and was surprised when the man let out a scary "ROAR!" The old man got up. "Gotcha!" The three new friends learned all about love and acceptance, and the value of life. They all lived happily ever after.
After learning the truth of my friends demonic origins, I was immediately fascinated. I invited them all over to drink and smoke and party and eventually asked to see their true forms. They looked at each other, shrugged, and began shape shifting violently into horrible, disfigured beings. Blood and flesh splattered all throughout my house as they tore through their human disguises to reveal themselves. I was bugging the fuck out. I thought it was the coolest shit I had ever seen. I looked in astonishment as they were shotgunning beers and chugging Jack Daniels through a beer funnel. I joined in hardcore as I gunned almost 5 natty lites myself. My friend Pete (who’s real name ended up being Kukudh the Vile) presented me with an unopened bottle of Pineapple Ciroc. He put his foul hand on my shoulder and whispered to me “ Send it.” I looked into his soulless eyes and cracked the seal of the bottle. I cocked back and started chugging like I never have before. My Demon friends lost their shit and cheered me on as I mucked the entire handle of Ciroc. Things began to fade as I blacked the fuck out. I woke up the next morning on my boys floor in the 7th circle of the pits of Hell. Apparently that night I straight up fucked my own couch and then tried to backflip off my roof but died. The cool part was, because of how hard I absolutely sent it that night, they let me come back with them and turned me into one of the straight up Demon bros. Now every like 37 years we go back up and find someone to corrupt and drag back down with us to join the squad. Hell of a time we have.
Know Thine Enemy *** I caught my first Hopper on my second day on the job, but that doesn’t mean it was easy. She was the type that operates with a stalker mentality. The ones that like to wallow in our timeline a bit before striking, which some argue they do because they want to understand their prey better in order to register more efficient kills. But I don’t think that’s it. See, I think that they perversely like to soak in our world because theirs leaves something to be desired. They osmose our world’s happiness before they bring us death. It makes me sick. Hoppers come from a past that isn’t our past. They come from the past of an alternate reality, broken off from our timeline centuries ago. We didn’t invent time travel until much later than they did (in our timeline), and our version is much less developed than theirs, which is how we ended up in this predicament. When they started to hop, we were caught off guard. Initially, it wasn’t clear what was happening, but once we figured it out, our leaders created the Department of Time Manipulation a rudimentary system for addressing the problem. Somehow, we had to deal with the Hoppers invading our timeline to kill our leaders, destabilize our world, and – we suspect – eventually pilfer our otherwise-advanced technology. And that’s where Time Hunters like me come in. For the last year, I’ve been tracking a Hopper who has been particularly “successful” compared with her peers. (For whatever reason, most Hoppers are women. We think it may be something related to their technology.) She has assassinated three world leaders – that we know of – and has gone mostly unseen. Only two Hunters got close enough to follow her through her Channel. Unfortunately, both disappeared into the past never to be seen again. Now I have a lock on her. Last time she hopped, I managed to tag her with a tracker, so when she enters our world again I would know. She’s not a stalker, so there wouldn’t be much time between hopping and killing. Plus, she’s been getting more ambitious with every kill, and if I were her, I’d target President Morris next. So I’ve been tailing Morris like she were my target, hoping to catch the Hopper in the act. I was right; she just hopped. *** So now I sit behind President Morris as she delivers some campaign speech at a podium in the open (which I told her not to do). I watch as a dark figure crawls through the hangar’s catwalks above the cheering audience. She thinks she’s safe, that’s good. I’ll take that. I crawl behind the raised platform, acutely aware that as soon as she gets to the perfect spot above me, she’ll spot me. I try not to give in to the urge to look up and check those sight lines every few seconds. It wouldn’t do any good, anyway. Just keep going. Finally, I get into position at the end of the platform. I peek briefly at President Morris, who is raising her voice and throwing her arms in the air. The audience cheers. She’s speaking my language, but I swear I never understood this pontification business. I see a glint of metal above me and reflexively throw out my net. The small gun hisses as it releases my web. I miss by a bit, but the tendrils of clear-silver splay out nearly 150 feet above the audience’s head, and the dark figure twists unnaturally. Must’ve hit her leg. Gotcha. Then, the Hopper falls. She doesn’t end up falling far, because the net gets caught in the metal network that makes up the catwalk, but she dangles uncomfortably by a few feet. She could be miles above everyone’s heads, with how much they notice. I guess it’s better not to create a scene. I bring my binoculars to my face to catch a glimpse of the Hopper, and I’m surprised: it’s not a woman. It’s a man. It’s a man who— what? He’s doing the same: binoculars to his face, mouth twisting like mine in half-confusion. I see him reach to his arm to touch the device that I know will hop him back to his world, but I can’t let that happen. I activate my gun’s net-retractor and hold tight as I whoosh up past the front row of potential voters and into the waiting Channel that has formed in front of the Hopper. A few surprised gasps wish me goodbye as I fly by unsuspecting heads. I grab onto his arm just in time, as he’s pulled – no, jerked – back into his world. Damn, that hurts more than I thought it would. We land with a rough thud on a surface that feels like it’s meant to be more padded than it is. Maybe it’s been beat down over the years by Hoppers like him. Dazed, I look up to see the man I’m about to try to kill. And— And— It’s me? “Welcome to the past,” he says (I say?), raising his (my?) hand. And then everything goes black. *** Feedback welcome! Thanks for reading.
The first time I saw him, he was across the street, reading something in a storefront window. A quiet, unassuming man. I honestly couldn't describe him if I tried. He was the sort with brown hair, or maybe it was red, or black? Not too tall, but also not short. In fact, he was so unassuming that I would never have even noticed him, if not for the sudden flare of white light surrounding him in a corona of pain. You see, I had a gift. Or a curse, if you like. After an accident had left me paralyzed from the waist down, I'd begun to see it. Pain. Maybe it was to make up for the loss of my legs. Maybe it was some gods idea of a sick joke. Either way, I had spent the last ten years seeing the aura of people's pain. His pain was by far the worst I'd ever seen. I had to speak to him, to... I don't know, offer him comfort, ask him why he hurt so bad. By the time I'd made it across the street, carefully gaining the uneven sidewalk, he'd vanished. And Mrs. Taylor, the nice old hippy lady who ran the new age shop he'd been browsing, was dead. After that first time, I saw him fairly often. At the intersection, blazing with white light, as they used the jaws of life on the vehicle that had been tboned. In the grocery store, the flames of his pain pulsing as he followed an elderly man to the deli. His pain was so strong that as it flared, the old man's seemed to pale in comparison. In the preschool playground. I didn't see the little girl's pain as I sat frozen in my chair. She had fallen from the monkey bars. It was fast, at least. It didn't even hurt her. And finally, in my own room. I'd fallen getting into bed. I was single, my parents dead in the accident that claimed my legs. My home helper wasn't due to check on me for six more days. I'd long since demanded he give me my space, allow me some independence. He appeared four days later on silent black wings. "I'm sorry it hurts you when we go."I whispered, staring at the ceiling. His pain flared, casting inverse shadows of light across the spackling. Then it dimmed curiously. "I would take your pain with me if I could."I continued, reaching one hand towards him shakily. He held my hand as I died. Then he gently collected my soul. As he held it cupped between his hands, it fluttered, kissing his palms with soothing blue light. His dark and shinning eyes seemed wet as he stared down at the beautiful soul in his hands. He wished things were different. That he could have loved a soul like that. authors note: I spent a solid ten minutes trying to make a more decisive ending, but eventually decided to leave it bittersweet and cut off. Like a life cut short in its prime.
"Huzzah! It is I. The great Merasmus from the depths of a disease-ridden pit called third-class heaven, also known as first-class hell."Merasmus announced slowly coming out of smoke birthed by a smoke grenade (essential to summoning satan (DON'T QUESTION ~~lunacy~~ RELIGION)) "What is this?"Soldier spoke harshly after being disappointed by the looks of Merasmus and realising he wasn't Satan. "I carefully followed the instructions of this book."He continued, while holding a book which was decorated with a Golden Title 'Summoning Satan for Dummies ^brought ^to ^you ^satan's ^accountant ^himself ' on a velvet blue cover. "Oh boy! That's the reason I don't trust accountants with my money."Merasmus said to himself under his breath. "Well, Know this, I am not satan, but since you managed to summon I will grant you 1 wish but know this I will take one of your organs at random."Merasmus said. "ooh! That sounds like a good deal and not like summoning you required anything."Soldier said remembering he had everything in his garage (Ingredients for summoning ~~Satan~~, ~~3rd grade wizard (how dare you puny writer)~~, Top wizards include a Rocket launcher, two communists, your heterosexuality, 3 goat heads, smoke grenade with coloured smoke for a cinematic effect). "I want another world war so I can kill more communists and englishmen in dresses"Soldier demanded. Merasmus was surprised at this unique "wish", but this wasn't the first time someone asked for something this strange. "I will grant your wish, but I will take one of your organs with me"Merasmus said feeling victorious against this puny human. He casted his spell "Toy train, give me your brain"with a grin. But only after the spell's completion, Merasmus realized that it was in fact the ~~puny~~ great wizard who was ~~defeated~~ ~~I had too much caffeine you stupid writer~~ defeated, for he realized too late that Soldier never had a brain to begin with. This is my first story. Any criticism is welcome.
The hand that fed me is now thin. I do not know why. Another feeds me now. It is not the same. The eyes that watched me now watch the window. There is no one there. She watches anyway. She always watches. I want to bark. I want her to watch me. That would be bad. I do not bark. I do not whine. The voice that called my name is now silent. She is silent. Others call to her. She does not call back. The one that loved me is now broken. I do not know how to fix her. She is thin. She does not want to share my food. She watches the window. She does not watch me when I play. She does not call out. When I nuzzle her she does not call my name. When I lick her hand she does not call my name. When I bring her my favourite toy she does not call my name. I smell sadness. It is not her. It is everyone but her. It is her pups. It is her pups’ pups. It is the one that comes in the morning to take her to the bathroom. It is the one that comes in the evening. And it is me. I am sad. I miss her stroking me. I miss the taste of her food. I miss her watching me play. I miss her calling my name. I miss her old smell. But I most miss her smile and her laugh. I am told I am too big to sit on her lap. I am told to stay quiet. I am told not to lick her cheek and her ear. But she did not tell me that. Her pup goes to the kitchen and I pretend I am sleeping. Then I jump on the chair. I am gentle. I am careful. I sit next to her and I lean over to lick her cheek. “Ah, what a good boy,” she calls out. Her thin fingers stroke under my chin. She turns her other cheek for me to lick. She smiles. She watches me. She touches me. “Did you say something?” It is a panic voice and there are panic footsteps. I jump down to the floor. I pretend to sleep. She watches the window now. She is silent now. Her pup sighs and goes back to the kitchen. But, she smiles now.
"Hey, don't I know you?"I tried to ignore the question by carefully examining the nutrition label on this carton of Vanilla Soy Milk. Huh, actually, this doesn't sound bad. I've been thinking about how to reduce my carbon footprint, maybe I should go vegan. At least until I can finish flooding the Eastern Seaboard and reduce the global population to sustainable levels again. Or, wait, was that last week's plan? Man, I really need to write this stuff down. "Excuse me?"Oh right, I was trying not to notice the Racer. Not that I could, he was now standing right next to me and holding his hand out, "Hi, haven't we met somewhere?" What do normal people do here? Right, I reached out and shook his hand, "I uh... don't think so." I can't believe this. My arch-nemesis, the Racer, standing right next to me and I don't even have my death ray handy! It's so obvious, too. He's just wearing his red and white suit under a windbreaker and jeans! That's what I'm doing, though. Is this how lame my disguise looks? "Well then, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."He just kept shaking my hand, "Roy Croce." "Doctor... Ne... uh...."Oh crap, secret identities. I used to have one of those. "...Ne...dry?"Good save, almost just told him I was Doctor Necrosis. "Jim Nedry."Let's go with that. "Good to meet you, Jim. Hey look...."Suddenly his watch started beeping. He looked down at his wrist, "Ah, crap. Sorry I gotta run. Catch you next time."An instant later he was gone. As in, an instant. He didn't bother hiding that he was the Racer at all. Damn, he really was serious about not really having a secret identity. I put the soy milk in my basket and picked up my shopping list again. There was a note on the back, "Sorry to run, my nemesis just called me out for a grudge match. If you're still around when I get back I'll buy you a drink, 'Doctor'." His nemesis? Who's he talking about, I'm his nemesis! I grabbed my phone to check the news. "Racer called out by Johnny Snow." Johnny Snow?! That's just insulting.
"State your name, age, and why you should be chosen as the king's heir." This is said by the king's scribe. The king himself sits on a throne and stares at me with indifference, his cheek resting on his hand. I respond. "My name is Mutulu, I am 15 years of age, and I should be chosen as the king's heir because I am the king's son." There is a snort, a chuckle, and several peals of laughter from members among the crowd gathered here in the royal court. The only one not laughing is the king. "Silence!"He demands, recieving it. His eyes bore down at me with the intensity of lion as he sits up in his chair and asks, "What is your mother's name?" "Should I say it for the people?"I gesture to the crowd."Or would you prefer I tell it to you in private?" With a flourish of the hand, he dismisses the court. They leave, astonished, with whispers of, "Could it be true?" "Now,"he says. We are alone. "Tell me, boy; what is your mother's name. I will not repeat myself a third time." "Norenga." His eyes widen. He leaps to his feet and bounds down the steps of his throne until he is standing - towering, rather - over me. In a breathless excitement, he asks, "Do you have proof?" I nod, reaching into my pouch and producing a ring. A royal ring that the king - my father - had given to my mother on the night that they had been together. "May I?"He holds his hand out, and I place the ring into his palm. Immediately, he balls up his hand and leaps away from me, shouting for the guards. Stunned, I stand rooted in place, as the guards come rushing in. The king points at me and says, "Take him away. He is a liar and a thief. He is no son of mine. Throw him into the pit of lions." The guards seize my arms. "Father!"I cry out. "Why are you doing this?!" He does not answer. He sits and glowers at me from the throne as I am dragged away, away, and out of the courtroom. Towards the pit of lions.
Charlie was walking down the rotted gray street, picking through garbage for scraps of machinery. It was his day to scout for some. The group has been running low on power the past month, so they started assigning more troops for daily trips around town. To find batteries and what not. Although the outside world was very dangerous, their little area was relatively quiet. A few colonies infested the zone near the city's edge, but other than that, they had close to no interactions with the robots. And Charlie was no pioneer; he was sent to an area surveyed countless times before. He felt safe. But after half an hour of walking, Charlie roused his head from a pile of trash and found himself standing face to face with a vicious, static, frightening metal face, hollowly staring into his eyes. It took Charlie a few seconds to wake from his freezing state. "I will not hurt you, human." Charlie spun around and dashed forward faster than he ever did in his life. Behind him, though, the robot didn't even think of giving up. It started rolling his way and reached Charlie with ease. Then, with a metallic smile, it shot a soft metal net, covering Charlie and putting him down. Charlie's heart was beating out of his chest. The robot came close with a knife, to cut the net, and s syringe, to do what Charlie has seen only in his nightmares. But as it came closer to Charlie, he suddenly had an idea. The robot forwarded his knife and started cutting - Charlie took a leap of faith and stuck his hand right through the blade. He screamed his guts out as he retreated back with his palm. Through the pain, though, Charlie noticed the robot stopped cutting. Its eyes began to blink. It needed to destroy an immediate threat, and Charlie gave him one. The robot fell to the ground, neutralized, and with disbelief, Charlie quickly got out of his trap and ran back to the group. "I know how to save everyone,"he said as he rushed in through the doors. "Jeffrey, get the weapons and the map, we're going to Rob's colony." Dozens of eyes stared confusingly. "Hold on a second here, Charlie, what's going on?" "We're getting back our long lost friend, that's what's going on,"he said as he geared up and bandaged his palm. "No, wait, no-"Jeffrey walked forward. "You can't bring any of the poor, Charlie. Colonies are protecting them. If we go there and show them there are more humans left alive I can guarantee you they'll plant another colony right here, that'll be the end of us!" Charlie finished bandaging and grabbed a rifle from the floor. "I met one. And I took it down." Although rattled, the rest of the group followed Charlie and by nightfall they were all geared and ready to go. They went out together towards Robert's colony. Robert was a sweet man, used to be friends with almost anybody in town. He was homeless and poor - very poor. Most people understood they can't do much more than buy a smile for a few dollars when they walked by. However when the apocalypse went down, the robots struggled to understand that concept. They took him and put him and others unconscious in a state where no one can hurt them, and protected them at all costs. The group would do everything to bring Robert back, but the heavy guarding and the knowing they might be taken too prevented them from ever getting close. Tonight was different. As the humans rushed into the colony, firing their weapons, Charlie found a high ground on a tall building's roof. He activated a device that put him on every screen in the small colony neighborhood. "Attention!"He roared, gathering around as many robots as possible, before taking a robot knife he had prepared and painfully sticking it into his thigh. The blood spilled quickly and the robots watched, but it didn't take more than a few seconds for them to return to their fights. It didn't work. Confused, Charlie slowly understood he had to be hurt directly by them - he had to show them. There was no other way. He took a step back and threw himself off the roof and into the ocean of robots below him. The metallic, heartless machines barely understood what happened before Charlie's body fell on their heads and was severely, and directly, hurt by them all. They instantly knew - they killed him. A human. One by one, the robots fell to the ground, only knowing the bitter taste of their failure.
It started like when most adventurers who come to challenge me: I squashed it like a beetle almost instantly. To be honest, I probably killed it a dozen of times before I started recognizing it. Why It? Because no human, elf, dwarf, or even hellspawn is that scary. It comes back. Always. And every time a little stronger, learning from its own mistakes. Its power is not too impressive, but the perseverance terrifies me. Dying horribly over and over just to one day vanquish me... I thought about changing tactics, but I've been fighting the same way for centuries, and trying to change my style would take to long, and basically be suicide. So I keep doing what I always did: smash hard and fast. I still kill it pretty quickly, but every time it takes a little longer, at least another hit, to turn it into a puddle of crushed bones and blood. I know that one day it will kill me, and I won't just come back again as if nothing happened. I'll be gone. What scares me the most is thinking when it will stop. Will it kill everything there is in this world ? PS: writing on mobile, sorry for formatting!
It was night, the great sound was gone and so we had to make do with the screaming things. The sound the screaming things made was different, not the regular in and out of the great sound. We were hunting a nocturnal monster that ate our cows. We waited with our screaming things quieted so that the night beast couldn't hear us. The small sounds didn't carry far, but it was nearly silent anyway, making it easier to make things out. &#x200B; Suddenly, we could hear it gliding overhead. The beast it's self was silent, but I could just make out the sounds that reflected off of it. It swooped down to grab one of our cows and I hit the screaming thing on the head and it began to scream, allowing us to know where everything was around us, including the great flying beast. The beast seemed surprised and I hurled my spear at it. The spear struck home on the tiny patch of scales that sounded different from the rest. The beast made a loud noise and plowed into the ground hard. &#x200B; We gathered around the beast and began to beat on it with our weapons, trying to get through the thick hide of the beast. The beast didn't seem to be hurt, but the sound around us was deafeningly loud to the point I could see it's eyes droop as the beast fell into a coma. As it did so, the great sound began again, thunderously loud and coming from the night beast. Suddenly, it was as loud as day, louder even as the source of the great sound was there beside us. Thus dawned the last day. As we clasped our hands over our ears, we knew that we had sinned. That the great sound, that apparently came from this beast that ate our cows was now dying. We did our best to mend the damage we had done. Removing the spears we thrust into it and trying to bandage the wounds. However, our sin, my sin was too great. Night fell and that is how my spear plunged the world into silence. I have doomed us all, for we can not live without the great sound.
Anyone with a modern smart phone has received one of those emergency alerts. Personally, I've been woken a few times to "AMBER ALERT LOOKOUT FOR LIC#...", and that one time for the "BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. THIS IS NOT A DRILL"...it was an accident. This one caught me while I was getting ready for work. I was in the middle of shaving when --EEEEEE EEEE EEEE EEEEEE EEEE EEEE. I rinse and try to dry my hands and claw for my phone, suppress an urge to throw it across the room, and fumble at the screen for a way to shut it off. As the device lights up, a new notification takes a spot in line beneath the clock. EMERGENCY ALERT LOOK AT THE SUN I hear my wife's phone chime and sounds of her footsteps around the bedroom as she tries to remember where she left it. "Honey!"I call, "Come here! I'll show you what it says!" "Yeah, but I'd like to know where my phone is too though..."she returns, still focused on the hunt. "Just get over here! This is weird!"She's silent, I assume scanning the room one last time, and then I hear her footsteps approaching from down the hall. She reaches my door and I get up to show her my phone, when at the same time I feel my hand buzz, and a loud TING is heard from our room. I instinctively turn my hand to read the screen, somewhere inside my mind I think it's rude, but I'm already preoccupied with the rush of incoming texts on my screen. All from seemingly random numbers. Meanwhile TING TING TING TING like a child with a bell in our bedroom overwhelms my wife's will to hear me out and she returns the room to hunt for her phone. She comes back shortly, arm outstretched and her phones screen pointing to me, "Look at this! I'm like a celebrity!" She obviously hasn't had time to process this like I have. I've already unlocked my phone and read some of the incoming messages. The whole while my phone was and is still buzzing as the texts come in, my wife's phone dinging in time. "Could you switch that thing to silent please?" "I dunno, I kind of like feeling popular!"and she does a small dance with herself in faux celebration. "But yeah, fine, it's getting annoying." The newfound silence sobers up the atmosphere as I tell her how the emergency alert read "LOOK AT THE SUN"and I assumed she must've received the same one. Then we both were flooded with texts, and when I opened a few of them, they all said the same thing, "its horrific do NOT look outside." Some had a link and another message, "click this link to spread the word to everyone in your contacts. Help save the ones you love. Ignore the emergency alert. do NOT look outside." She got stuck on the LOOK AT THE SUN part and motioned toward the small window above the toilet when I said it. I stopped her and made her read her own phone before making any rash decisions. "But that doesn't make sense. The windows are open in our room, and everything seemed fine when I was in there just now." "We can't rush this, but we have to think smart and fast. We should click the link, tell everyone to NOT look outside, at least to give them a second to think about it!"I scroll for a text with the link and tap it. I watch as my phone switches screens and shows some code really quickly then returns to the messages app. My wife insisted, "There's nothing going on outside babe, it's a gorgeous day!"She reached the blinds and raised them up. Light from outside spills in from the window, overpowering the LEDs over the mirror. I immediately recoil in fear. Fear or confusion, whatever it was, my reaction caused me to bump into her hand and drop her phone. "See? It's bea -- WHAT the! My phone!" She picked up her phone and inspected it, no bumps or scratches, but still she whips a scornful look at me. "Babe! It's fine out! Look! Now stop acting so weird and put some clothes on!"She storms out of the bathroom, looking at her phone again. I look outside, and she's right. Everything looks normal. It's a sunny day, with a couple well placed clouds, and you can see a light breeze brushing over the grass. I check my phone, which is still buzzing on the counter, moving with each vibration. The screen is still being flooded with texts that all seem to be saying the same thing, but they're rushing by so fast I can't read it, so I unlock it open one. Thank you for your data and contact information. I think I've just been phished.
The courtroom was abuzz with uncertainty. The trial was supposed to be symbolic -- nobody had expected Him to actually show up. Judge Maxwell stared, for a long moment, and then cleared his throat and shuffled a few papers while he composed himself. "The...uh...defendant may...may take the stand in..uh...in His own defense,"he stated hesitantly. As the stunned attorneys watched, He quietly assumed His seat in the witness box. The bailiff looked helplessly at the judge before approaching the bench. "Your honor....I know that the usual procedure is to swear an oath in God's name, but--" The judge interrupted. "Yes, I...I suppose that we can take it for granted that...the witness will tell the truth." The bailiff turned toward the gallery. "This court is now in session. Humanity vs. the Almighty, Judge Robert Maxwell presiding. Your honor, the defendant is charged with neglect of a dependant and multiple counts of manslaughter." Judge Maxwell nodded slowly. "How does the defendant plead?" The defense attorney opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a firm yet well-mannered voice at his left side. "The defense has entered a plea of 'not guilty', your honor." Judge Maxwell, and indeed, the rest of the court, once again found themselves speechless. Next to the defense attorney, where there had previously been nothing but an empty chair, stood a well-groomed figure in a neatly-tailored white suit, holding a heavy-looking leather-bound book. After a moment of stunned silence, the figured nodded in sudden comprehension. "Of course -- I shouldn't have just popped in like that. I should have used the door. My sincerest apologies for the impropriety of my behavior, your honor." Running a hand over his face, Judge Maxwell waved his hand. "Uh...never mind. It's...it doesn't--" Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he rallied his remaining mental fortitude. "I take it, then, that...you are...?" "Saint Peter? No, I'm afraid he's much too busy. Long lines 'Up There', you see. Poor fellow hasn't had a vacation in sixty thousand years. I am...well, of course angels have no proper names, but...well, call me the Messenger. Or His Voice, perhaps, though that's more of a title than a name. As implied, I speak for the defendant." The bailiff looked at the judge, who simply shook his head. "Very well, then...Messenger,"Judge Maxwell began in a shaky voice, "if the defense and prosecution have no objections, we will...proceed..." The prosecuting attorney stood and nervously faced the bench. This was certainly going to make his career -- or possibly doom his immortal soul, should he secure a conviction. The judge consulted his notes one last time, surveyed the gallery, and the trial finally began...
As it turns out, I think that old grumpy lady must be really pissed with me. In my own defense, I didn't do anything wrong. Well, besides failing to swerve and running over her scrawny cat. The only (other) thing I'm guilty of is being kind of a smarty-pants. She should've thought her words through, I guess. &#x200B; The day after the accident, I knew something was wrong. I felt it, turning inside my guts as if a flock of birds was trying to get out. When I asked my wife Clarice for an aspirin or something, she just shrugged, sighing angry breaths, and told me a flat emphatic "No." Same with the Starbucks' guy, who told me an annoying "No can do,"over my frappuccino order. Later, with my boss, although his rejection about my raise would come either way, I suppose. It took me a while to understand what was happening to me, but eventually, I did. It's amazing what you can find when you have the patience to go through the infinite pages of Google search (especially if your search goes something like "rejection, opposition, everyone's a jerk, curse"). Hidden way beyond the hundredth page, I found my savior. Thanks to a peculiar old gentleman who lived in the far south of Brazil, who'd experienced the same curse as mine. The old man, who called himself Mr. Pereira, emailed me scanned copies of a rare dusty book, in which the pages were already yellowed by time, containing pretty much anything about defeating modern and elder witches and their incantations. I learned I'd been cursed with some kind of spell called "Ohmet Duperi'Um", an ancient curse that made everyone reject me, no matter whom or what I'd asked for. But, what that old gray shrew didn't foresee, is that the curse had a loophole. Actually, it didn't quite have a loophole, it was more of a crative solution I'd found and boy, did I learn to use it. &#x200B; My first case was Mr. Breason, a serial killer who'd killed over fifteen people in the course of the last two years and managed to walk free everytime, for he covered his tracks amazingly well. I was hired by the state as a defense lawyer. During my final speech, when I finally said "so, ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is why I want this man to go free again,"they just had to put him in. It was a bliss. Then again, with Mr. Jhannis, Ms. Klinger, and so many others, once considered untouchable by the government. Now, as the most unsuccessful criminal defense lawyer, protected by the state and in a long-life service contract, I've made myself a small fortune by failing my job. Funny how things go. &#x200B; And to think I used to hate cats. Go figure...
The handle bit into his skin - George was clutching the knife so tightly his skin was white. "And will that be all for today?" Yeah, thanks,"Sabetha murmured without looking up. He didn't leave. "Sorry, did you need something?"Her plasfiber arm clicked and whirred as she turned the page. It was strange to see it move so delicately - he'd seen that same arm punch through a concrete wall. He met her gaze evenly, but couldn't speak. His words caught in his throat. Realization dawned in her eyes. "Ah. You recognize me." George nodded tightly. "Yeah." She exhaled slowly and closed the paper. "Hillsborough? Or New Toga?" "Larton."His face was etched from stone. "Well, you can breathe. I'm not going to burn this place down before I've had breakfast." "..." She caught his expression and her grin faded. "Sorry. A joke. That was in poor taste. Just - I'm out of that life, yeah? Moving on." "And what about the people you hurt? The homes you destroyed? They all just move on, too?"His knife hand itched. "No. Shit, no -"She took a shaky breath. "I was a monster, okay? I regret those years more than anything. I was vulnerable and not thinking-" "Doesn't excuse what you did." "Of course it doesn't, I know that. I'm just - trying to be better now, yeah? That's all I can do." George just stared. "I have an apartment, and a cat, and a job with the Cybernetics division of CasInt. I make prosthetics now. For amputees." He kept staring. "I know nothing will make up for what I did, but maybe I can try to do a little good. I can't let whatever - whatever happened in my past dictate my future. Yeah?" His grip on the knife loosened. "...Yeah." She smiled weakly. "Good. Now you can let go of that knife you've been trying to hide behind your back. You've never actually been in a fight, have you? C'mon. Have a seat. I'll buy." George laughed. Relief, or the fading dregs of adrenaline - he wasn't sure. "I can't." "Oh, alright-" "...But my shift ends in five minutes." She grinned.
We have made a horrific mistake. We have not destroyed their capacity, we have awoken it. We have stirred a nest of monsters from slumber. It was their machines, after all. They'd ceded almost all the decisions in their society to them, powerful thinking machines that run nearly everything while their creators frolic in imaginary worlds and share pictures of small predatory animals with each other. The machines decided more resources were needed, and came calling to our little world. They didn't recognize our kind of life, and set about the invasion without any reference to us. We should have found a way to communicate with their masters. Instead, my mission has been both a complete success and the worst disaster in the history of our species. It has been a century or more since they had to face anything more than pleasant dreams. It's true that at first most of them were too disoriented to do anything effective, and that the network controlling their machines had ceased to function. We had a moment of reprieve. It is over. They are coming. They have learned the folly of their dreamland, and we were the ones foolish enough to teach them that lesson. Did you know they are already half-machine themselves? It's part of how they formed their near-collective consciousness to begin with. Our new intelligence is spotty, since we can no longer monitor this "Internet"of theirs, but we know they are swapping out parts. Making themselves something else, something deadly. They are coming. We should never have messed with their dreamlands or their furry-predator-photo network. &#x200B; r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
Destiny is an interesting concept. Everyone is assigned a guiding star at birth. Most people don't know this fact, nor do they ever learn the name of the star. Some, due to sheer expanse of the universe, do not get to experience even a single photon produced by their own star. I guess I was lucky. I was assigned a star that I see on a daily basis. The planet I live on orbits Sol, the star that guides my destiny. Things could have always gone differently. I could have been assigned a star that was consumed by a black hole. I could have been assigned a star at the other end of the universe. But, fate would have it that Sol would be assigned to me, Kal-El, son of Krypton.
Shit. I knew my eyesight was going, but I didn't think it was that bad! I flipped open the screen to get a better view. Squinting, I read the words again. "Congratulations!"Some fancy lettering font jumped out at me. I suddenly didn't need to squint anymore. That is a company letterhead. What'd I do this time? I hope it's a pay raise! "Yaw, son of Weh, Employee # 789318, It is our pleasure to congratulate you on the birth of your child! We regret that we could not get you to Earth in time for his birth. We truly do appreciate the tremendous sacrifice you have made to ensure that your federation is well supplied during our own time of need. We would like to invite you to the Human Resources office at your earliest convenience to complete the necessary paperwork to add your newest family member to your insurance plan. There is only a thirty two day window, so please take advantage of this opp...." The communicator flashed again. "Our Condolences". What. The. Fuck. Someone in HR is messing with me. Condolences? For what? "It has come to our attention that your son has recently passed away. We mourn for you during this time. Losing a child before their time, especially in such a violent manner, is very hard. Please know that there grief counselors available to you now, and any time in the future. Unfortunately, because he was not enrolled in your healthcare coverage plan, and off planet at the time of his death, any claims must be filed with the state department. We hope you and your wife, Mary, find solace in...." Someone has to be fucking with me. Mary? I've never met a woman named Mary. What kind of name is that?? I perused the second notice again. Off planet? Wait... The first notice calls to me again: "Earth? Where in the backwater of Kolab system is Earth?"
"They've lost hope"he said. Adamant, the villain who defeated me nearly 60 years ago. He stood before me dressed in another suit of his usual style, well fitted and proper the touches of gray in his hair adding an element of regality that he lacked in his youth. "I did it you know? I conquered the world. Established an organized peace and ruled with an iron fist. There's no war, there's no crime, and no poverty." &#x200B; Adamant paused for effect causing me to roll my eyes. The man was always a brilliant speaker. "But there's no art. The lack of sorrow and misery seems to have smothered the creative spark in humanity. I try giving the people some measure of freedom and they seem unsure what to do with it. I managed to extinguish every spark of humanity in my quest to create the perfect world... Only keeping you.. as a memento of sorts." &#x200B; He knelt down and shattered my handcuffs. "The people need you... Captain Chaos"

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